HOLIDAY
JOSH-
The plane hummed beneath us, a steady vibration that filled the quiet space between conversations. Vivien had her hand resting in mine, her fingers warm, her nails tracing idle patterns against my skin. I turned her palm up and pressed a kiss to the center before flipping it over, letting my eyes linger where our fingers intertwined.
That was when I saw it.
My wedding ring.
The light hit the silver band just right, reflecting off the window, making it impossible to ignore. The weight of it–the meaning of it–settled over me like a stone pressing against my ribs.
Before I could overthink it, I pulled my hand from hers and slid the ring off my finger.
I stared at it for a beat. Three years. Three fucking years.
Then, without hesitation, I tucked it into my wallet.
When I looked up, Vivien was watching me, her brown eyes soft but searching.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said gently. “Really. I get it.”
I swallowed, holding her gaze. “I know.”
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“You’ve made so much progress, babe. Really.”
She squeezed my hand, her understanding hitting me in the chest harder than I expected. She always made it easy. Too damn easy.
I smiled, shaking my head. “How did I get so lucky to find the only girl in this country who doesn’t watch football to humble me?”
Vivien’s lips twitched. She turned her hand in mine, squeezing my fingers. “You found me too, you know,” she murmured. “You and Asha both.”
My throat tightened, but I nodded, leaning in to kiss her.
“None of this,” I said against her lips. “It’s holiday time.”
She hummed, her hand sliding to my cheek as she deepened the kiss for a second before pulling away. “Agreed. No heavy conversations. Just you, me, and two weeks of sun, sand, and no cell service.”
The sound of heels clicking down the aisle made me shift back in my seat. A flight attendant approached, balancing two glasses of champagne on a tray. She was blonde, big blue eyes, the kind of face that looked vaguely familiar–like she could have been on the cover of a sports magazine once, smiling up at me from an article about last season.
Her gaze lingered on me a second too long before she glanced at Vivien, handing us the glasses with a polite smile.
“Enjoy your flight, Mr. Saunders,” she said smoothly before stepping back down the aisle.
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I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head as I lifted my glass. Vivien clinked hers against mine, her smile easy, but I could tell she’d noticed the way the woman looked at me.
I ignored it.
This was supposed to be a break. A getaway. A place where I didn’t have to think about football or media or any of the bullshit that came with my name.
But later, when I got up to stretch my legs, I heard them.
Two flight attendants huddled near the galley, their voices hushed but clear in the quiet of first class.
“That football player, the one whose wife is in Germany. The hot one. He’s here with someone else. Can you believe it?”
“It’s been three years, Mia,” the other one muttered. “He deserves to move on.”
“Yeah, but she’s still technically alive, you know…”
The words sliced through me like a blade.
I cleared my throat, and their heads snapped up.
Mia–blonde hair, blue eyes–went pale. The other one had the decency to look guilty, her eyes darting to the floor.
I didn’t say anything. I just held their gazes long enough to make them squirm before turning back toward my seat.
Vivien’s eyes flicked up when I slid back in beside her. “Everything okay?”
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I forced a smile, taking her hand. “Yeah,” I said, kissing her knuckles. “Everything’s perfect.”
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