Page 56 of Near Miss

Eyes flash momentarily, and he studies me like he doesn’t quite recognize me. Maybe that stupid fucking smile finally looks like the mask it is.

“Alright. Looking forward to the start of the season?”

It takes me a minute to realize he’s asking a question, not making a statement, because I was too busy thinking about the fact that this entire room is an example of what happens when I fail.

At one point in time, it would have meant my parents’ perpetual disappointment before their shoulders caved in fromthe utter exhaustion of it all. That Nathaniel’s big, brilliant brain wasn’t nurtured enough. That if I wasn’t smiling, maybe Sarah wouldn’t be either.

In this case, it was the decimation of career aspirations and dreams and livelihoods.

“Beckett?” he prompts.

I blink, tossing him a lazy smile and taking my hat off to run my hands through my hair. “Sorry. Yeah. Definitely looking forward to the Beck Davis redemption arc of the season.”

Evan smiles back, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. I recoil a bit internally, but the longer I look, the more I realize the disappointment might not be for him.

He knocks on the table again and raises a hand in farewell.

I raise mine, turn back to my phone, and think about the fact that previous me would have been looking forward to the season. Because despite being reliable and likeable, I was competitive and I wanted to win. I wanted to smash records and win championships. But there was never really anyone I wanted watching when I did.

I stand. “Does Brooke still design all those custom clothes?”

“Oh.” He blinks, nodding. “Yeah—yeah, she does. Are you looking for something?”

“For a friend,” I answer. I don’t tell him that she’s a friend I’ll probably fantasize about for the rest of time. I roll my shoulders back and scrub my jaw, trying to think about anything but the way she makes me feel. “It’s probably not something she usually makes, but I don’t think it would take much time.”

“Send her a text, and if she’s got time, I’m sure she won’t mind getting it done before Sunday.”

“Thanks.” I clap his shoulder, and I’m about to turn back and drop in my seat until everyone leaves, but he keeps talking.

“You have a good summer? We didn’t talk much during preseason.” There’s that look in his eyes again.

I thought that was because no one wanted to talk to me, but I wonder how much of it has to do with the fact that I didn’t talk to anyone.

My lip curls up before I can stop it. But I jerk my chin and laugh like it’s something that just rolls off my back instead of locking manacles around all my limbs and keeping me chained to my failures. “Pretty hard being the most hated person in the city, man. But it could have been worse. What about you and Brooke? Were you back in Seattle?”

Evan nods. The lines around his eyes deepen, but he doesn’t smile. “Yeah, we were. Just came back right before preseason.”

“Glad you had a good summer.” I’m still smiling.

I sound like an idiot. Like I’m not the person responsible for the fact that he wasn’t celebrating all over the Amalfi Coast and was probably running routes in his backyard, watching game tape and chasing the one dream left outstanding.

“If you want to...” Evan rubs his chin. “If you want to grab dinner, have a drink, watch some tape, or even run around throwing shitty passes to each other before Sunday ... just don’t be a stranger.”

I say nothing, but I nod and clap his shoulder again.

I’m about to drop back into my chair when I see my phone screen light up.

Greer: Coffee was great.

Greer: But I mean it. Coffee only. Don’t go bringing me an iced latte.

Greer: That’s not friendly.

The corners of my lips tug up, and I don’t realize I’m doing it, but I take a deep breath. It doesn’t hurt, and my chest doesn’tfeel like it’s going to crack open at any time, like it’s so heavy it’ll never feel right again.

It feels like maybe there are people out there who might like real Beckett, the way Greer sees him.

I pocket my phone and lope down the stairs to say hi to Pat and Nowak.

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