A/N: Holy smokes, y'all, I didn't think so much time had passed! I hope everyone has had a great spring. So much has been going on in life, with a lot of stress from work and real life in general, with less than two months to go before I get married and I feel like I have hardly anything planned. *sweats* lol. But, it's been grounding to come back and write Joe and Avery, and a total stress reliever to get lost in their world again. It's just all about channeling the energy and care I want to put in the story. I want to thank everybody for their support and patience and overall love for this story. I'm so humbled and thankful to see that, even though I wasn't updating, people were still reading and showing it love. I hope you enjoy as the updates start coming back again! Slowly, but surely...
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Chapter 32: Opener and Closer
Before I could fly off to Paris, I had to work one last big event for the Bengals, and it seemed fitting that it was the opening game of the season. We were hosting the Pittsburgh Steelers at home and Paul Brown Stadium was vibrating to the brim with fans eager to welcome their team back to the turf. As I had done with the last game of last season, I was waiting at the end of the tunnel for the boys in black and orange to pull on their helmets and greet the jungle. I stood, tapping my foot on the grass, hands at the ready on my camera for the pivotal moment the team came out of the darkness.
It was taking longer than usual, and I didn't have Trish to be my mental stress ball. Usually, I wouldn't even be cognizant of these things, but after last time – when Joe made me that promise in the tunnel – I couldn't help but wonder if the boy was up to something again.
I wished I knew what he was thinking. Joe Burrow was remarkably difficult to read, and though we'd spent the summer growing closer, there were times I still felt like he had a screen to him that I had to carefully peel away. Most of the time he was warm and affectionate and goofy and caring, a side that I knew I was privileged to see and therefore cherished. It was a given that there would be times where he wasn't that way, which I understood; but that didn't mean I was so desperate to see what was on the other side of the front he put up. And ever since I took the internship, those times had become more frequent.
They were never malevolent, but distant, and that indifference hurt more than it would if he would have just told me off. It was horrible of me to wish we'd just lash at each other, let it all out for the sake of moving on. It was what my parents did, and they never stopped loving each other. Couldn't Joe and I do the same thing? I wanted him to tell me how selfish I was being, how I should just stay in Cincinnati, how I was making a stupid and reckless decision leaving behind a perfectly stable job. But he would never do that.
Instead, he would do things like this – stall a little bit before coming to see me, or responding to my texts. Sometimes his gaze would float away when we were sitting across the table from each other at meals. I never called him out for it. Maybe he was mourning.
Lost in my thoughts, I was suddenly yanked away by a burst of fanfare. I jumped, immediately pulling my camera up and pointing it at the tunnel. A few seconds later, the Bengals emerged, led by the one and only Joe Burrow. We exchanged the faintest of smiles as he passed by me and looked at my lens, and I had no choice but to push the shutter, capturing that moment forever. It was a smile I never wanted to see again; I hurt him. Not even a second later, he was already jogging away, suspending between my fingers like smoke. I had been close enough to him to smell his scent; Palo Santo. And yet I had never felt farther away.
The Bengals beat the Steelers in a game-winning touchdown, as close of a match-up as anyone would have predicted at this point, but with much more confidence in Burrow and the offensive line. For those few hours I forced myself to focus on my job, pointing and shooting my camera all the while paying as much attention as I could to the game. Possibly the last game I'd ever photograph. My heart beat faster as the game went on, wanting more and more for the Bengals to win. Since it wasn't the Super Bowl, I thought I'd be less nervous, but I supposed I had more stakes in it now that Joe and I were dating. I would always want the best for him, and that meant all the wins he could possibly have. I was allowing myself to be that selfish for him.
I could breathe easier as soon as they won. Joe and I talked about what we would do after the game, win or lose, and we agreed that I would meet him outside of the locker room and we'd go back to his place with a pie from Funky Anchovy. After that dreaded press conference, of course. So, I waited patiently for him, taking a seat and editing a small batch of photos at a set of couches right outside the locker room. The last set of photos I'd possibly ever edit for the Bengals.
I was no longer the new girl, so I didn't have to get pictures in to Elena immediately after the game like I used to — but there was a quality to mine that she said she preferred, though I'm wondering if it garnered more clicks if people knew that the photographer was none other than the quarterback's girlfriend.
Again, Joe's departure from the locker room felt stalled. Other players greeted me as they left the locker room and headed home to their families, and by now Joe would have launched out of there like a rocket to sweep me in his arms and take me away. I hated that this was something I was even aware of. Avery before she started dating someone like Joe Burrow would have never noticed such a thing. I edited a few more photos before emailing a small package to Elena and shutting my laptop, stuffing it into my backpack and standing up. He had to come out soon.
A couple of minutes passed before Joe emerged, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and throwing me a casual smile and a head nod. It was bizarre – like I was a classmate he was passing by in the hallway. But he threw his arm over my shoulder and tucked me into him to kiss the top of my head, which was one of my favorite things he did, and that eased me a little. Maybe he was just tired.
"Hey, congratulations, Burrow," I told him softly, smiling in admiration at him. "I knew you could do it."
"Thanks, baby," he said, leading the way from the locker room towards the conference room. We were all advised to take a separate way out than the general crowd for obvious reasons. At the end of the hallway, I could see reporters and photographers waiting to ask him questions, Coach Taylor already buffering for the time it took Joe to come out.
Before we got too close to the conference room, Joe stopped me and put his hands on my shoulders. I furrowed my brows at him. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Listen, it might be a long presser – first game back and all, and it was a win. It's late, and I don't want you to wait up for me too long."
"Oh," I said. Maybe this was the sort of thing he would have told me last year, too, if we had started dating then. Given everything that was going on, though, I couldn't help but feel like it was his gentle way of pushing me away. I wished it was a shove instead; that would have stung less. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." He placed his large hand on the side of my face and looked at me, just at me, and made me feel like I was the only person in the world. He kissed me. "I love you, Ave."
"I love you too, Joe," I told him, nodding. I tried to understand. We couldn't spend as much time with each other now that football season was back; he had a job to do. And so did I.
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The week passed in a flurry of packing up a couple of suitcases and eating all my food in the refrigerator so that my apartment would just be a shell while I was away in Paris. Joe had somehow convinced me that he would take care of paying for my place for the duration of my internship, and to make me feel better about it, he would spend a few nights there or open it up as a guest room for anyone in his family who was visiting. Given all the home games that I would be missing while I was away, it worked out well.
Joe drove me to the Cleveland Hopkins airport, all the way to the farthest set of terminals that were departing internationally. My stomach was bubbling the whole way there, and I couldn't help but fidget with the promise ring Joe had given me. My conversations with him were brief, like we were strangers, but he was gentle; he knew that my mind was going hundreds of miles a minute. He kept a hand firmly on my lap, every now and then reaching up to pet my head and tell me it was going to be okay. And yet it felt like it was definitely not going to be okay.
I didn't want to think too hard about the outcomes, knowing there were a thousand ways my relationship with Joe could go from here, on top of what opportunities would come from me working in Paris. My excitement for the job was muddled by the fact that I had to sacrifice so much of my relationship for it. But Joe assured me that we would make it work, and we made a promise to be honest with each other the second we felt like it wouldn't.
As we pulled into my terminal and opened the car doors, a flood of noise from outside – security guards blowing their whistles, cars honking, and travelers rushing to catch their flight – filled my ears. I took a shallow breath and dragged myself out of the car, tears already brimming in my eyes as Joe retreated to the trunk, grabbing my things. I had three suitcases packed for the whole season. It was September, and I wouldn't be home until right before Christmas. I would not be having my dad's burnt turkey for Thanksgiving. It was all hitting me, and debilitatingly so, that I was for once not happy to be leaving home.
I tried to help Joe haul my things onto the cart. "It's fine, sweetie, just relax," he told me. "You're good to go."
He stood, hands in the pockets of his basketball shorts, wearing a nondescript Nike hoodie so we wouldn't get swarmed by fans or paparazzi. Gossip blogs were already speculating something was wrong between him and I, but we kept things mostly private – and we had from the start – so as to not give them fodder. He smiled softly at me, but I saw his jaw clench, as if he, too, was holding back tears.
I couldn't help but laugh, only at myself, for letting tears stream down my face. "Sorry," I said, wiping them away. But it was the first time I'd smiled all day, and genuinely so.
It made him laugh, but not at me. "It's okay, Shot Caller," he said, reaching over and rubbing my shoulder – then giving in and pulling me into the tightest hug I swear I'd ever felt, his arms pulling my middle close to him underneath my backpack.
I closed my eyes and breathed him in, taking in the smell of his cologne, my fingers curling into his hair. We stood there, either unaware or uncaring of the people around us, in a hurry to say goodbye to their loved ones while Joe and I wished the moment would never end. I felt him pat my backpack and pull away, only to kiss me, his hands closing in on the side of my head and holding me there. We shared one long hard kiss, and I apologized in a sigh about the way the tears on my cheeks had likely transferred to his. He curled his fingers in my hair in forgiveness of me.
Then, he pecked me a few times, breaking into a delicate laughter of his own. "Don't be sad," he said. "You're gonna be in Paris. And we'll see each other soon."
I nodded and mustered a smile at him. "You're gonna do great this season. I'm gonna find a way to watch the games, even if it means I have to stay up late or pay hundreds of dollars."
He snickered. "Save your money." Funny of him to tell me that.
I scoffed in protest, then we fell into a moment of silence – of just looking at each other. Dissipated were my worries that he resented me, or loved me less, for this. I was sure that when he stalled leaving the locker room and when he spent that night alone after the game, it was in innocent preparation of what was to come. I knew he was protecting me, and also protecting himself.
Then, I finally said something. Quietly. "I love you, Joe."
"I love you, Avery." Not that he loved me, too, or that he loved me right back; that he plain just loved me, unconditionally, no holes barred. "Good luck."
I glanced over my shoulder at my terminal, then looked back at him with as deep of a breath as I could take. "You too, Burrow."
Just as we began to part ways, I remembered something, and turned back to see if he was still there, begging that he was still there. "Wait, Joe!"
He had been staring at his feet, still where he stood, likely not going to leave until he saw me disappear into the airport. "Yeah?" he called out to me.
I jogged back to him, setting my bags down, and grabbing a smaller bag out of my backpack. I pulled my camera out, and did so clumsily because I was trying to be fast, the jaggedness of my movements making us both laugh past our tears.
"What the hell are you doing, Swamp Girl?"
"I'm – taking a photo!" I giggled, sniffling. I turned my camera on, pointed it at him, and told him to smile.
I hope he realized then what I wanted to do: Capture this moment, for all the pure joy and gloom that it was, an amalgamation of our spring and summer sunsetting on this crisp fall day. As he leaned back and posed against his car, he assembled these emotions in a thoughtful, yet timid smile that I happily took a photo of. I then gave him the camera so that he could take a photo of me, bundled up in my jacket and scarf, the landscape of the airport behind me. I gave what I figured was a jittery, excited smile, which probably looked silly-perfect coupled with my tearful eyes.
Then, he reached his arm out for me, wrapping it around my shoulders. Joe took three selfies of us: One, we were smiling at the lens; the second, he brought me in for a kiss; then, the third, we were just gazing at each other. We knew that, despite this closing of this chapter in our lives – this sunset – that there would surely be another day of us. A sunrise. It was as sure as the world when it turned to let the days go by, as sure as the sun and the moon were that they would each have their spot in the sky. And this another day of us – whenever it comes – will be a spectacular lunar eclipse.