Page 97 of The Only Goal

“Marriage is the easiest thing in the world when you marry the right person.” Her smile was so sincere, and I knew she meant it.

I think I’d been about twelve, and that’s when I knew I had to marry Tammy Tan one day.

But I lost my chance.

Because I couldn’t get over my humiliation at the swimming hole.

Because I didn’t try to fight for her when Hudson came along.

Because I let her walk out that door three days ago.

“Fuck.” I hit my head against the dresser and wince, rubbing the sore spot, then opening my eyes and spying a dusty box beneath my bed.

Crawling toward it, I wrestle it out of hiding and flip the lid. I can’t remember what’s in here, but the second I spot the worn leather journal on the top, I know exactly what I’m looking at.

A deep loneliness swamps me as I unearth the book and all the pictures and memorabilia beneath it.

I always loved to write—something no one but my mom knew about me.

That’s why she bought me the journal. I’d sit up in bed at night, scribbling my thoughts and dreams. Writing love poems to Tammy in secret.

The pads of my fingers travel lightly over the pages and photographs I’d glued into the book. Mostly Tammy and me, the odd one of my mom and dad.

My eyes catch on a poem I wrote for Tammy in my freshman year of high school.

It’s your smile that gets me, like an arrow through the heart.

Cupid knew what he was doing, right from the very start.

The first day I saw you, it took my breath away.

And as I’ve grown to know you, I have loved you more each day.

I wish that I could tell you how you make me feel.

But what if you reject me? The pain would be so real.

And so I’ll be the best friend that I can possibly be.

And wish upon each falling star that one day you might see.

That I could love you better than anyone else could do.

And hopefully one day I’ll hear you say, “I love you too.”

I let out a sad laugh, cringing over how cheesy it is. Rachel would no doubt think it was adorable. A fourteen-year-old boy, scribbling words like that about his best friend. My hockey bros would never let me live this down, which is why they will never, ever see this journal.

But a small part of me wishes I’d shown Tammy.

Maybe if I’d given her this poem in high school, she wouldn’t have married Hudson.

“But she loves him,” I mutter darkly. Why else would she have been so willing to forgive him and go back?

Dropping the journal back in the box, I slap it closed and shove it back under my bed.

My fourteen-year-old self was delusional. Wishing upon falling stars. What the fuck?

Dreams like that don’t come true.

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