"You're lucky you apologized," I told him.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was ready to tell Paige what happened to that picture she bought for the dining room that mysteriously shattered."
His eyes narrowed. "You promised to keep that a secret."
"Secrets have a funny way of coming out when big brothers act like overprotective bullies at work," I said innocently.
"This is Paige's influence," he mumbled. "You four weren't so savage until she showed up."
I laughed.
Logan set his hands on his hips and regarded me carefully for a few seconds. "It's hard for me sometimes, you know?"
"What is?"
"Remembering that you're a grown woman," he admitted quietly. "I was nineteen when you were born, Mol. That's not that far off from how old you are now and …" He paused, looking a little melancholy. "My world changed when you were born. As much as I wish for you and your sisters that your mom hadn't left, selfishly, I'd never want to give you four back. But it's hard for me to forget what it felt like the day you were born. Even as you're standing here, smart and capable and independent, I think about how little you were, all wrinkled and red and wrapped in that ugly hospital blanket."
"I know, Logan. You're the best thing that could've happened to us." I glanced over my shoulder to make sure we were still alone in the hallway. "But you can't protect us forever."
He nodded slowly. "Doesn't mean I won't want to."
I gave him a smile. "I know."
"I'll bench his ass if he messes this up for you," he promised.
Again, I laughed. "No, you won't."
"No," he admitted grudgingly, "but it doesn't mean I wouldn't want to."
My hands swept down my shirt and straightened the ends. "Okay. I should get back to work."
Logan lifted his chin. "You've got this."
The change in his tone and posture, and the pure respect I saw in his eyes were enough to make my nose burn with unshed tears. "I'll be so mad at you if you make me cry."
"No crying in football, Ward," he snapped. "That's an order."
I rolled my eyes. "Go coach your team, please."
He winked and left me alone in the hallway. Before I joined Noah again, I sank against the wall to gather myself.
Noah wasn't my boss, but it was my responsibility to keep this process as painless as possible for him.
And I wasn't his boss, but he'd need to respect my role, nonetheless. Film when I said he needed to film, cooperate with the crew from Amazon, and trust that he'd be portrayed positively. And more importantly, that he'd be reflected honestly.
Those things didn't always go hand in hand, not in our industry. The best player in the world could be a raging asshole to the people around him. But as much as Noah had rubbed me the wrong way in the elevator, he was still respected by his teammates and coaches. Maybe he wasn't universally adored because of the stoic exterior, but even the iciest person thawed occasionally. And at the end of the day, it was up to me to make sure the world saw that.
Sitting in the too-small chair in my boss's office was a man who had dedicated his life to the same game I'd loved for all of mine.
They called him The Machine because the game of football—brown leather and white laces, cleats and turf and helmets and pads and sweat—was the thing he existed for.
"What's behind The Machine, though?" I whispered.
Before I went back into Beatrice's office, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It might take Noah weeks to thaw to my presence in his life, but thaw he would. He'd have no choice in the matter because the cameras didn't lie, and the reason he agreed was to allow a rare glimpse behind the curtain. It reminded me of my favorite movies, The Wizard of Oz.
If Noah Griffin was the wizard, all powerful and too big to comprehend for all that he was able to accomplish, then I'd have to be the unsuspecting Dorothy who unearthed the truth, one day at a time, no matter how out of place I felt doing it.
Ruefully, I glanced down at my nude-colored ballet flats and clicked the heels together. Didn't have the same effect as ruby red slippers that glistened in the light, but it would have to do.
When I opened the door, he stood staring out of the window in the corner, which overlooked the sprawling suburbs where the Wolves training facilities and front offices were located. Off to the southeast, the jagged lines of Mt. Rainier were visible. His shoulders were held so rigidly in place that he didn't give the slightest indication he’d heard me enter, but something at the back of my neck and with the way the hairs lifted on my arms, I knew he was fully aware that we were alone again in the same way I was.