Chapter 24

Layla: I feel like I should warn you that there's going to be some more pictures on social media of us. Kind of.

Lincoln:Where could someone have taken pictures of us? *thinking emoji*

Layla:To be fair, it's a picture of me.

Layla:With your jersey on in the suite.

Layla:Which is apparently a clear indication that we'll be announcing our wedding any day.

Lincoln:You want me to put out a comment?

Layla:You don't have to. I'm fine with people speculating.

Layla:Are you?

Lincoln:Totally fine.

Layla's text is waiting for me when I reach the locker room, and it's a bright spot after losing a tough game to Seattle. During the long walk from the field, down the tunnel, and into the locker room, I went over all the plays I know I should've done better on—pushed for another half yard to get the first down, held the ball out farther the time we went for the touchdown on fourth and inches, something in one of the many plays to get us another score to win the game.

Pulling out my phone and seeing Layla's name on the screen makes my shoulders fall back in relaxation a little bit. I lean back against my locker as I answer, and then I swipe over to Instagram to search up the picture she's talking about. It's easy to find since my account has been tagged about a million times.

The picture is grainy, but it's a clear shot of Layla, wearing dark wash skinny jeans, white Nikes, and a white version of a Rays jersey with my name and number on the back. She's turned, facing Court, and her long hair is up in a thick bun on top of her head. She wore it the same way when she came to my hotel room last night, and I'd spent a good few seconds picturing what it would be like to pull her hair out of the bun and run my fingers through it. This version of the bun looks more purposeful though, with strands hanging down around her face.

A big gossip site has picked up the picture with the caption, We're hearing rumors that LA Lights is getting a spinoff and the directors are talking to actress Layla Delaford about reprising her role as Sloane Campbell and reigniting her relationship with Detective Leclair. If the rumors are true, maybe Delaford celebrated by going to her boyfriend's game against the Seattle Torrent today. She was spotted in the private suite with quarterback Eli Dash's wife and sister among other friends. Wearing Lincoln Knight's jersey seems like a clear sign to us. Who do we like more, Sloane and Detective Leclair, or Layla Delaford and Lincoln Knight? Don't ask us. We can't choose! It already has thousands of comments asking for an official comment from someone to confirm it.

Her boyfriend. I like that part.

"You sure you're not dating her?" a voice asks, and I look up to see Hurley leaning over my shoulder, checking out the picture. He straightens and holds up a finger. "She snuck into the hotel last night to bring you food." He holds up another one. "She's at the game, wearing your jersey."

I shove his hand away before he can add any more reasons. "Playing the long game," I say, stowing my phone in my locker to get ready to take a shower. I want to make it quick. There's a chance that Layla rode to the game with Court and Mila, meaning she might be in the family room, the room where family and close friends can wait for players after games if they have passes. Court and Mila both do, of course, so if Layla's with them, security will let her in. I'd really like to see her wearing my jersey in person.

Hurley chuckles as he moves past me toward the showers himself.

I walk to the family room with Eli, and though the room is crowded with people waiting for players and a handful of kids are buzzing around the room, my gaze goes right to Layla. I can find her in a room like she has some kind of beacon flashing just for me. She turns, and our eyes meet.

There's a reason we check into the hotel on nights before games and our partners aren't allowed to come. It's about focus, and Layla showing up last night proves that Coach knows what he's talking about. My head was in the game, but it's been hard to keep my mind off Layla since I saw her last night, thinking about how I wished I could have kissed her goodbye when she left or how I should have called Eli and told him not to come by until I texted and let her stay longer. I don't think straight around her, and maybe if she was my girlfriend, like everyone on social media thinks, she wouldn't be the distraction she is.

That's probably a pipe dream. She'll always be a distraction for me.

I'm already almost across the room and standing next to her, barely noticing Eli by my side. Will you be my girlfriend? I feel like a second-grader, infatuated with his first crush. Dottie's words are heavy in my mind, telling me that I need to let Layla know how I feel about her—soon.

She throws her arms around my neck when I reach her, and I pull her against me, letting the rest of my frustration from the game melt away. What would it be like to come home to her after every practice, every game, good or bad? I have always envied Eli and Mark for having Court and Hannah to help shoulder the weight that a pro player carries during the season.

"I'm so sorry, Linc," she says into my chest. "You played such a good game, and you worked so hard."

My chest warms at her words. They don't make everything okay, don't make me forget the yards I didn't get that could've led to first downs, or the plays I know I should have done differently. But it does make me feel better.

She lets go sooner than I'm ready for, and I reluctantly let her. She steps back.

"Thanks," I say, hoping she knows how much I mean that. "I'm glad you came."

She beams. "Thanks for inviting me. It was so fun. I felt like a movie star or something, up in a special suite."

I lower my voice. "We both know you're going to be one very soon anyway."

She grins. "One step at a time." But despite her words, the determination is in her eyes. She will make it, and despite the fact that I do think Jack Williams robbed her of a career she should already have, I'm glad she's going to do it on her own without having to look back and wonder if her relationship with him was the reason she got a part she wanted. And yeah, maybe I talked to Nick and maybe the director thought about her more seriously because of it, but this is all her. All the way that people have fallen in love with her, if their obsession with our relationship is any indication. Nobody cared who some running back on the Rays dated until it was Layla Delaford.

I reach out and finger the silky fabric of her sleeve and then drop it without gripping her arm and pulling her closer to me like I want to. "Nice shirt."

She does a little twirl for me, like I don't already know it's my jersey. "This one's not Hurley's," she says. Her cheeks are a little pink, and it makes me hopeful that she feels this buzz between us too. It doesn't mean she'll jump right into a relationship with me, even if she does feel it, but it might make telling her how I feel easier.

I wait a beat too long to say something, weighing my next words more than necessary. Even though it feels awkward, and she'd likely say my timing was off, I say, "It looks a lot better than his did."

She laughs, so maybe it wasn't as dumb to say as my brain is telling me. Maybe I'm slowly starting to get comfortable with her the way I am with my teammates. She reaches toward me and grips my arm. "You had a great game, Linc. I know it didn't turn out like you wanted, but you were amazing, and I'm really proud of you. You fought hard."

I could burst into flames right here at those words. She's proud of me? It makes me lighter than air. My mom tells me after almost every game that she sees my hard work, and that no matter the outcome, she knows I'm doing my best. It's a whole other thing hearing Layla tell me that.

"Thanks." It's so pitiful compared to how I feel about it. I love you, Layla Delaford. That's what I want to say. That's what I keep back, because as much as I feel it, she deserves for me to honor the boundaries she needs.

She drops her hand and turns to Court, reaching out to tap her lightly on the shoulder. "I need to go," she says, her voice reluctant. She glances back at me, giving a light-hearted grimace. "My mom watched Margot multiple days last week since the truck's so busy and now today too. I feel guilty." She turns back to Court. "I'll just grab an Uber so you don't have to leave." She gestures toward Eli, who has his arm around Court and is holding her close.

"We'll drive you," Mila says, tugging Landon forward. I didn't even notice he was here. Guess my focus is a little narrow.

"You sure?" Layla glances around, her eyes bright as she takes in the scene. "I don't want you to leave early on my account."

"No problem," Landon says. "We wouldn't miss seeing Margot for a bunch of football players." They shift toward the doors, and Layla moves to follow.

I grab her hand before she can go and use it to tug her close. "Thanks again for coming." I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. It's not enough, but for now it has to do.

She bites her lip, eyes darting down toward mine, and then swallows. "Thanks again for the tickets," she says, her voice breathless. She slips her hand from mine, and then follows Landon and Mila. She looks over her shoulder at me a few times as they leave, and she catches me watching her every time.

Dottie is absolutely right. I'm going to tell her how I feel, tell her I'll support whatever she needs our relationship to look like right now, but I'm going to tell her I love her. Soon.