Page 104 of Near Miss

Drew a line in the sand like that girl up there told me I should, and they respected it.

She shines under the sunlight as she walks down the stairs to the edge of the field, the barrier temporarily removed for the event and replaced with gates, and she leans forward, resting her arms along the metal rung.

One hand comes up in a tiny wave that’s just for me.

I don’t know why I do it—it’s the sort of thing she’d hate—but I grin, holding my hand against my chest, and point at her before I line up to kick this stupid tennis ball.

It goes through.

People clap and cheer, Nowak knocks his head against mine like it’s a real game, and cameras from all the desk reporters who got stuck covering this event flash from around the gates.

Some of them start to call my name, and I’m sure they have a whole host of riveting questions lined up about the difference between kicking a tennis ball and a football, how events like this boost morale, and what that means before Sunday.

Old me would have walked right over, grin and dimple on display, but I hold up a hand instead and jog over to the girl standing there with my heart in her hands.

“Great legs,” she rasps, raising her eyebrows. “I’m sorry I’m late. Surgery ran long and I have to be back at the hospital in a couple hours.”

I grin, pointing towards her hospital badge, a picture of her that looks too serious, with her name and credentials on display, clipped to the pocket of her scrubs. “Need to make sure everyone knows you’re the smartest person in the stadium?”

Greer’s eyes flick down before she rolls them at me. “I was in a rush. Someone dragged me to a weird cottage made of metal shipping containers for two days and now I’m behind on my charting.”

“Yeah? Who would do that?” I swipe a hand through my hair. “Was it at least worth it?”

This tiny, little smile blooms on her mouth, and it’s not quite like anything I’ve ever seen when she whispers, “I’d say so.”

“I missed you these last two nights,” I offer, voice rough when I reach out, tugging on the end of her braid.

She blinks, but I think she grabs onto one of those ropes I’ve thrown overboard and out to her. “I missed you, too.”

“Can I...” I scrub my jaw before angling my head down towards her. “Can I kiss you?”

Full lips part, those features soften, and she lifts her chin towards me.

It’s probably inappropriate—my hand sliding around the back of her neck, tongue meeting hers, and everything I feel for her out in the open.

Someone calls my name while I kiss her, a lot of people do. Some of my teammates whistle, and I can see the flash of cameras against my eyelids.

Reporters try to get my attention.

“Beckett!”

Doesn’t work. I don’t think I even know my own name.

“Nineteen.”

Don’t care. I’ll be whatever number she needs me to be.

“Who is that? Is that your girlfriend?”

Just the love of my life.

“Near Miss. How do you feel about the game on Sunday? Are you going to try for another record?”

That one works.

But not on me.

Greer pulls back, whipping her head around towards the reporter who stands just one gate over. Her voice doesn’t sound the way it usually does—it’s sharp, harsher than I’ve ever heard. “What did you just say?”

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