Page 37 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Player

"And if she's watching..." His eyes never leave the camera.

"I'm done hiding. I love you."

A tear slips down my cheek.

"And I'm coming to see you as soon as I can.”

The interview ends in complete chaos. Reporters shout questions.

Nobody gets answers. Cal simply thanks them and walks away.

I burst into tears.

An hour later, there's a knock at my apartment door.

I jump to my feet and try not to get too excited. It's probably Patrick. He forgot his jacket.

Still wiping at my face, I pull the door open.

Cal stands there. Duffel bag over one shoulder. His hair's damp from the shower.

He looks exhausted. And absolutely beautiful.

"I came straight from the stadium.”

I don't say anything. I can't. Because if I do, I’m going to sob.

His smile falters. "I'm sorry if that was too much today.” ’m sorry if?—"

I shake my head. "No."

He blinks. "No?"

"No more apologizing."

A tiny smile appears. "I'm working on that."

Silence stretches between us. Finally...

"I meant every word,” he says.

“I know." My heart hitches. “And I meant what I said.”

“I know.”

We share another grin.

"I don't know what's going to happen with my job,” I say more seriously. “I don't know what’s next or what I should do with my life.”

"You don't have to." He sets his duffel bag on the floor. Then takes both my hands. "I only are that you were hurt. I care that I couldn't protect you."

He swallows. “But I'm done letting other people decide my life. I want you in it. No matter what."

I laugh through fresh tears. "You know... Your team is stupid for letting reporters into the locker room during practice.”

"They really are." He laughs. "They owe you approximately a thousand apologies."

"They do. But..." I squeeze his hands. "They're your family."