"…Rookie. Rookie! We need to go."
Kelce lowered his voice and kept calling, watching as Lance was still surrounded by kids, doing his best to hide his growing impatience.
Beside him, Mahomes chuckled under his breath, bright and carefree.
When they arrived at the hospital, Kelce had proudly claimed he was a natural with kids. That all children loved him. That he was ready to charm them all. He couldn't wait to show off.
But in the end?
It was Lance the kids swarmed around the most.
Even now, with their visit over, one kid was clinging to Lance's neck, whispering something into his ear—clearly not ready to say goodbye. The sight made Kelce, the self-declared "King of the Kids," green with jealousy. He kept nudging Lance to wrap it up.
Finally!
Lance finished his little secret talk, waved to the kids, and jogged over to rejoin Mahomes and Kelce as they headed for the elevator.
Kelce narrowed his eyes. "So? What were you two whispering about?"
Lance: "Secret."
Kelce: … "Whatever. I don't care anyway. Pfft."
They stepped into the elevator. Just as the doors were about to close, someone shouted from the hall, "Wait, wait!"
Lance instinctively held the door.
A moment later, a breathless figure skidded into view—who else but Annie?
Her eyes sparkled. "Lance… Lance!"
He stepped forward and crouched down.
Annie leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "I did it!"
Did what?
Pee?
Lance's face lit up. "Whoa, 007, mission complete!"
He raised his right hand, grinning wide.
Annie got it instantly. Her smile bloomed, her eyes curving into crescent moons. She smacked his palm with a loud slap, then made a finger-gun with her index and middle fingers, brought it to her lips, and blew on it like a cool secret agent.
That one move had both of them bursting into laughter.
Annie turned, crouched against the wall, then started mimicking spy movie moves—ducking, spinning, rolling… having the time of her life playing alone.
Lance leaned out of the elevator, watching her clumsy, wobbly little form, and his heart quietly brightened. Then he stepped back inside and let the elevator close.
He could feel a pair of sulky eyes glaring at him from the side.
Straightening his back, Lance folded his hands neatly and turned slightly toward Kelce.
"Just now, Kevin told me… his favorite player is actually Travis Kelce. But he was too shy to say it to your face. He asked me to pass it on before the next game and said he hopes Mr. Travis Kelce does his best."
Kelce: "You just blurted out someone's secret like that? That's so not nice. I already told you—I don't care about secrets."
Even so, Mahomes could see Kelce's lips twitching into a grin. He tried his hardest to keep a calm face, but the joy in his eyes betrayed him completely.
Mahomes had to fight back laughter.
But—
Happiness doesn't last long.
Once they left the hospital, Mahomes had to return to reality… and the emotional mess waiting for him. Just thinking about the situation with Brittany made his head ache.
Knock knock.
There was a knock at the door. Lance peeked through the peephole, then looked back at Mahomes, who was slouched on the couch.
"It's her."
Mahomes nearly choked on his own spit. He jumped up and dove behind the couch, waving frantically at Lance and miming a dozen "keep quiet!" signals.
Yeah. Mahomes was not ready to face the storm.
Lance waited for him to settle, then opened the door—
Brittany.
She stood there, face blank. When she saw Lance, she didn't even blink. She just raised a small travel bag and started talking.
"These are his clothes, toiletries, and his laptop. His usual stuff for tactical meetings and film review."
Lance: Cough.
"…Sherlock's not here," he lied without blinking.
Brittany didn't react. She glanced past him into the room. "Then pass it to him when you head to practice."
Lance thought for a second. "Brittany… what happened?"
This time, Brittany finally looked him in the eyes—
A bit tired. Because of the height difference, she had to step back to look up at him. Her neck was probably sore from tilting.
"You mean you don't know?"
Lance shrugged lightly. "Sherlock's a good friend, but good friends have their privacy. I don't ask about his business, and he doesn't ask about mine."
Brittany let out a cold laugh. "So, what—you're saying you're innocent? You didn't know about the texts he sent to that other woman?"
Lance sighed, helpless. "Brittany, if I'm guilty or innocent, at least tell me what I'm being accused of."
Brittany froze for a moment.
She'd just assumed Lance already knew everything.
In fact—she had thought he might be the one who started the whole mess.
But looking at his expression now… she began to doubt.
Lance noticed the flicker in her face and added:
"Texting another woman? Seriously—do I look like the kind of guy who finishes training and starts texting women for fun?"
Brittany blinked.
No… he didn't.
Honestly, if she really thought about it—Lance had never been the flirtatious type. Not a party guy. He barely touched alcohol or cigarettes. His off-field life was dull, maybe even a little too clean.
So… could it be… not Lance?
But the thought barely brushed her mind before she pushed it away.
She took a deep breath and reset her expression.
"Who knows? Away from the cameras, who knows what you're really like."
"I mean, you guys are stars. You don't just have media worshiping you—you have a nonstop stream of women throwing themselves at you. You don't even have to try—they just line up."
"In Kansas City, you might tone it down. But on away games? Late at night, alone in a big bed, who's really staying faithful?"
"For you guys, everything is too easy. Saying no is the hard part."
"So don't stand there pretending to be pure and innocent. We're not kids."
Her words came fast, hard, and bitter—anger and frustration pouring out uncontrollably.
And after her outburst, she stood on tiptoe and shouted past Lance into the room:
"You can lie to the world—but you can't lie to yourself!"
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 or 10 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates