Page 69 of The Art of Catching Feelings

Daphne knew from her reporting that the Battery was currently fourth in their division, but in a tight race. They’d have to improve their record post-All-Star break quite a bit from their record pre-All-Star break, and considering they hadn’t gone to the playoffs in…Daphne didn’t know the exact year, but it had been a long time. She had to admit that in anything she’d considered while figuring out what to do, she’d never once factored intheplayoffs. She heard Chris’ voice in her head, saying it was just a fucking game, that he didn’t care.

But he did care. She knew that. And Layla had a point—any harm that had been done was already done. The last thing Daphne wanted was to make thingsworse.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. “I never meant to hurt anybody,” she said. “Not you, with your job, not the team, definitely not Chris.”

Layla leaned forward to give Daphne’s shoulder a squeeze. Coming from her, it was an unprecedented gesture of comfort, and Daphne almost lost it right there. But then Layla spoke, and brought Daphne right back down to earth. “I know you didn’t, honey,” she said. “But intention doesn’t really matter in situations like this. It’s only about theimpact, and right now the best thing you could do is nothing. Let this meteor hit in the off-season, when he can deal with it. And in the meantime, he seems happy, he’s hitting better, he hasn’t made an error in weeks…is that such a bad place to be?”

Daphne shook her head, but the pit in her stomach said otherwise. It said it was absolutely the worst place to be. Sure, the meteor hadn’t hit yet, to use Layla’s metaphor. But she didn’t know how you were supposed to just live your life, knowing that it was going to. Knowing it would destroy everything.

THIRTY

The energy in the clubhouse was relaxed after the Battery’s last game before the All-Star break. They’d won at home in decisive fashion, which was always a good way to head into the break, the team was at .500, which felt almost like a winning record, and everyone was excited to have a few days off.

Chris was trying to sneak out of the clubhouse early enough to find Daphne before she left for the night, but Randy grabbed him before he made it. “Hey, man,” Randy said. “Cookout at my place Tuesday for the game. Food’s gonna be lit—I’m making my mami’s mangú. You in?”

“Sure,” Chris said. “Sounds good. What can I bring?”

“Just a case of whatever you like to drink,” Randy said. “And bring your girl, if you want. It’s a family-friendly affair.”

Chris wondered suddenly what it would be like to actually bring Daphne. He knew he couldn’t. But he already knew she would get along well with all the guys—they seemed to have accepted her completely after she’d slid into Layla’s role temporarily. He knew a few of the other players’ wives and girlfriends, Kendall’s boyfriend, all who he thought would be good friends with Daphne if they knew each other.

And it would be nice. To have someone to laugh in the cornerwith when Randy inevitably got a little toasted and started making outrageous predictions of what would happen in the game. To be able to casually touch her, a hand at the small of her back, a kiss on the cheek. To watch her across the room and know that at the end of the night, she’d go home with him.

But since that was impossible, he just grunted without responding to Randy either way. And then he grabbed his duffel bag and went in search of Daphne.

When he found her she was already in the parking lot, fumbling through her purse for her car keys. Other than their interactions on the sideline during the games, he hadn’t gotten much chance to talk to her after the last road stand nearly ten days ago. If the situation were different, he almost would’ve thought she was avoiding him. But this had always been their deal—road games only, then back to keeping professional distance at home. He just hoped she was open to the idea of changing their deal.

“Hey,” he said, catching up to Daphne just as she’d opened her car door. “What’re your plans for the break?”

“Oh.” She blew some strands of hair out of her eyes, giving a little laugh. “Sleep, probably. Lots of sleep. You?”

She did look tired. She was still beautiful—she was always beautiful—but now that she wasn’t wearing all the makeup she wore for the camera, he could see that her eyes were shadowed, that there was something a little subdued about her.

“Come over,” he said. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. He’d given a lot of thought to the most casual way to ask, and this had not been on the list. But he also found that he didn’t want to play any games. He just wanted to spend time with her.

She hesitated, and he couldn’t tell if it was anI’m thinking of how to say notype of hesitation or anI really want to say yestype of hesitation. He tried to channel all the casualness he’d lost from his opening gambit now, not wanting to scare her off.

“I got the stuff to make chicken carbonara,” he said. “Don’t make me go through all that trouble just to cook for myself.”

She smiled. “There’s always leftovers.”

“You’re right. We could probably eat it for lunch tomorrow, too.”

This time when she looked at him, she seemed completely serious. Much more serious than a discussion about chicken carbonara warranted, that was for sure. Chris didn’t know why, but he suddenly had the feeling that he was standing on some sort of precipice, and he could keep his feet planted on the ground or he could tip right over the edge. He held his breath, waiting to see which one it would be.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Give me your address and I’ll be there by eight. I just have to head home and take care of a few things first.”

—

That time gave Chris the opportunity to stop by the store and grab the ingredients the online recipe he’d found told him he needed to make chicken carbonara. It had been described as “easy,” “delicious,” and “date-night worthy,” so he certainly hoped all that was true.

The recipe also advised that you cut up the chicken and bacon beforehand, especially if cooking for the first time or for guests. “Thank you,” Chris muttered to himself as he laid out everything on his counter. “That is exactly what I need to know.”

He just barely had time to prep everything the recipe called for and to quickly wipe down the surfaces in the bathroom before he heard the buzz from the lobby that let him know Daphne had arrived. He buzzed her in and was waiting for her in the open doorway when she came up the elevator.

“Hi,” she said, looking a little shy. She had a tote bag on oneshoulder, the logo on it advertising the Charleston County Public Library. It was stuffed pretty full, a cardigan he recognized as one she’d worn before sticking out from the top. He hoped that meant she was definitely staying the night.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to give her a kiss. “Come on in. I’ll give you the very brief tour.”

---