“You look like shit.”
Every time I blinked my eyes, my head throbbed harder. I attempted to lift my aching skull from the pillow but had to put it back down again. It was nearly four in the morning when we finally went to sleep. I’d cried so much, I was certain the headache was caused partly by dehydration.
“What time is it?” My voice was a groan littered with cracks.
“Time for you to get your sorry ass out of bed.”
I pulled the cover up over my head. “I liked you better when you felt sorry for me and sat up handing me tissues from the box.” After Brody had left, Indie held me for hours while I cried. I cried right through intoxicated and straight into a hangover.
“You have to be at the pregame at one, and it’s going to take you an hour to get the swelling under your eyes down. I ordered you breakfast. Dry toast, a pot of coffee, orange juice and a side order of ice for that face.”
I pulled the blanket down enough to poke one eye out. “Where are you going?” She was tying her shoes.
“For a run.”
“Ugh.” I pulled the cover back over my head.
“There’s two Motrin on the table next to you and water. Suck it down and stay in bed until room service knocks.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
She chuckled. “Be back in an hour. Don’t fall back asleep.”
At least I look way better than I feel. I stared at my reflection in the shiny metal-and-glass door in the hallway leading to the locker room. The Steel had won 21-14, with Brody running in the winning touchdown with thirty seconds left in the game. He deserved to be happy. The last week had been awful, to say the least. A lesser player might not have been able to focus and play the way he had. I was proud of him, but also extremely anxious to walk into that locker room.
Playoff games had triple the number of reporters. Everyone needed a sound bite for the news tonight, and most wanted more. The lines to speak to the players would be an hour long. We had three reporters going in today, not just me. Nick approached with Michael Langley at his side. “You ready?” Nick had flown in this morning, and I doubted he knew that Brody and I broke up.
“Yes.” I picked up my bag and started to follow, but Michael stopped me, putting his hand on my arm.
“You okay?”
I forced a smile. “I’m ready. Don’t worry.”
“That’s not what I asked. Are you okay?”
I took a breath. “I will be. Thank you.”
He nodded.
We waited in line forever and worked out our attack plan of player interviews. Michael claimed Brody and a defensive lineman who’d recovered a fumble. Indie had mentioned seeing Michael at the gym this morning, and I had a feeling that she had filled him in a little—enough to make sure I didn’t have to interview Brody. I was grateful for the reprieve. I picked two of the less exciting players, careful to also stay away from Colin, who happened to have had the best game of his career. It meant the lines for my interviews would be the shortest.
I tried to avoid stealing glances at Brody, but my eyes didn’t follow my brain’s direction. He was wearing his signature towel wrapped around his waist, but his cocky smile was nowhere to be found. At one point, Nick, Michael and I were standing in the open center of the locker room, and my eyes locked with Brody’s. He was between interviews and waiting for Angie Snow and her cameraman to finish setting up to film. A pang of jealousy hit me. Angie was gorgeous—young, blonde, curvy and very touchy-feely. She said something to him and reached out to touch his arm, and I had to look away. But like a bad car accident, I went back for more gore.
Brody’s eyes flitted back and forth between Angie and me as he spoke to her while her cameraman tinkered with his equipment. I was so preoccupied with watching the two of them, I didn’t realize Michael had asked me a question and was waiting for a response.
“Delilah?”
“Hmmm?” I turned to Michael.
He furrowed his brow. Then leaned into me and whispered, “We can handle this if you need to take a break.”
I assured him I was fine and just a little overwhelmed by the craziness of my first playoff locker room trip. When Michael had leaned down to me, his hand had gone to the small of my back. I hadn’t even realized it was still there until I saw the look on Brody’s face. His eyes were burning into where Michael was touching me. He looked furious, about to blow. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights when his eyes lifted to meet mine.
Angie’s cameraman said something, and Brody’s attention was forced back to the impending interview. Just as the light flashed on Brody and the cameraman lifted his camera into position, Brody glanced over at me one more time. It was the exact same minute Michael leaned in again to say something. I grimaced as I watched Brody’s face shift from angry to an evil smile.
He turned his focus back to Angie, and she shot her first question off. His response played out in slow motion for me. He grinned wide, then his hand slowly went to the knot at his towel, and he gave it a little tug. It fell to the ground. I didn’t stick around to watch the rest—I already knew what came next. And my guess was that Angie wouldn’t put up half the fight that I had.