Page 104 of The Shot You Missed
“Yeah.” Indie shifts again. “Maybe someday. Thanks, Luz. That means a lot to me.”
There’s something in Indie’s tone that has me looking down at her. Those pretty lips I love to kiss are pressed in a tight, thin line, and I worry this conversation is making her uncomfortable. Does she feel ashamed that she hasn’t published any books yet? She shouldn’t. But I know Indie’s always been her own worst critic, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
I lean over and press a kiss to her temple. “You’ll make it big, sweetheart,” I whisper. “I know you will.”
She stares up at me, her features tight, and I wish we were alone so I could press her to find out what has her bothered. But we’re not, so I won’t.
“Is Isaiah still dating that woman?” I ask my parents, changing the subject. “What’s her name again? I should know this.”
My dad chuckles. “Brynlee. And surprisingly, yes.” He turns to my mom. “It’s been, what, six months now? A new record for him.”
Mom whacks dad on the arm playfully. “He’s just a free spirit.”
“Sure. That’s it. He’s never had a relationship last more than a year because he’s a free spirit.” I chuckle and lean in to whisper the next part in Indie’s ear. It’s quiet enough that my parents won’t hear, because my mom would have my ass if she did. “My brother is a complete commitment-phobe. The minute a woman saysI love you, he runs for the hills, screaming.”
Indie covers her laugh with her hand.
“Mijo, are you saying mean things about your brother?” My mom glares at me, which makes my dad break out into laughter. Isaiah’s relationships are a running joke among the men in our family. But with my mom? That’s her baby. He can do no wrong. Well, to a point. She’d never stand for him hurting someone.
“No, Mom. Of course not.” I try to hide my grin while my fingers tangle in Indie’s curls. I can’t keep my hands off her, and as much as I love and have missed my parents, I’m counting down the minutes until we can leave so I can get my girlfriend alone.
Pressing another kiss to her temple, because I can’t resist her, my eyes connect with a man a few tables over. He’s whispering with another man at his table, and my stomach sinks a bit.
With every playoff game we win, our faces are flashed across the city and the internet more and more. Hell, I’m pretty sure my face is on at least a few buses here in the Twin Cities. It means we’ve all been recognized more than normal.
I don’t mind meeting fans, taking photos, signing autographs, and chatting for a few minutes. But I know it makes Indie uncomfortable, and I meant what I said when I promised I’d protect her. And that means shielding her from attention as much as possible.
Unfortunately, if the phones pointed in our direction are any indication, that’s a promise I may not be able to keep tonight to the degree I’d like. I can only hope they zoomed in on me and left Indie out of whatever photos they took.
I’ll need to reach out to my agent and ask her to keep an eye on things for me. She’s good at her job, and though I’ve never needed any kind of crisis management, since I keep a lower profile and don’t fuck around the way some guys do, she does have people on standby if one of her clients needs it. Not that we’ll need crisis management. Indie’s biggest claim to fameand the most interesting thing about her in the public’s opinion is that she’s Robert and Vivian’s daughter. That’s the least interesting thing about her, of course, but the public tends to be unimaginative.
Still, Indie has had enough traumatic experiences with intrusive attention that it would be wise to have a game plan in our pockets just in case.
The temptation to walk over to that table and ask them to delete whatever photos they’ve taken is strong, but I won’t. All it would do is draw more attention to us, and Indie would hate that. And when they get up to leave, the opportunity is gone.
At least they had the good sense not to come over and request an autograph or something in the middle of a family dinner. Not everyone has that much consideration.
Conversation continues to flow, and soon I forget all about the table of fans and focus on three of the people I love most in this life.
“You’re going to visit for a few weeks this summer, right?” my mom asks with a twinkle in her eyes. “Both of you.”
I clear my throat, tightening my grip on poor Indie, who has just been ambushed by my mom. Agreeing to a multi-week visit on a whim isn’t something I want her to feel pressured into.
“We’ll talk about it, Mom. You can’t spring stuff like that on Indie.”
“Actually”—Indie clears her throat and glances at me out of the corner of her eye before returning her attention to my mom—“I’d love that. I haven’t been back to Bar Harbor since…” Her cheeks grow pink as she lets the rest of her words hang unsaid, in the ether.
Since she ran away that summer.
Indie chews on her bottom lip as she looks at me. “If that’s okay with you?”
Dropping her curls, I wrap my fingers around the nape of her neck and give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Of course, that’s okay with me, Rosebud.”
I’d love nothing more.
“Great.” My mom claps her hands, beaming at both of us. She looks so happy, you’d think we announced our engagement, not that we agreed to a vacation. But in her mind, we’re one step closer to that becoming reality.
I hope that’s true.
