I’ve said this twenty times during the last half hour, because, I’m not sure what else to say. When Coach texted me last night saying let’s grab a late lunch, I immediately said sure and felt relief. I hadn’t heard from him since we got off the plane from DC, and even then, he didn’t say much. Just stared, like he’s doing now.

“I’m not sure why you think I’m upset,” he says, pressing a napkin to his mouth and then placing it on his near empty plate. “I thought I made that clear already.”

I push the remainder of my sandwich away. I’ve lost my appetite. “I don’t want you to think I went ahead and did all this behind your back.”

Coach raises an eyebrow above his glasses.

“I mean, to hurt you.”

He snorts. “Why would you hooking up with that Montgomery girl hurt me? I think you’re the one who might be hurt by it.”

I expect him to make this about football first, because, with Coach, it’s always about football. But he doesn’t continue.

“Why would I be hurt by Parker?” I press.

Coach lifts one shoulder in a shrug, before leaning back against his chair. “Fitz, I’ve been around enough characters in my career to know when some people don’t change.”

Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows. “You’re talking about when she was in high school? That doesn’t seem all that fair.”

“Who said anything about fair? I’m just saying the truth. That pretty, wild thing”—Coach pauses—“well, girls like that never really change. They act out for attention, make everything dramatic. I mean, I bet you she talked you into announcing your engagement that way, didn’t she?”

Swallowing, I clench my teeth together.

Coach waves me off and laughs. “Here’s the thing, Fitzy. I’m worried about you, because I’m worried you haven’t changed all that much even though I thought you have.”

“What? How?”

“You’re weak,” he answers immediately.

“Weak?” I repeat. “I can’t be all that weak winning a Super Bowl. And this thing with Parker has been going on long before that.”

That’s the story we’ve decided to go with—our relationship is a little more than a year old.

Coach’s eyes slide to the side. “You barely won it.”

That comment feels like a punch to the gut, but I don’t want him to see me sweat it. “And that was somehow Parker’s fault?”

I wish I could spit out the truth to make Coach’s point null and void.

“I guess we have to see how you show up in the off-season. I’m sure after that stunt you two pulled at the White House, you’ll be awfully busy.”

“Actually,” I begin. “I’m not involved with the campaign.”

“Oh?”