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  Chantel picked up her glass from the table, drawing Amber’s attention back to her. “I don’t have to know exactly what happened,” she began. “I’m sure it was worthy of your anger.” She took a sip, eyeing Amber over the top of her glass before setting it down. “But I’m pretty sure a three-year penance should about cover it.”

  Amber remained silent. There wasn’t anything for her to say. She had no easy answers for Chantel, and if she had, she wouldn’t have supplied them anyway. When she finally came to a conclusion, the first person she would tell was Tank.

  But the manners her father and Nona had tried so hard to instill in her reared up.

  “Sure,” she said demurely. “I don’t think either one of us has really determined anything yet. It’s more like a wait and see.” She smiled gently, softening the edges of her response.

  Chantel sat back, and Amber knew she was being assessed and judged. She wanted not to care, but Tank’s earlier words echoed in her mind. The woman across from her was Tank’s only family. Amber wanted to get along with her, but Chantel seemed to have some problem that prevented her from accepting Amber.

  “Wait and see,” Chantel repeated. “I guess, if you feel like you have the time for that. If it were me, I’d be worried he might get tired of waiting and go back to the girl who seemed to accept him, no matter what,” Chantel stated.

  Amber blinked, disbelief spiraling through her, and her temper finally snapped. “You mean, Madison?”

  Chantel smiled. “She’s been there for him for the last couple of years. I’m just saying, you might want to make up your mind before the decision is taken away from you.”

  Amber had no words. She imagined she flopped around, like a fish with no water.

  She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” She placed her napkin on her chair and turned, controlling every movement.

  When she returned, she survived the rest of lunch—barely.

  The things she needed to think about stacked up in her brain like a pile of newspapers waiting for the recycling bin. She couldn’t figure anything out with Tank around.

  Their trip back to his loft was much the same as the drive to lunch. Silent and heavy. They’d each retreated into their own space, which was weighed down with fear and expectation. She didn’t explain what happened at lunch when they returned to his house. They exchanged empty words and loaded actions.

  She packed.

  He watched.

  She feared.

  He hoped.

  She left.

  June

  The next two weeks flew by.

  Tank texted her the day she left Atlanta after lunch with his mom, asking her to let him know that she’d arrived home. She did. Then he tried to call a couple of times, but she let his calls go to voice mail, and when he didn’t leave a message, she didn’t call him back.

  She never took the time to explain what had happened between her and Chantel. Explanations would have accompanied excuses and assurances. She decided against those now when distance was what she craved. The seed of change planted by Molly had sprouted and taken root. She longed for clarity, some innate knowledge of surety. In a Tank-dominated universe, could she independently change the course of her life without inadvertently diverting her orbit more firmly in his magnetic pull?

  Amber embraced the separation for what it was—a vacuum where she could redirect the course of her life. Her first step though, much like three years ago, began with Coach Whitehurst.

  Amber followed Whitey into his office and took a seat in front of his desk. She looked around because she hadn’t spent much time in his domain.

  They’d meet in the war room to drink coffee and review the day before everyone else showed up. She and Whitey worked what seemed to be full days prior to the regular office hubbub.

  What’s that Army slogan?

  We do more before 9 a.m. than most people do all day.

  That was the kind of rapport she’d had with Whitey for three years. When she walked through that door to join his staff, she was a kid. Sure, she was a kid who had survived a lot of craziness, but she was still a child. During her time on his staff, she grew up a lot. She was wiser than she had been—but not necessarily smarter.

  So, she felt some serious trepidation about the conversation she was about to have with him.

  “So,” Whitey said as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk, “what’s so important that you had to make an appointment?”

  Amber should have known Whitey wouldn’t beat around the bush. She shifted to the side and crossed her right leg over her left. “I wanted to discuss something with you.”

  He laughed. “I gathered that.”

  When she didn’t pick up the conversation gauntlet, he dropped his feet to the floor and shifted forward. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he skewered her with a look she’d seen on his face but never had it directed at her. “Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  She took the out he’d offered. “Oh, yeah? What’s up?”

  “I got a call from a friend of mine. He was asking some questions about you.”

  For a split second, Amber thought he was talking about Tank. But then she realized how stupid that thought was, and she pushed it aside. She’d been doing that a lot recently—pushing thoughts of Tank out of her mind.

  “Me? Who was asking about me and for what?”

  “Ken Swonson.”

  Amber grinned. She couldn’t help it. Sometimes, she forgot how small the world of college athletics really was. She wasn’t sure if Molly had dropped some subtle hints or if Coach Swonson had found out about her from someone else, but she took it as a sign that maybe this was the right move.

  “Really?”

  Whitey smirked. He knew that she knew where this conversation was going. “We gonna play it that way?”

  Amber laughed then, too, and the tension ebbed. “Funny. It’s just hard for me to go there.” She started to get choked up, and her face flushed with embarrassment.

  Whitey could handle a lot, but there was no way she was going to let him see her get teary-eyed. She composed herself while Whitey pretended to look at his phone, which they both knew was a prop because, as he’d said on numerous occasions, he hated the fucking thing.

  “There’s a job I’m interested in, and I wanted to get your opinion on it.”

  Whitey’s face went soft, and for the first time since she’d started working for him, he looked at her with a fondness that bordered on parental approval. This time, she pretended to occupy herself while he composed himself.

  “Whatcha got?” he finally barked, the familiar bite back.

  “Swonson has a Director of Player Personnel position open.” She took a deep breath, knowing that, once she opened this door, there was probably no going back. “What’s your take on him, his organization, and the job?”

  Whitey’s face became intent. “He’s a good man, honest. He does everything above board, which I know is important to you. He has to recruit against me, so he’s at a disadvantage there.”

  She smiled when he winked at her.

  “This is a competitive conference, as you know. He’s a young coach. He came up through the ranks, definitely paid his dues. He has some organizational management issues. But he’ll learn. And, of course, if he surrounds himself with a strong staff, he’ll give me a run for my money.” Whitey paused, but she knew he wasn’t done, so she stayed silent. “He reminds me of another young coach I knew. Steadfast, honest, hardworking. He left me when the time was right. Makes me proud on most Sundays.”

  Amber didn’t need to acknowledge that she knew he was talking about Franco. She got it, and it helped. Everything he was saying supported the research she’d already done. As of yet, she hadn’t found a reason not to at least look into the job.

  “As far as the position, I like you in Ops. You’re organized and a hustler, so nothing falls through the cracks. But I also know about y
our secret activities in the film room.”

  For the second time, her mind flashed to Tank, and she thought about the secret little activity they had performed in the film room. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but she tried to focus on what Whitey was saying.

  “You got an eye for talent. We all know that, so I think you would be good at the job. With your ability to manage people and information, you’d be an asset to his program.”

  Whitey didn’t compliment. You knew you were doing a good job because he trusted you with information and responsibility. So, his praise wrapped around her and warmed her, made her proud.

  “Swonson wants you, sight unseen. Not sure who he’s been talking to, but he’s already impressed. If you throw your name in the hat, you’ll have a job offer. You really just have to decide if you want it.”

  He stopped talking, rolled his chair back, and propped his feet back up onto his desk.

  Amber leaned back in her chair and thought about what he’d said. She wanted to say more, mostly to thank him for everything he’d done for her, for taking a chance on her, and for letting her learn. She somehow knew, if she didn’t take the opportunity to talk to him now, she wouldn’t get another one. “I’m worried about leaving you high and dry.”

  “Camp’s ready to go.”

  She nodded even though it was a statement.

  “I’m sure every travel arrangement that can already be taken care of has been.”

  “Hotels are booked with the exception of postseason. Charters are lined up. When the budget closes at the end of June, I’ll have all the requests for payments turned in. Game-day operation meetings are on everyone’s calendars.”

  Whitey held up a hand. “I don’t need a rundown. That shit bores the hell out of me.”

  “Right,” she said.

  “No offense, but I’ll have the best and the brightest contacting me the moment word leaks that you might be leaving. I won’t even have to work to fill the job.”

  She wanted him to say that he’d miss having her around and maybe beg her to stay because he knew no one could do the job like her.

  Talk about ego.

  But Whitey wouldn’t do that, and she knew it. He’d let her go and wish her well, but he wouldn’t beg anyone to stay with him.

  “I…” She tried to come up with the words to express her gratitude. “Thanks for everything, for taking a chance on me.”

  But he waved her off. “Keep me posted,” he said, dismissing her.

  Amber stood and turned, walking to the door.

  “You’re gonna be great, kid,” he said just as she stepped through the doorway.

  At least, she thought that was what he’d said.

  After she’d contacted Coach Swonson, things moved at warp speed. She applied and then drove over for a two-day interview. The time there convinced her she was making the right move. Ken Swonson was a force, and Whitey was right. She could see her father in the young coach, and that comforted her.

  He’d handed her a list of the top one hundred prospects and asked her to evaluate them by ranking them according to whatever system she wanted. A small part of her felt disloyal, sharing her system with a man she didn’t know when she’d never even shown it to Whitey, so she left out parts of it. She was still able to make her point, and she knew he was impressed. He played devil’s advocate on a couple, and they had a pretty healthy debate on the importance of putting the right pieces in play.

  Amber had stopped by Franco’s on her way home and spent the night there. Neither Molly nor Franco asked about Tank, and Amber didn’t offer any information.

  But, on her way home, as she drove through Atlanta, her mind could no longer block out the thoughts.

  Before she could even think about what she was doing, she ordered Siri to call Tank. As the Bluetooth in her car connected, every muscle in her body tensed. She couldn’t decide what she was hoping would happen, and when he answered the phone, she relaxed into the seat, her reaction a true tell of her feelings.

  “Hey,” he answered. His voice floated through the car, cutting through the road noise and smoothing her out like a hot iron on wrinkled fabric.

  She didn’t respond as she tried to figure out what to say.

  “Please tell me this isn’t a butt-dial, Sunshine.” His voice came through again, loud and clear and pleading.

  “Hey,” she managed, a wobbly version of her voice.

  “Where are you? Sounds like you’re driving.”

  “Seventy-five, eighty-five.”

  “You’re in Atlanta?” His voice boomed, part-disbelieving, part-hoping.

  “Driving through,” she responded.

  She was almost out of reach. If she hadn’t wanted to see him, she would have called when she passed I-20. But she called as soon as she hit the connector. She could still exit on Freedom Parkway and backtrack to his house without really going out of her way.

  “Stop. I’ll come meet you. Where are you?” His words were rushed, like he knew she was going eighty miles an hour, and if she kept driving without some deliberation, she’d be out of reach.

  “Name a place in the Highlands. I can be there in ten.” She almost couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth.

  “Neighbor’s.”

  She disconnected. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but as she pulled off the highway and drove toward Tank, everything about her lightened. So, she had gotten scared and hadn’t talked to him in two weeks. It wasn’t the end of the world or their budding relationship. She knew she had to figure things out, and it wasn’t fair of her to shut him out like she had. As much as they were familiar, they were also new. So what if his mother didn’t approve of her? She would eventually; Amber was sure of it.

  But she owed Tank an apology…and maybe a blow job.

  She turned onto North Highland Avenue and into the parking lot of the restaurant. By some miracle, she was able to pull right into a spot. She sat for a moment, collecting herself. Pulling down the visor, she did a quick makeup check. Somewhat satisfied, she grabbed her purse and opened the door. She got out of the car and turned.

  “Shit,” she jumped. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  Tank stood two feet in front of her, sheepish in his expression. “Sorry. I saw you pull in, and basically, I hurdled the railing to get to you.” He grinned.

  She smiled back. “Hi.”

  He stepped to her, his hands quickly finding their spots—left hand on her scar, right hand on her hip—and he pulled her forward. His mouth landed on hers with an inelegant thump, but his lips immediately gentled the intrusion, softly and unhurriedly kissing her. They both sighed into the kiss, the contact electric and soothing, exciting and familiar. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, kissing. But Tank began to relent, pulling away by dropping little kisses on her mouth.

  “I missed you,” he said, his lips skating along her scar.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just wasn’t ready to answer any questions yet.”

  He stayed pressed against her, his head bent low. “I’m not pushing,” he replied just as softly.

  “I know,” she murmured. “But maybe you should.”

  Tank released Amber from the confines of his arms, but he clasped her hand, interlocking their fingers and directing her across the parking lot onto the deck of the restaurant. He maneuvered her around the tables until he came upon the one he’d been sitting at, waiting so impatiently for her to arrive.

  The patrons seated around them clapped loudly, teasing Tank about his hurdle over the railing.

  “If I hadn’t known you were an athlete, I would have figured it out.”

  “Dude, you sailed over the rail. I thought you were chasing a criminal.”

  Tank tried to play it off, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself and Amber than his stunt already had. He pulled out a chair for her and sat down, acknowledging the good-natured ribbings with a couple of waves around the deck. He was still flying high from
Amber’s phone call, so the teasing going on around him did nothing to penetrate the high he was enjoying. Even the people who approached for an autograph, pulling his attention from Amber, couldn’t dampen the elation he was experiencing.

  He’d been wallowing for the last two weeks. He didn’t want to crowd her, so he kept his attempts at talking to her to one a day even though he had the desire to drive to Alabama every day. It was a long two weeks.

  Reaching over, he laced his fingers through hers again and dropped his other elbow on the table. “It’s good to see you, Sunshine,” he said when the hubbub had finally receded.

  She smiled at him, and he couldn’t fight the wide grin on his face.

  “You, too.”

  “Were you visiting Franco? How are the As?” Immediately, she shot him a guarded look, and he returned it with a questioning one. “Is something going on?”

  Her eyes shifted away from his.

  When she didn’t answer him, he asked, “Is this a difficult question?”

  She laughed uneasily. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I stayed with Franco last night. But I was here, interviewing with Coach Swonson.”

  Tank didn’t know how to react. He wanted to hurdle another railing or maybe the building, Superman-like. “Oh?” he said, regulating his voice, disguising the glee he was feeling.

  Working for Swonson meant she could live with him, or they could buy something in between. It smacked of opportunity and openness.

  She held up her hand, reading something on his face he’d tried but failed to hide. “It’s a great position for me. Director of Player Personnel.”

  “Nice,” Tank said, infusing his voice with the enthusiasm he’d felt a second before. “How’d it go?”

  Amber smiled. “Really good.”

  “What was good?”

  Amber was rarely effusive, but when it was about football and scouting, he could get her to the point where she wouldn’t shut up.

  “The position is perfect for me and my skill set. He wants me to review film, to help the direction of their recruiting efforts. He gave me the top one hundred prospects from last year and asked me, based on how I typically evaluate, who I would have recommended for his program. I fudged my system a little bit in case I don’t get the job, but it was a really good discussion. And he challenged me on a few of them, but I think he was just playing devil’s advocate. I like him, too. He kind of reminds me of Franco, but I’m not sure if I would have come to that conclusion on my own or if Whitey planted the seed in my head.” She shrugged with something that looked like indifference, but he could tell how excited she was about the possibilities. “I could see myself there.”