Marek
Except for Sunday night, when I finally had to open my laptop to get some work done before today’s press conference, I spent every waking hour with Harper.
She was either in my arms, in my bed, or I was at the baseball stadium in the owner’s suite, watching her do her thing on the field below.
She makes the job of being a sideline reporter look easy, even though I know how much effort she puts into it. She’s so self-assured and confident in her approach with the players, the staff, and on camera.
When the words popped out of my mouth Saturday night and I made my declaration, I wasn’t about to retract them out of fear of getting close to a woman again. Because I’ve moved past that point.I’m in love with Harper.
I’m not exactly sure when it happened. It could very well be the first time we met—or rather, the way she slipped me her card without me even knowing it. Just like she’s slipped into my life and into my heart.
Something I never thought would ever happen again. I thought for sure my heart was dead and buried, right along with Gabriel.
Funny thing about hearts. They can be revived when the right woman comes along.
I was so certain that was it for me when Jasmine left. I figured I’d had my one chance at love, and I’d live the rest of my life without it. But Harper has become the Jordan to my Pippen. The Magic to my Lakers. With her, I can take on any formidable opponent and win.
Which is exactly why we talked through a plan for the press conference. I told her what Glen and I discussed on Friday night, and that I was ready to provide answers to those personal inquiries, even though I hated the fact I had to share it with the world.
I answered every question she had that night about what happened between me and Jasmine. About my workaholic lifestyle. How I was guilty of abandoning her with no one else around after we moved to Seattle. How she was alone and far away from those she loved when she miscarried. And how the way I handled my grief, in essence, iced her out and drove her into the arms of another man.
Harper said Jasmine mentioned her affair with one of my players at the time in the book. He’s long since been traded to another team and she didn’t name him, but anyone who kept their eye on the Pilots during that year could figure out who it was if they did some digging.
I told Harper everything and held nothing back. It was the only way we could work from scratch.
And as for the press conference today, I told her I wanted her to feel empowered to ask the tough questions.
As long as it was her face behind that microphone, and her voice asking me the question directly, I’d answer anything she threw my way.
Glen steps into my office and gives me the nod. I stand up, plucking my navy suit jacket off the hanger and slip my arms through the sleeves as I grab my phone on the way out the door. I check the time and note that I have five minutes.
There’s also a message from Harper.
It’s not a message I would have expected to read from her.
Harper: How could you do that to me?
Harper: After all we talked about this weekend?
Harper: You’re a liar and not the good guy I thought you were.
My heart sinks, my pulse races. What the hell is this about?
Her texts came in not more than fifteen minutes ago while I was finishing up a meeting. I just spoke with her this morning over coffee. And now this? What the actual fuck?
I try to call her as I pick up my pace to a quick march down the hall, pushing past Glen en route to the doors to the press room. The call goes unanswered, so I pocket my phone in hopes of speaking with her before the conference begins.
Pushing it open, I’m greeted with a capacity crowd of journalists, all sharpening their claws and training their cameras on the front podium.
I must look delirious because one of the reporters asks, “Mr. Talbert, are you okay?”
“Yes…no…I’m looking for…” And then I spot her. She’s across the room, talking to her cameraman. I zig-zag through the front row, dodging glances, to get to her.
Harper stands with her back to me, her hair done up in a tight bun, wearing a pink blouse and a navy tapered skirt and heels.
“Harper.” My voice croaks in an attempt to gain her attention.
She slowly turns her head to me, eyes glacial like I’ve never seen before.