“We threw him out the bathroom window.”
Haven’s eyes had widened. “Did he get hurt?”
“Nah. He landed on top of the Dumpster, then rolled off that and onto the ground in the alley. Then we hurried out the back and dragged him back to the car.”
He could tell Haven fought to keep a straight face. “Poor Drew.”
“He was fine. Drunks are very resilient.”
They wrapped up and Andy left them back at the house. It was hard saying good-bye to Ginger, but Trevor had to get on a plane and head to Tampa. He had deadlines to make and he needed to get ready to play.
He and Haven got in the car and made the drive back to St. Louis.
“How do you think it went?” she asked as they drove along the turnpike.
He turned to her. “How do I think what—oh, the interview stuff? Fine, I guess. How do you think it went?”
“It’s good. Really good, Trevor.”
He liked hearing the confidence in her voice, was happy to see her focused on work.
“Trevor, this piece would be so rich if we could touch on your early family life, if we could talk to your parents.”
He gripped the steering wheel. There was so much she didn’t know, so much about him—about his past and, hell, even his current life—that she was unaware of. Dipping into the past would only open old wounds and possibly expose his secret. That he would never do. It was too much of a risk. “No.”
“I don’t understand. Is there something you’re ashamed of? A lot of players have ugly childhoods, you know. You’ve risen above it, become a success. We could—”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Haven.”
“You don’t trust me.”
He shook his head, trying to keep his focus on the road. “Let’s not talk about this while I’m trying to drive. I need to focus.”
“Okay.”
He’d put her off, for now.
But he knew she was going to bring it up again.
And he was going to shut her down again.
And he’d keep doing it.
For his own preservation, and for the safety of the secret he’d held all these years.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE BALL SAILED THROUGH THE AIR IN A PERFECT arc. Trevor never once took his eyes off it, though part of him recognized the safety on a path to his position. He dug in and pushed, racing to beat the corner to the first down line.
He reached for the ball and it landed right at his chest. The safety slammed into him and pushed him out of bounds. Holding tight to the ball, Trevor rolled to the ground.
The whistle blew, and Barrett Cassidy held out his hand. Trevor grabbed it and Barrett hauled him up.
“A few more steps, I would’ve had ya,” Barrett said.
Trevor laughed. “You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” Trevor slapped Barrett’s helmet and the two of them trotted back to the line of scrimmage.
“Good catch,” his coach said as the offense regrouped.
It was a grueling practice. It might be early October, but in Tampa, it was still hot. Sweat dripped down Trevor’s neck, but he had to focus. He was playing catch-up with the team that already had played three games. They’d won two, lost the last one. He had to meet rookies and reinsert himself with his teammates again.
Nothing he wasn’t used to, but it always took him a while to change gears from baseball to football.
He caught sight of Haven walking the side of the field. Andy the camera guy was there, too, taking shots of him at practice.
He hadn’t seen much of her since they’d gotten back to St. Louis. He’d packed up and grabbed a flight right away, while she’d stayed behind to finish up footage to send in to her studio.
It had been three days. He’d missed her. He’d invited her to stay at his place, but she hadn’t answered him. She’d told him she was arriving today, so she must have come right to the field.
He wanted some alone time with her, but damned if he knew when he was going to get it. That was why he was hoping she’d stay with him at the house.
After practice ended, he stopped and talked to his coach, George, for a few minutes.
“There’s a rookie tight end that wants your job this year,” George told him.
“Warrell Timmons,” Trevor said. “Kind of a hotshot punk.”
George laughed. “He’s good.”
“Not as good as I am.”
George slapped him on the back. “That’s what I like about you, Trevor. You’re always so modest.”
“You don’t like me because I’m modest, George. You like me because I’m one of the best tight ends you’ve ever had.”