“Fuck yeah, we did!” Sarah hoots from her spot on the floor.

  Maya leans over and bumps her shoulder with mine. “Our girl with her prime-time debut. I had a serious proud friend moment.”

  “You?” Tyler asks. “What about me? I got to watch my girl on the sidelines in person. Talk about a proud friend moment.”

  I roll my eyes at all of them. “It was a one o’clock game. Hardly prime time. Also, the second I showed up on TV, everyone in this room blew up my phone like I was just nominated for an Academy Award or something, so don’t act like this is the first time we’re talking about it.”

  “We’re proud of you, Little Red,” my dad says, kissing my cheek and standing. “You worked really hard for this. I remember when you were twelve and you told me you wanted to be a sports psychologist. Now you’re doing it, and it’s a big fucking deal.”

  My dad’s voice has an undercurrent of emotion, and while no one else probably hears it, I do. His hockey career ended far too soon when a terrible injury forced him into early retirement. I was with him when he stepped back onto the ice for the first time after fifteen years away from it, and watching him rediscover the thing he loves most made me want to do what I do. To make sure that professional athletes never lose the thing that makes them happiest, even if they have to find a different way to do the thing.

  “A huge fucking deal.” Rachel flashes me a wide grin, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners the way they do every time she looks at one of us.

  Her family.

  While my parents were the first people to teach me what it means to have a home, Rachel was the first person to show me what family can look like. What it means to have a whole group of people who love you unconditionally and show up for you no matter what. And because neither of my parents had that growing up either, in a way, the three of us learned together. She might not be my grandmother by blood, but she is in every way that matters, and in this family, that’s what counts.

  “Such a huge deal that we’re going to sit here right now while you tell us all about it. Except you.” She points at my dad. “There’s a kitchen over there calling your name, Jer, so get to it.”

  “I’ll help!” Oliver says, jumping up from his chair.

  “Good man.” My dad tosses an arm around his shoulders. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you say that my tacos are almost as good as Maddy’s, Maya Casey. Those are fighting words, especially considering I’m the one who taught her how to make tacos in the first place.”

  Maya shrugs, giving my dad a sly smile. “I said what I said.”

  My dad laughs and turns to head into the kitchen. “We’ll just see about that.”

  As eight different conversations start at once, and the sounds of cooking drift out of the kitchen, my brain turns to the exact place it’s been on and off for the last week. The place I absolutely don’t want it to be. Or maybe I do? I don’t even know anymore.

  My brain turns to Cam.

  To the ease about him when he was with his kids.

  The loneliness I saw in him during that first night.

  I wonder whether he has people the way I do. And if he doesn’t, whether he wants them.

  I wonder how he spends his nights after his kids go to bed. Whether he’s lonely because he’s actually alone.

  I wonder how he might fit in with this group. With me. How we would be outside a hotel room or the confines of the stadium.

  And despite the fact that those are the exact thoughts I absolutely cannot have, my brain won’t let them go. So just this once, with my favorite people sprawled around me, in one of my safest places, I let my mind run wild.

  And I really, really like what I see.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CAM

  Fam Jam

  Ethan has changed the name of the group chat to Fam Jam

  Riley

  Ew, why?

  Ethan

  Why what?

  Riley

  Why did you give the group chat such a stupid name?

  Ethan

  It’s not stupid. It’s great. It rhymes.

  Besides, I needed to name it because chats are too hard to find on my tablet if I don’t name them.

  Riley

  Dad, Ethan needs a phone.

  Ethan

  What she said.

  Me

  Ask me again in three years.

  Ethan

  That’s so unfair. Three years is forever.

  If I had a phone, I could text you all the time when you’re traveling to away games. Not just when I’m at home.

  Me

  Rational argument Eth, but the answer is still no.

  Ethan

  You are so uncool.

  Me

  I live to be uncool. The whole point of being a parent is to be as uncool as possible.

  Riley

  Lola’s a mom and she isn’t uncool. She took me shopping yesterday and bought me the green platform sneakers you said I had to wait until my birthday for.

  Me

  She’s cool because she’s your grandma, but trust me, when I was your age, I thought she was supremely uncool. That’s the way of the world, my friends.

  How’s it going at home?

  Ethan

  Awesome. Jett and Aidan are coming over to watch your game, and Lola is making soft pretzels. The cinnamon and sugar kind.

  Me

  Sounds awesome. Ry, how was rehearsal?

  Riley

  It was fine. I’m almost off book. I’m just having trouble with one of the songs, so I’m not coming out of my room today until I finally memorize all the lyrics.

  Me

  Don’t forget about the rest of your homework.

  Riley

  The rest of my homework doesn’t matter.

  Me

  Want to try that again?

  With one single strike of my finger right here in this locker room in Tampa, I can make that phone you love so much entirely unusable.

  Riley

  Ugh, fine. The rest of my homework is so important. SO IMPORTANT DAD. Definitely more important than making sure I don’t choke on stage in front of hundreds of people in January.

  Me

  Not your best effort, but I’ll accept it.

  Ethan

  Will you be home tonight?

  Me

  You bet. It’ll be like 3 a.m. though, so listen to Lola and remember that bedtimes are a thing. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.

  Ethan

  Can you make waffles?

  Me

  I can definitely make waffles.

  I have to head out for warm-ups, so I gotta go. Love you guys.

  Ethan

  Good luck! We’ll be watching!

  Riley

  I might watch if I memorize my song in time. Crush some skulls or whatever.

  Also, love you too.

  Me

  I’m waiting.

  Riley

  Oh my god, do we have to?

  Ethan

  Seriously, Dad, We’re not babies anymore. This seems unnecessary.

  Me

  It is completely necessary because I say it is, and I’m totally the boss of both of you.

  Riley

  Fine, but let it be known that I’m doing this under duress. I don’t think it’s healthy for us to encourage your weird superstitions. And you better not show it to anyone.

  Me

  I promise nothing. Now send it over.

  Riley

  [Selfie of Riley and Ethan with their eyes crossed and tongues out]

  Me

  Your contribution to the cause is noted and appreciated.

  Riley

  The cause being letting you think that you can only win a football game if we send you a weird selfie before you go out for warm-ups?

  Me

  One hundred percent correct.

  Love you.

  Ethan

  You already said that.

  Me

  Well now I’m saying it again.

  Opening up the picture Riley sent, I smile down at my kids’ silly faces before saving and adding it to the album where I keep the evidence of the one and only superstition I have when it comes to my game. After thirteen years in the NFL, I’ve amassed a lot of these pictures. There’s one for almost every away game I’ve ever played, going all the way back to the time when Lainey was pregnant with Riley and she was going to come to my away game since it was just a quick trip to Cleveland. But the Friday before, the doctor vetoed travel, so she had to stay behind.

  Never one to sit still when she could move, she sent me a crazy-faced selfie before the game to show me exactly how she felt about being forced to stay home. I played the best game of my career that day, and she kept up the tradition, adding Riley into the picture once she was born seven weeks later. After Lainey died, my mom took over, and now that Riley has a phone, my kids do it themselves.

  I’ve played good games and bad games over the last thirteen years, but this little touchstone to home, and its tie to Lainey and the life we had together, has helped ground me before every single one of them.

  “Hey, they nailed the crossed eyes, tongue out look this time!” Tyler turns from the locker he’s using in the Tampa visitors’ locker room and claps me on the shoulder, plucking my phone out of my hands to get a closer look. He glances down at the picture and laughs. “I think this is one of their best yet.”

  “Did we get the picture?” My best friend and our wide receiver, Drew Ellicott, saunters over and grabs my phone from Tyler, laughing when he sees my kids’ faces.

  “I mean, I got the picture,” I say, bending to tie my cleats. “I think maybe you all need a tradition of your own.”

  “Nah.” Drew hands me back the phone. “Yours is way more fun.”

  “It is,” Tyler confirms, plopping down on the bench. “Besides, I do have one of my own. Sophie texts me before every game. She has since I started playing football in high school. It’s our thing.”

  “You and Sophie sure have a lot of things.”

  Tyler looks at me like I have ten heads. “Of course we have a lot of things. She’s my best friend.”

  I’ve seen him and Sophie together, and I think she wishes they were a whole lot more than best friends, even though Tyler seems mostly oblivious to that fact. I know Drew agrees because I see him smirk and mutter, “Sure she is,” low enough that I hear it, but Tyler doesn’t. Catching Drew’s eye, I shake my head as surreptitiously as possible because he is a grade-A shit stirrer and can’t help himself most of the time, but I think Tyler is going to have to figure this one out on his own.

  “Don’t let me interrupt your social hour, ladies. It’s not like we have a game to warm up for or anything.” Our coach, Brooks Campbell, strides into the locker room, game day scowl fixed firmly on his face.

  I’ve been playing far too long for a coach’s grumpy game-day attitude to bother me, but Tyler hasn’t, so he snaps to his feet so fast he practically levitates. I smother a grin, and out of the corner of my eye I see Drew, another veteran, do the same. Drew and I came into the league together, and we’ve been playing side-by-side since college. Tyler is a decade younger than us, and a lot newer in his career, but he somehow slotted right into our friendship. We make an unlikely trio, but it works.

  “And you.” Coach looks at Tyler. “Will you be breaking in your footballs this week?”

  Tyler shrugs. “Nah. You know I don’t care about shit like that. Just give me a ball and I’ll throw it.”

  Coach grimaces, his restraint evident in the way his hands clench into fists at his sides, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Quarterbacks are notorious for being weird about the way their game balls are broken in during practice and warm-ups before they have to give them to the refs to hold a couple of hours before the game starts. But not Tyler. He just takes whatever ball they give him and wins games with it, which drives Coach, a former quarterback who was extremely picky about his game balls, insane. And since at thirty-eight, he’s the youngest head coach in the league, his playing days aren’t that far behind him, which makes his distaste for Tyler’s easygoing approach more intense and thus more hilarious.

  “Okay, well, that’s a choice. But get your asses on the field anyway. I’ll be damned if one of you gets injured because you were too busy gossiping like teenagers to warm up properly.” He spins on his heel and stalks out of the locker room, no doubt to go micromanage some poor assistant coach. He’s always wound a little tight before games, especially away games. After I grab one last thing from my locker, the three of us follow him out even though warm-ups don’t officially start for another fifteen minutes. As we walk through the tunnel and the field comes into view, a shock of red hair catches my eye, and a grin spreads over my face.

  Maddy stands on the sidelines wearing purple sneakers and tight black leggings that hug every curve of the legs I want wrapped right around my neck again. Her white Renegades T-shirt is snug enough to hug the most perfect tits in existence, and her hair is in a ponytail pulled through the back of a Renegades hat.

  It’s the hat, I think, that does me in. At least until she turns just enough for me to catch her profile, and then it’s the serious look on her face as she watches pre-warm-ups. The way her eyes are laser focused on the guys on the field, giving the impression that there isn’t one single thing she doesn’t see. And suddenly, I get the wild urge to sprint onto the field to start my own warm-ups, so she’ll look at me like that too.

  I’ve never known a sports psychologist attached to a team to stand on the field during games, but for our last pre-season game and our home opener last week, that’s exactly where she was. And when I got on the plane yesterday to fly here, she was sitting right there with the rest of the medical staff. When I asked Maddy about it as we were getting off the plane—one of the few times we’ve spoken since I ran into her after Ethan’s game two weeks ago—all she said was that she does things differently.

  And boy does she.

  She’s everywhere—watching games and practices with that discerning gaze, talking to the other members of the medical staff, strategizing with Coach, and calling the guys into her office for their weekly mental health check-in.

  Pretty much everyone has had at least one turn on the big red couch in her office. Everyone, that is, except for me. I know she hasn’t called me in because she’s trying to keep some distance between us. I also know she has her reasons, and I respect the hell out of them, but fuck, I really want an excuse to talk to her.

  I may be veering into teenager with a crush territory.

  I’m fine with it.

  “There’s my girl!” Tyler calls, before sprinting towards Maddy, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her up into a giant hug.

  Except maybe it turns out I’m not so fine with it because the second Tyler puts his hands on Maddy, a hot rush of jealousy hits me at the familiarity between them. At the way Tyler holds onto her for just a few seconds too long. At the way she laughs before she pounds him on the back and yells at him to put her down. I know they’ve known each other their entire lives. I also know they’re basically cousins and definitely friends and that there is not one single feeling between them that isn’t entirely platonic. And still, every part of me hates the idea of Tyler touching her. Touching what’s mine.

  Mine.

  It’s completely insane, and yet it’s the first word I can think of to describe the possession that beats in my blood when I look at her. The way my brain serves me up memories of the sounds she made when I shoved her legs apart and buried my face in her cunt. The way she tasted. The low moan that fell from her lips when I slid inside her for the first time. The look on her face when she came on my fingers. My tongue. My cock.