15. Hunter

HUNTER

J ake got it into his head that our team building should be Ted Lasso-fied. Specifically, that the offensive team had to write down our fears and every week we’re picking one out of a hat and tackling it together.

Last week, we went to an arachnid museum since someone wrote they’re afraid of spiders. Today? We’re at Skyrise skyscraper, next to the glass floor lookout since someone wrote they’re afraid of heights.

I’m not sure what Jake would do for mine—fear of failure—but I’m scared to find out. All eleven of us crowd around the glass lookout.

“Listen up,” Jake says. “We’re all going to need to take turns stepping on the glass as a team of two. So we can support each other through this.”

“That isn’t natural,” Trey says, tentatively peeking over the edge .

“Yeah, Cap,” Marcus says, backing away slowly. “I don’t need to be floating over our fine city.”

“Aww, are you scared, Marcus?” I taunt. “Do you need me to hold your hand?”

“Fuck off,” Marcus says. “Just wait until we get to your fear.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” I lie.

“Liar.” Jake smirks as if he knows what I wrote on the paper even though it was supposed to be anonymous. “We’ll get to yours soon. In the meantime, you can be paired up with Marcus.”

Shit. I guess I walked myself into that one. I was Googling how to be a good teammate just before this, and all it spit back at me was communication, having a positive attitude, and putting in the effort. I guess this is the time to put in the effort.

“Fine,” I say.

“Or how about not,” Marcus says.

“Well,” Jake says. “You’ve got a choice. You can do this or not, that’s up to you. But just so everyone’s clear, I have a debrief with Coach about each of these sessions and highlight who does and doesn’t participate.”

He says it easily, as if he’s talking about the weather and not telling Coach about our performance. Coach who has the power to bench any one of us. If we don’t attend these events, our chances of getting cut increase dramatically .

“Shit,” I mutter at the same time as Marcus. I glance at him in surprise.

“What?” he asks. “This is way more difficult for me than you.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Don’t forget to hold his hand,” D-Rock teases.

“You might want to invite him to dinner after this,” Trey says.

I ignore their teasing and eye the glass. “Jake, you sure it can carry both of us?”

Quincy chuckles. “You sure you didn’t write down that you’re scared of heights too?”

“Fuck off.” I slap my hand in Marcus’s. “Come on.”

“I’m sure it’ll hold,” Jake says. “You’ll be there for one minute. Ready?”

“No,” Marcus says, at the same time I say, “Yes.”

“Perfect,” Jake says. “Time starts now.”

I take a step onto the glass, forcing Marcus to come with me.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, looking down and being struck by vertigo. “This is fucked up. No one should be a thousand feet in the air.”

“See?” Marcus says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fearing heights is natural.” He peeks over at me. “You good?”

“Why are you asking me that?” I glance at him in surprise. “It’s your fear.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one strangling my hand. ”

I loosen my grip, shocked at his question, his concern. I should be the one asking if he’s okay, especially since he’s close to hyperventilating. But instead, he’s checking in on me. This is one of those times where I need to put myself out there. Be the teammate I want to be, not just to impress Evren, but also because it feels right.

I clear my throat, uncomfortable with my past actions. Trying to start anew, to make the most of this team-building event, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he whispers, his whole body shaking.

“What are you going to do after this?” I ask, trying to distract him, to repay his kindness.

“I’ll probably play some Grand Theft Auto.”

“Yeah? You any good?” I ask.

“I am. Why? You play?”

“I do. It’s my favorite.”

“Time’s up,” Jake says.

Marcus immediately jumps off the glass and does a victory dance. The team slaps his back in pride, and I grin at their antics. It wasn’t so horrible, being nice. Marcus comes up to me and claps me on the shoulder.

“Thanks for distracting me,” he says.

“It was nothing.”

Marcus nods once before making his way over to Trey and D-Rock. While everyone is distracted, I snap a picture of the view and send it to Ella.

Ella: That’s a pretty view. Are you with the team?

Me: Yeah, we’re overcoming someone’s fear of heights. Got to say, it’s a valid fear.

Ella: Aww, that’s cute. You’re scared of heights.

Me: Just you wait, next time you visit I’m taking you up to the top and see if you’ll change your tune.

Ella: If you can make it to the top again with your newfound fear and all.

Me: I’ll overcome it just to see your expression.

“Get off your phone,” Jake says, coming to my side. “Or I’ll make you go again.”

I glare at Jake and say, “I can’t wait until we get to your fear.”

“You’ll never know what mine is.”

“I’ll find out eventually.”

He smirks like that’ll be impossible. “You did well. With Marcus.”

“Hmm.”

“You know, caring isn’t a bad thing.”

“But I’ll lose all my street cred. ”

“Hate to break it to you,” Jake says, “but you never had any to begin with.”

I chuckle and we silently watch the rest of the team have their turn. The second it’s over, I hightail it out of there. Elodie is about to start soundcheck and I want to catch her before it starts. It’s what I’ve done when I thought she was Stella, and I’m not going to change it now that I know she’s Elodie.

I like Elodie, but I’m too hesitant to believe that who I fell for is real. She fooled me into believing she was Stella and now I’m questioning my own judgement of our relationship if I was so easily duped. Maybe I read everything wrong between us; maybe she’s just a great actress. I need to be focusing on football and my place on the team, not chasing after a woman who isn’t even real. But knowing this doesn’t stop me from wanting answers.

“Tell me a secret,” I say when she answers my call. “Something no one knows about you.”

“Hello to you, too.” She laughs. “That’s an interesting way to answer the phone.”

“Thought I’d mix it up and keep you on your toes. But also, I want to get to know you as you.”

“Okay.” I can hear the grin in her voice. “But Nina knows everything about me.”

“Fine. Then tell me something not many people know about you.”

She’s silent for a few beats before she says, “I like to bake. ”

“What do you like to bake?”

“Cookies.”

“Wait,” I say, putting the pieces together. “Did you bake those cookies at Evren’s house?”

“Yeah…”

“Babe, those were fucking amazing. Why aren’t you shouting from the rooftops that you bake world-class desserts?”

“World-class?” She laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far. It’s just a hobby and I’m out of practice. I haven’t been able to afford the ingredients lately and…” She trails off as if embarrassed for admitting that. Something uncomfortable sits in my stomach at the admission. At how hard her life has been.

“Do you like pie?”

“Who doesn’t love pie?”

I grin at her word change. “There’s this amazing pie store here. Why don’t you stay with me after my next game? I can take you there and we can order one of everything on the menu.”

“That sounds dreamy.”

“Then come. There’s nothing stopping you. I can talk to Rachel and your security team to ensure my place is secure for you. I’ll keep you safe and?—”

“Okay.”

She says it so easily, it takes a second to realize that she agreed. “Okay?”

“Is there an echo on the line?” She chuckles .

“I guess so.” I grin. “So, you’ll come to my game and stay with me after?”

“Sure. But I’m nervous about the fans turning against me if you lose.”

“Well, good thing we won’t lose.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she says.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She sighs. “I’ve got to go, but see you in a few days?”

“Can’t wait.”

“Bye,” she whispers.

I wait for her to hang up, not wanting to cut the connection a second before I have to. Sunday can’t come fast enough.

I keep glancing at the jumbotron, waiting for the cameras to pan to the VIP suite and show Elodie. But she’s still not there. The game’s supposed to start in ten minutes, and I’ve been half-assing my warmup, not able to get into the zone.

Why isn’t Elodie here yet? She said she’d make it, but the game’s about to start and she’s nowhere to be found. Maybe she’s stuck in traffic? Or hurt? Latching on to that idea, my brain provides me with all the worst-case scenarios possible. An unsettling feeling creeps through me at the thought of her in trouble. We’ve spent the past days talking for hours and getting to know each other as Elodie and Hunter .

And one thing is clear—the woman I fell for is Elodie.

It’s a relief to know I didn’t imagine the connection between us. That she’s the same woman who’s hilarious, kind, and supportive. Elodie was right—who she was when we were together was really her and not some version of Stella she tried to be. But now I’m not sure what to do about that. We haven’t had any conversations about making this real.

During the national anthem, they finally pan to Elodie. She’s wearing a dark green, slouchy jacket, black shorts, and a white shirt. She looks fucking fantastic, and the knot in my stomach loosens now that she’s here.

Offense takes the ball, and we come out fired up, chewing up yards like a runaway truck. First down, second down, third and short. It’s almost easy. We're a piston-firing machine, pushing the D back with every snap. When we get closer to the end zone, I see my chance.

My world narrows to a blur of white jerseys from the opposing team. Two of them converge on me like ravenous wolves, and I push myself harder. My lungs are on fire, every breath a shallow gasp that does nothing to tame the frantic hammering of my heart. This is it. Our first chance to score.

My defender, a mountain of a man, shadows me with a tenacity that's both infuriating and admirable. He shoves, trying to throw me off course. But no way in hell am I letting anyone steal this from me. Not with Elodie in the stands cheering me on. Not when I promised we wouldn’t lose today.

Jake uncorks the throw a split second earlier than usual. It throws off my timing a hair, and my fingertips brush the leather for a fleeting moment. Despair threatens, but then, instinct takes over.

With a twist and a surge of adrenaline, I contort my body mid-air. It's a gamble, a Hail Mary fueled by pure fucking determination. The world tilts on its axis, muscles screaming in protest. My fingertips meet cool leather again. This time, there's no letting go. I cradle the ball to my chest, a shield against the flailing arms that try to rip it away. My feet slam down in the end zone, a glorious, bone-jarring impact that sends a jolt through every fiber of my being.

Touchdown.

The stadium erupts. Jake and Quincy engulf me in a sweaty embrace. But I break free, ignoring the cheers and congratulations. I scan the suite. There she is. Elodie. At the window, cheering for me.

I point a triumphant finger towards her. The crowd roars its approval, but all I hear is the echo of my own pounding heart and the silent promise I make to her, to myself: this is just the beginning of something new between us. This touchdown, it's all for her. For the woman who’s shown up for me more than anyone else in my life .

The rest of the game passes in the same way. There’s something different about today. Maybe it’s because I’m playing for Elodie and myself and not Evren. Or maybe Jake’s team-building bullshit is working. Either way, we’re on fire and win 30–14.

I rush through my post-game interviews, not caring about them. I only get Elodie for a short time before she has to leave, and I don’t want to waste a single second of it away from her. The locker room is a blur of cheering and laughter. With practiced efficiency, I strip off my sweaty gear. My phone buzzes and I check it.

Dad: Finally, you pulled out a win. Took you long enough.

Me: Thanks.

Dad: Be sure to review the play from minutes nine and twenty-two. You were distracted and it showed. I told you dating Stella isn’t a good idea.

I frown, some of my excitement diminishing. Elodie’s the reason I played so well today. Anytime Dad mentions Stella, it’s to scold me and relate it back to my football career or performance. I scroll back through our last messages, and it’s all football related. I scroll back further, and it’s still only football related.

When was the last time he asked me about my personal life? When was the last time I asked him?

Me: Stella’s good for me, and I’m happy with her.

Dad: Someone like her is going to lose interest in you eventually and then you’ll be left without a career. Your performance is suffering while you’re with her.

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I exit the locker room, searching for Elodie. I find her casually leaning against the wall, her security team a barrier between her and anyone around. Her eyes light up when she spots me and I jog to her, pulling her into a hug and twirling her in a circle.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, giving me a quick kiss. Every time she says those words, they fill a hole I didn’t even know I had. One my mom made over the years every time she missed my games in favor of going to my brother’s baseball games. When my dad would attend my games, he’d yell at the coach and me the entire time. I don’t think he’s ever said he was proud of me. Not when I was drafted, and definitely not after I won my first Super Bowl.

“Thank you,” I say, full of meaning. “Let’s get out of here?”

“I can’t wait to try that pie shop you mentioned.”

“You’re going to love it.” I slide my hand in hers and guide her down the hallway and to the exit.

Evren’s in the parking lot, unlocking his Bentley. “Good game,” he says when we pass him.

“Thank you, sir,” I say.

“How are you going to celebrate?” Elodie asks.

Evren snorts. “By working.”

“You should really drop this whole workaholic thing you’ve got going on.” Elodie says it like a joke, but I detect the sincerity beneath the words.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Evren says evenly.

“Have a good evening,” I say, pulling Elodie along, impatient to get to the pie shop and start showing her around my city. I want her to like it here; I want her to like me.

Elodie softly sings to the radio as I drive us to Fat Cat pie shop. There’s a logo of a cute, fat cat eating pie. A bell dings when I open the door. Marie, the owner, grins when she spots me. “Congrats on the W.”

“Thank you,” I say. I always come here after a home game win. It’s tradition, one that started randomly four years ago, and I haven’t broken since. “Can we get a slice of every pie you’ve got? ”

“All ten?” she asks, clearly surprised. Normally I only order the bourbon chocolate pecan after a win, but today’s different.

“Yeah, I’ve been talking your shop up to Ella. I wanted her to try one of each.”

Marie takes in Elodie with a shocked look, clearly not expecting to see her. Or well, who she thinks is Stella.

“Hi.” Elodie waves before crouching next to the gray-and-white, fat cat lying in the middle of the floor. She rubs the belly and coos. “Aren’t you the chonkiest cat I ever did see. Yes, yes, you are.”

Marie blinks out of her stupor and hisses, “You could’ve warned me that she’d be joining you today.”

I grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She clucks her tongue and begins cutting up the pies. I take a seat next to the pale-yellow walls and Elodie sits next to me.

“You do realize,” she says, “that we’re going to be taking home all the pie slices we don’t finish.”

“Of course. We can eat a slice before every meal.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” She grins and I can’t help but steal a kiss.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” she whispers, gazing at me like I mean something to her. “I?—”

Marie interrupts whatever she was going to say to bring the pie slices over. Once Marie leaves, I ask, “What were you going to say? ”

“I wanted to thank you.” She takes a deep breath. “For being patient and willing to get to know the real me.”

I place my hand on hers. “You were right.”

“I’m always right,” she says with a grin. “But about what in particular?”

“You were always you.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she asks, “How do you feel about that?”

“Before I answer, I need to know where you stand in all this. What do you want to happen between us?” I’m tired of trying to dissect our every interaction. If she doesn’t want me, I’ll find a way to move on.

“You,” she whispers. “I want you. For real.”

“You do?”

She nods. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to keep you in my life.”

Relief swoops into me. Finally. No more guessing, no more questioning. She wants me .

“Thank God,” I say, “because I fell for you, Ella, and this isn’t fake for me anymore.”

She smiles and squeezes my hand in hers. “I guess we need to change our name from team FD.”

“I guess we do.”

Something inside me, a part that’s been bruised when it comes to relationships in my life, begins to heal. As if it was waiting for this moment, for Elodie, to finally realize that I’m worth more than just one night of fun. That I’m worthy and deserving of more .

“Boyfriend, which one is your favorite?” Elodie asks, surveying the spread around us.

“The part where you just called me your boyfriend, but if you meant pie, then the bourbon pecan.” I point to it, still in a daze from her calling me her boyfriend. “But the cherry is a close second.”

She starts with the cherry, taking a bite with a straight face before ginning. “I know I’m supposed to keep you on your toes with my dessert reactions, but oh my God, this is amazing.”

“Right? But it’s not nearly as good as your cookies.”

“Why do you say ‘cookies’ like that?” She looks around and lowers her voice. “It makes me think you’re talking about my pussy.”

“Maybe I am.” I take a bite of the pecan pie.

She nudges my shoulder with her own. “You’re ridiculous. My baked cookies aren’t nearly this good.”

“They are. You’re just too hard on yourself.”

“Am I?” She gives me a funny look. “You know, I never thought I was, but maybe you’re right.”

“There is no maybe about it. I’m right.”

She grins. “Aren’t you modest.”

“Let’s enjoy these bad boys before heading back to my place.”

“You don’t want to party with the team?”

“Fuck no,” I say. “I just want you.”

“Just me, huh?”

I nod .

“What about me wearing nothing but one of these pies?” she asks.

I jump from the table and speed to the counter.

“Where are you going?” she asks, laughing.

“To get some takeaway boxes. You can’t offer that and not expect me to take you up on it.”