Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

I sat there for a while. He had a point. Still... “It’s different when these are actually true.”

“You think every scandal you ever read about is true?”

I was silent.

“You can’t let it get to you. So people think you’re crazy. So what?”

I shook my head. “We can’t dig without grant money.”

He cocked his head. “But they’ll give you money if you find something. Just not if there’s nothing there, and you want to start looking for Ivernis

all over again somewhere else.”

I looked at him for a long time, and he looked back. I closed my eyes and fell back against the bed. He was right. So why did I feel so uneasy?

The words drifted out of me. “You know, that’s the real problem. That I’m afraid he’s right. That there’s nothing here. And I’ve been avoiding that for so long. I’ve believed in Ivernis for years. I don’t want it to just stop existing.

“And even if I’m able to let it go...I don’t know if Jeremy can. I don’t want to make him. I certainly don’t want the press to blow it up in a huge thing. Haven’t we failed enough already?”

I felt the bed move as Mike lay down beside me. “You haven’t failed. You tried. That’s all you can ask of yourself.”

I kissed him. “It’s all we should ask. But both of us want more.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

When we came back from the field the next night, after another day of uneventful digging, the reporters had arrived. They came in droves, like locusts, like the eleventh plague, and they brought cameras and recorders and improper shoes. They had Irish brogues and Southern drawls and British vowels and American twangs. They were from The New Yorker and Sports Illustrated and Glamour and Vogue.

Not a single respected journal wanted to talk to us.

Then came the offers. Dear Ms. Sullivan, they wrote. We are so impressed with all the work you have done, and we want you to know that! Second, we are very curious in whether you currently are represented...if you currently are signed...if you are interested in working...

The only ones that didn’t have to do with modeling had to do with football.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t deal with reporters fixating on the wrong things.

Cam, at least, had a positive outlook. She video called the next day. “New life plan. You model to pay the excavation fees! I’m brilliant.”

I settled back against my pillows. “I’ve always thought that.”

“I can’t believe you were in Paris. You should’ve gone to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and I could’ve gone to the Empire State Building, and we should have called each other. And then, if our life was a movie, there’d be a split-screen view with both of us and it would be epic.”

I laughed. “Maybe you should’ve gone to the Statue of Liberty.”

“No, too much Frenchness in one frame. Unless there’s an American building in Paris? Oh. That would be good. We could make a poster. Wait, I need to Google this.”

“Wait, wait, no—Do it later. I need to talk to you about Mike.”

“What, about your undying love for him and how you want to have his babies?”

I pulled a pillow over my head.

“Oh my God. You’re fucking kidding me. What?”

“Should I even say anything? He’s going back to New York in two weeks. And, yes, I’ll go back to New York for the conference, but I don’t think we’re going to find anything here, so I’ll probably end up staying in Ireland with Jeremy, because it’s way easier to look at other sites here than from home. And I finished my classes, so there’s no real reason to be over there.”

“Um. Me. Besides, you’re obviously just making excuses. If you love him, you tell him.”

I tossed the pillow off and flopped over on my belly. “How? What’d you say to Rob?”