His eyes grow wide. “How did you know?”
“Ahh,” I say as I rub my temples. “I’m woman. Me psychic.”
Austin bursts into laughter. “Intuition?”
I point to his foot, which is tapping. “You’re really fidgety all of a sudden. You can’t hide anxiety from someone like me, remember? My energy feeds off of someone else’s anxiety.”
“Good point.” He wraps his arm around me. “I was in Florida this week.”
“You...what?”
“The other day when I had to leave town suddenly. I was in Tampa Bay. Coach Donovan wanted to see me in person to discuss getting into practice as soon as I can now that I’ve been cleared by all the doctors.”
Every emotion inside of me twists. We’re not together, so I can’t expect anything, at least this is what I tell myself. Austin had his own life before I moved to the end of his lane, and now that life wants him back. I met him when he was playing football; I know how happy it makes him.
“So,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my tone, “you’d go back to Florida?”
He nods, slowly. “You know, if you really were a psychic, you would have seen this coming.”
“Har, har,” I say, smacking his chest. I want to turn my attitude about this around, because it's not about me. It’s about him and what he’s accomplished. This man didn’t think he’d get on the field again. Ever. And now here he is, ready to play, and his old team wants him back. That’s pretty exciting. “Well, congratulations, Austin. This is kind of a big deal, huh?”
“It is. I can’t lie, I am really happy,” he says, his arm tightening around my waist as he pulls me closer. “The whole time I’ve been recuperating, I wanted to have this happen. To be asked to come back to my team, to play more. I wasn’t ready to retire. I’m not ready for that. Not now.” He pulls away, one hand cupping the side of my face. “But I don’t like the idea of not being here.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m feeling like myself again. I want to show up for my family, I’ve got amends to make. And now there’s you.”
He kisses my forehead.
“Oh, stop it,” I tease. “Now you’re just being flirty.”
“Nope, it’s the truth. Now that there is a you and you are here, I don’t like the idea of being in Florida as much as I’ll need to be.”
“Well, considering where we were when I first moved in and how far you’ve come,” I say with a wink, eliciting a chuckle from my reformed neighbor, “it won’t be easy, but I know going to Tampa Bay may be the thing that makes you happiest. And I want you to be happy.”
“Where does it leave us?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say as honestly as I can. “We’re figuring things out, right? So we can’t rush it.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t like it.”
“What part don’t you like? If it’s the part about me, well, you need to get over that.”
“I can’t just ‘get over that’—don’t you get it? It’s like you’re a ball of light. A sunbeam I needed, and when you turned your illumination my way, I felt warm. For the first time in a very long time. Invincible. Like I can do anything.”
“And you did,” I exclaim, clapping my hands together and stepping away from him. Am I feigning happiness while Adele’s “Someone Like You” plays on repeat in my mind? There’s a song that’s about to live rent-free for a few weeks. “Look at you. You’re back, Austin Porter!”
“You make me better. You make me want to be better, so I am.”
“I want you to feel that for yourself, and not just for me.”
His head cocks to the side. “How do you mean?”
“I love the idea of making someone better, but it is a lot of pressure.” I chuckle. “Although, diamonds are made under pressure, aren’t they?”
“In sports, we say ‘pressure is a privilege.’” Austin looks around, nodding his head as if he’s made up his mind about something before he tugs on my arm. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”
The stadium lights blaze against the inky night sky, casting a golden glow over the football field below. The freshly painted white lines gleam, cutting through the deep green turf like crisp, precise markers of the battles yet to be fought. The air hums with energy, filled with the distant roar of the crowd and the rhythmic thud of drums from the marching band.
