Nick sighs. “Well, I just need you to put in the work. Your husband is so head over heels, he might not be thinking straight about football, because he’s thinking about you. And, for the record, I’m in favor of this, of you two, now more than ever. Because of everything with Foller, well, it’s not that you two together is a distraction. It’s that your love isn’t controversial. And I’m happy for him. I don’t tell him this, but I worried that guy would make his entire life about football and wake up one day when it’s over full of regret. I’m extra happy he gets that happily ever after with the girl he told me about years ago.”

I swear, the room sways. Years ago?

“So Fitz told you about everything?” I push for clarification. “He told you about us?”

Nick nods. “Look, I might represent him, but he’s still my friend. Of course I’m happy that the guy locked down the girl who got away. I mean, that tattoo? If it wasn’t in such a taboo place”—he laughs—“I’d have him mention it publicly.”

I stop breathing.

Images of Fitz flash before my eyes, but particularly one—us in bed that night in the White House. Around the mug, my fingers flex the way they did against the back of his neck that night in the dim—but not totally dark—room. I see no tattoos on his skin, nothing on his chest, his shoulders. But then I remember the way I pulled at his underwear and how he moved my hand away.

“I can’t,” he pants. “We won’t be able to handle it.”

Of all the things I imagined Fitz was talking about, none of them had anything to do with something he might be hiding from me.

“You two.” He laughs. “Rebels only, right?”

My eyes fly up to his.

“It’s a pretty cute story when you think about it.” Nick’s smile disappears and his face grows serious. “Just, please. I need you to be better with communicating, especially if he’s on the road. I get this is new territory for you. But you’re a part of his team as much as I am. Do you understand?”

I finally do.

For Fitz, nothing has been fake this entire time.

Chapter 32

“Welcome back, sir.”

I offer Agent Samuels a small salute as enter the apartment, tossing the garment bag I picked up on my way home to the bench. I’ll admit, I had a bit of a sour taste in my mouth the last few days, and not just because camp was brutal, but because the distance from Parker was starting to get to me.