Chapter 38

: Andi

A fter several hours of ecstasy, I finally decide to bite the bullet and check my phone. As feared, the notifications are out of control. It’s going to take me hours to go through all of these.

Brandon snores quietly next to me, his dark hair spilling on the pillow. I push it out of his face so I can see him more clearly. He looks younger without the stress of life on him.

I wish it could always be like this. But the weight of the phone in my hand reminds me that it’s not. Careful not to wake him, I slide out of bed. His robe hangs on the back of the bathroom door, so I help myself to it.

My hair has been thoroughly destroyed. I look in the bathroom mirror. This is definitely the definition of bedhead. Lucky for me, Brandon has a cache of hair products and tools.

I’ve never been with a guy who had this kind of stuff. As I pull out my rubber band, it snaps. Brandon also has hair ties. Not gonna lie, the one he gave me the first time I was here has quickly become one of my favorites. I snag another one and twist it around my hair, now secured in a messy bun on the top of my head.

I creep downstairs and see a coffee pot on the counter. I fill it with grounds and water and set it to brew. Then, I grab a pad of paper from my bag and start taking notes, making a prioritized list of whom I have to contact.

Benj not only texted multiple times but he called too. He very rarely calls, so I know he was worried. He’s my first response.

Me: I’m ok. I have a lot to work through, but I’m fine. I’ll call you as soon as I can. Don’t worry.

He immediately texts back.

Benj: It’s not every day my sister is assaulted on the job on national TV. I’m glad Nix pounded the shit out of him.

Benj doesn’t usually advocate for violence, so this is a surprise. So is his next text.

Benj: Still hate him? winky emoji

The next set of messages are enough to wipe the smile from my face though. Though not unexpected, I was hoping that the outrageousness of Seamus O’Marra’s conduct toward me would be enough to outweigh the implications of Brandon’s reaction.

It does not appear as if luck was on my side with this one. As I read it, my stomach falls to the floor, and I’m overcome with the most intense desire to vomit. My mouth is dry, and my hands shake. I’m simultaneously cold yet sweating at the same time.

Dear Ms. Nichols,

Please be advised that I have scheduled a meeting with Samuel Fredericks on Tuesday, September 3 in the Atlanta main office to discuss the events of the game between the Miami Wave and the Boston Buzzards on September 1. You may bring your union representative with you.

Nathan Forget

No regards. No fondest wishes. No have a safe trip down here.

Simply come in tomorrow and meet with the president of the USSLRA. And bring a union rep.

That’s probably what’s got me the most scared.

I immediately forward this email to my union people and request someone to attend the meeting with me. I’m not sure how it works, but I hope for my sake whoever they send is good.

I write down on my list: book flight to Atl .

There are multiple requests from news organizations requesting a story or a comment. Those go in the ignore pile for right now.

Hannah texted me.

Hannah: Girl, you okay?

Short, sweet, and to the point.

I like Hannah LaRosa. I also know, from digging around her social media, that she helped Ophelia Henry find the information to exonerate Xavier Henry from whatever bad press he’d received that got him bounced from the British Football League. I should put her on a retainer to help Brandon.

Brandon .

I look around his oak-filled kitchen and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Coming here was probably the exact wrong thing to do. Kissing him was bad enough. Now, by sleeping with him, I’ve all but said goodbye to my career.

I deserve to be fired.

“Hey, whatcha doing?” Brandon stumbles into the kitchen. He’s moving stiffly, almost limping. His right hand is raw and red.

I nod toward his hand. “You should’ve iced that last night.”

“I should have iced my whole body, but I had better things to do.” He leans down and kisses me lightly on the lips. “So is it? Or is it top secret? More of your spy work?”

“Nothing classified here.” I hold up my phone in one hand and the paper in the other. “Going through my phone. It blew up while I had it turned off.”

Brandon pours himself a cup of coffee and sits down. “Anything good?”

“Well, my brother is, quote, happy you beat the shit out of him , end quote.” That earns me a smile.

Brandon raises his eyebrows. “Anything else? Your face says there might be more than texts from Benj.”

My heart does a double beat with the fact that Brandon remembered my brother’s name.

“I have to fly to Atlanta for a meeting with HQ.”

“That sounds ominous.”

I nod. “Especially since it’s not only with my manager, Nathan Forget, but the president of the USSLRA, Samuel Fredericks. They told me to bring my union rep.”

“Shit.”

“I know.” I hold my mug of coffee cupped between both hands.

“What are you going to do?”

I stare at the brown liquid in my cup, hoping it has the answers like tea leaves are supposed to.

It does not.

“I don’t know. I mean, best case, I’ll never ref in the MUSSL again. My dream career is done.”

Brandon cocks his head. “Why do you say that?”

I look around his kitchen then down at myself in his bathrobe. “I’d definitely say this counts as fraternizing. It’s a fireable offense.”

“Probably only with an active player. Which I’m not. I no longer play in the MUSSL. I’m not a soccer player anymore.”

His words are like a punch to the gut. I reach out and put my hand on his. “Don’t say that. Pay your fine. Serve your suspension. Do whatever they want you to do. Don’t give up playing.”

A pained expression crosses his face. “I already did. There wasn’t much option, was there?”

“Well, you didn’t have to pound Seamus O’Marra into the ground, though I’m glad you did.”

“I did have to. No one touches you like that and gets away with it.”

I’m trying to figure out where his passion for this is coming from. Hell, I could barely get Mike to call a foul on the guy. “Why? Why did you risk it all for me?”

Before he can answer that, my phone dings with another notification. It’s James York, the union rep who will be attending the meeting. He asks me to call him.

“I’m sorry, Brandon, I have to make a call.”

He stands up slowly, the toll of the game evident on his body. “No worries, I’m gonna go have a soak in my tub. Just don’t fall off my treadmill while I’m in there.”

“I didn’t fall off the treadmill until you came back,” I grumble.

Even though we’re going to be speaking on the phone, not Face Timing, I don’t feel right doing it sitting in Brandon’s bathrobe with nothing else underneath. I run up to Brandon’s room and throw on my clothes from yesterday. I feel gross, but this is the price you pay for booty calling without proper preparation.

I stop, midway through putting my shirt on. Booty call? Is that what this is? It certainly doesn’t feel like a booty call. It doesn’t feel like a one-night stand or a casual hookup.

I don’t know what it feels like, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt it before. It’s more . It’s pillow talk and breakfasts and watching seasons change. It’s cooking in the same kitchen and picking each other up from the airport. It’s calling from the car when it’s been a bad day. It’s falling into his arms every night.

It feels like it’s worth sacrificing my career for.

I know that’s a stupid, rash thing to think. It’s a very Brandon-type of statement. But for once in my life, I’m not worrying about what would be easiest and most convenient for everyone else around me. As much as I want to keep refereeing, it is a finite career, based on my physical ability to keep up. I won’t have that forever. For the first time, I’m looking beyond that to what I want to come home to every night.

Who I want to come home to every night.

The answer is undeniably clear.

As sure as I was that Brandon deserved a foul for kicking Trevyon Wallis-Smalls, I’m sure that we deserve more with each other.

I dial the number sent to me and discuss everything with James that’s been said to me up to this point. He asks for emails and screenshots of what I have.

I wish I had a screen recording of that Zoom call where I asked about the salary charts.

I’ve already put everything on the line. If I’m going down, I’ll make it in a blaze of glory.

“James ... there’s this one other thing.”