And the second was to Nick, who, after I told him to meet me at our apartment later this afternoon for a crisis control situation, I apologized to and told him to figure out what I need to do to make sure the League’s ethics committee hears me when I tell them all the things I never really wanted to admit, whether Foller gets the ax or not.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as we approach the Hilton.

“We’re going to suite 950,” I tell her. “You ready?”

Parker nods.

She feels ready. There’s a peaceful confidence about her as we walk into the hotel and head to the elevator. And still, I worry.

“Parker, if you don’t want to do this, I’ll have a getaway car downstairs in two minutes.”

She shakes her head. “I have to. I know I won’t be able to end everything, but I can end it with them. All the pieces of this puzzle.” She narrows her eyes. “Including Foller. But when this is over, you owe me a honeymoon. You promised.”

I laugh. “After the season, I promise.” I bring up our locked hands, kissing the knuckle above her ring. “Just you and me, right?”

Parker smiles sadly. “But we’re doing it for others.”

Nodding, I hold my arm so she can exit the elevator first. “Do me a favor, though,” I say as we head down the hall. “Count to a hundred. I need a minute with him.”

Parker squeezes my hand and lets go, leaning against the wall as I head to suite 950.

The door opens almost instantly. “Fitz!” A woman holds out her hand. “Rebecca Morris from The Boston Journal.”

I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I can’t thank you—or Coach Foller—enough for taking the time to sit with me for this piece. I know it’s a very busy time for you.”

I offer a small smile. “I’m sure it will be a lot of work for you too.”

Confusion floats across her face.

“There’s my Fitzy.”

Foller gets up from the chair across the room. I can tell he’s coming in for a hug. But he stops short when he sees my face.

A look is all I need to give. He knows I’m done.

Foller twitches when there’s a knock on the door. Rebecca steps around me, hurrying to open it.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.” Rebecca clears her throat. “Hi Ms. Montgomery.”

Parker clears her throat. “I’d appreciate it if you get my name correct for the article. Parker Rhodes. I’m not a Montgomery anymore.”

That’s my girl.

Rebecca’s voice is laced with confusion. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you’d join us. Of course, you’re welcome to stay for the profile on Coach Foller.”