“Coach Foller,” she answers, and I’m not sure why I’m surprised at all. “This way, they have forty-eight minutes for minor treatment and showering before lunch and film.”

I shake my head. “Is he running the military or a football team?”

Lo shrugs. “A little bit of both I guess.”

Pulling out the poster I have tucked under my arm, I hold it out, looking over at Lo. “Then let’s go stage a coup.”

This is actually the first time I’ve been to the Rebels training facility, which I only snuck into because Fitz keeps a pass in his car I still drive.

“It’s this way.” Lo waves at a security guard. “Hi, Frank! This is Parker, Fitz’s wife.”

I shuffle the sign awkwardly back under my arm and lift my hand to wave.

“We’re just going to catch them while they walk in. Hope that’s alright!”

The security guard nods curtly. “Go on in, ladies. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitzy.”

I snort out a laugh and whisper to Lo, “You know, when I used to break into places, I had to be a little more stealthy.”

“You?” Lo stops. “Break-in where?”

I eye the edges of the practice field we approach and smirk at her. “Football fields.”

Lo cackles. “Oh, you two used to make out under the bleachers during school, didn’t you?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” I say both because we haven’t, and when we do, I’ll keep that between me and Fitz. “Where do I stand?”

Lo nudges me left. “Over there. They’ll go inside through that door.”

I move off the pavement path and onto the neatly cut grass with my poster board. Most of the players are down field, so I try to stay out of sight, just beside the facility entrance aptly labeled.

REBELS ONLY.

From here, I don’t hear much, just a whistle or two and a few choice, four-letter words streaming out of Coach Foller’s mouth. Lo’s taken up conversation with Frank at the gate, lifting her head toward me to make sure I’m still there, as if I have somewhere else to be. Even if I did, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Psst.” Lo gives me a thumbs up. “They’re coming. Put it up.”

I step away from the building, closer to the grass and raise the sign as the Rebels in their white practice jerseys come into view. But my eyes find the one that stands out—the tall, dreamy quarterback in red. My husband.

There are a few bellows of laughter, some hoots and whistles. But there’s no sound coming from Fitz. And yet, the smile on his face says so, so much. He stops a few feet away from me, some of his guys giving him pats on his shoulders as they pass.