Page 98 of Near Miss

I watch as she stands, one hand flattening against the arm of the chair, the other wrapping around the crystal stem, the length of my sweater falling to her mid-thigh, brushing against her leggings. The way her dark hair swings around her shoulders when she takes the few steps to reach her hand to mine. How her fingers fit mine, like each of our hands were actually sculpted for the other.

I watch it all, try to commit it to memory in case these forty-eight hours are all we get. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I go back on Wednesday and I don’t perform this weekend.

But she folds herself down into my lap, leans against my chest, and I don’t care.

She doesn’t realize—but there’s always this faint smell of eucalyptus clinging to her, like those branches her sister hung for her that she thinks are stupid actually did something. Wrapped around her and tried to protect her as best they could.

I tuck my chin in the crook of her neck and inhale, circling my arms around her.

Her hand trails up the side of my face, tracing patterns in the stubble across my jaw before she cups my cheek. “Do you feel better?”

I nod and press my mouth to the side of her neck because I can. “Head’s a bit clearer.”

So is my heart because I’m here with you and you’re letting me pretend you’re really mine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her fingers twist in the hair around my ears.

A groan rises in my throat and my eyes close. “That feels nice.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

I can tell she’s smiling by the way the inflection of her voice changes, how I can feel her shoulders roll back through mysweater. She does that when she’s happy—gives away these little tells that she’s feeling momentarily unburdened.

Shaking my head, I inhale one more time before opening my eyes and resting my chin on her shoulder. “Nah. It’s okay. I don’t think there’s really anyone else I’d want to talk about it with.”

Her fingers come down across my jaw again. “What happens if you miss on Sunday?”

I exhale. “I doubt Coach Taylor was joking, so I’d guess he trades me, or he drops me for a consistent college kid at a fraction of the cost.”

Greer pulls away, shifting in my lap and turning so she can face me. She taps the champagne flute against her lips before emptying it and setting it down beside the chair. That hand finds the other side of my face. “Have you ever thought about that? Whether it would be good for you to move, start over in a new city with a new team?”

“I’ve never thought about it. I was happy to come back here from Cincinnati. Thought it’d be nice to be closer so I could make sure everything was alright.” I usually can’t breathe when she’s this close to me, but I take a deep, measured inhale. It feels a bit more like I can right now. I give her a wry smile. “It wasn’t until recently it occurred to me that I’m not responsible for giving them everything they need and I never was.”

“Do you think you resent them?” she asks plainly, like that’s a normal thing to ask someone about their parents.

But maybe it is.

I consider it, nodding a bit before I shrug. “Probably. Probably my whole life and didn’t even realize it. Do you think it’ll always be like that?”

Her shoulders rise under my sweater, and she looks so fucking beautiful. Earmuffs around her neck, dark hair falling every which way, and those eyes that see right through me. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’ll come in waves. Or maybe one day you’llwake up and it’ll just be gone.” Each of her thumbs brush over my jaw. “My sister said something to me recently about grief and healing. That it’s not a formula that just clicks together one day. That they’re part of the human experience, and I’ve been wondering if maybe you just learn to live through them.”

“I wouldn’t mind learning to live through it all with you.” My voice is rough when I say it, kind of like the seas of whatever storm she thinks she lives in.

It’s not much of an answer, but she leans forward, hands still framing my face when her lips find mine.

She moves them—gently, like she’s testing something out. Trying it on for size.

I hope she likes the way it fits.

I tighten my grip around her, tongue sweeping against the seam of her lips, and she meets it with hers. I’m not sure how long we kiss for; I get a bit lost up in my head trying to make the whole thing count, imagining a world where I can tell her she’s the love of my life and that I don’t think I really care what happens on Sunday as long as I have her.

Eventually she pulls back, head tipped to the side, full lips swollen, and looks at me like she’s thinking about something.

“Thank you,” she starts, but she pauses, a tiny shake of her head. “I don’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. You say I made you real, and maybe that’s true, but you know me. And there’s something very special and rare in knowing. Not something your average, run-of-the-mill reliable and likeable person would be able to achieve.”

My chest tightens, and I start to shake my head, swallowing, not sure how to answer that because I did get to know her, and I fell in love with her.

But she keeps talking. “It was just a pinky promise. Inconsequential to some people. But you made me promise to only do what was right for me. I don’t think anyone has evergiven me permission to do that before, and maybe permission was all I needed.”

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