Page 27 of Wrap Around
For still wanting…
Every day after practice, I drive past a small church. It's unassuming and inviting. I've avoided it since moving here, never planned on stopping, but I've noticed it every time I pass.
Today, instead of driving on by, I stop. I sit in my truck and stare at the open door, thinking about the way I watched Silas in the showers today. It's the first time I've ever seen him naked. Seeing your teammates naked is a normal occurrence, but I've made a point not to look at Silas. I don't even go into the showers when he's there. It's another unspoken rule, an arrangement that we both knew we needed. We take turns. Usually I go first, since he typically does a long cool down, but today I was later than usual and didn't think anything of it until I was under the water already. I turned around, and there he was in all his glory, in the stall directly behind me, not blocked by the half walls that act as shelves and barriers between each shower. I wasn't expecting him, but once I looked, I couldn't stop looking. My eyes were glued to the wide expanse of his muscular back, the curve of his lower back, the roundness of his perfect ass.Jesus, help me.
I nearly tripped running out of there without actually cleaning myself. I'm pretty sure I stink, and my clothes are sticking to me a bit from putting them on wet. But I knew I had to get out of there as fast as humanly possible.
So now I'm sitting in my truck watching a woman with short greying hair welcoming people one by one to Wednesday night worship. People show up in everything from dress clothes to jeans. I stare until the door is closed behind the last stragglers. Then I find myself walking up the stone path, staring at a vibrantly colored banner that reads “Come as you are”. I stare for so long, I think my eyelashes might be frozen. I talk myself out of going inside several times and am about to leave when I hear music. Singing. It lures me to the door, and when I crack it open to hear better, it pulls me inside. Quietly, with my hoodie pulled over my head, I sit at the end of the last pew, as near to the door as I can.
It's nothing like my father's church. The church I grew up in always felt cold and sterile, nothing but bare wooden pews and a massive crucifix looming over the congregation. There was no choir or holiday decorations, just a pulpit directly under where Jesus hung from the cross. I always felt like my father and Jesus were looking directly at me. Judging me. Condemning me. My parents were friendly and welcoming to the congregation, but my father's sermons were about obedience and law, rather than the love and acceptance I'm hearing from this woman's soft voice. No one falls to their knees crying or speaks in tongues. Not once do I hear the reverend mention Hell. Everything is about love and forgiveness.
It's making me itchy.
I don't engage. Don't pray. I barely even breathe, wondering if this place, with its warm lighting and cheerful voices singing, can absolve me of my sins. If anyone could. If it’s even possible.
And halfway through the service, while everyone is standing to sing, I slip out before anyone can look too closely at me. As I tug the door open to leave, something catches my eye near the entrance.
A small rainbow flag is tucked into a flower arrangement on the small entryway table. It's not large or obvious, easy to miss. I missed it on my way in, but now that I see it, I can't look away from it.
I'm frozen, holding onto the handle of the door, cold air seeping in through the opening. It's sharp against my face.
I don't know what I expected to find here tonight. But it wasn't this… Not a space where someone like me could sit quietly in the back without fear. Not a place where God's love doesn't come with an asterisk or a threat.
And I don't know what to think about it. Or what to feel. But the tight band around my chest relaxes a little, and a strange, tentative feeling unfurls in my stomach. Something like…hope?
I can't say stopping at that church helps me, but something about that place lingers for weeks. And while I don't go back, the presence of the small steeple doesn't make me uncomfortable anymore. Instead, seeing it every day on my way to and from the arena makes me feel a little less alone in the world.
CHAPTER 11
SILAS
I pull into the driveway and cut the engine just as Gideon's truck pulls in behind me. Casey Ives’ SUV is just behind him, parking on the curb so he's not blocking anyone in. Sitting in the quiet of my car for just a second, I watch Tim Landon and Tomas Valdez climb out of the backseat, each holding two bottles of wine. Ives holds a bouquet of fall colored flowers in one hand and a vegetable tray in the other.
Smiling to myself, I get out of my car to greet them. I shake my head at Ives, who is only wearing a thick sweater while the rest of us are bundled up in our coats and gloves. As a born and bred French Canadian, he doesn't feel the cold the same way the rest of us do. Valdez, who is from Arizona originally, feels the cold even more than Gideon and I. He's barely out of the car and I can hear his teeth chattering.
We head up the walk, Gideon quietly taking up the rear as we walk into the house. He catches my eye for a second. It's just a moment, but it's enough to make my heart stutter.
It's our first Thanksgiving. Well, technically American Thanksgiving is next week, but since we have a long string of away gamesover the holiday, we're celebrating today. It's not something we celebrated back home, but it'll be our first real family meal in nearly four years.. I'm thankful that some of our teammates are joining us to help fill some of the awkward tension between Gideon and me. These guys are the ones I’ve grown closest to on the team, and they jumped on the chance for a home cooked meal. Lily has been over the moon excited to host her first holiday meal.
The house is warm and smells amazing with all the savory foods of a proper Thanksgiving feast with a touch of something sweet baking in the oven. Lily comes out to greet us, her cheeks slightly flushed but looking bright-eyed and happy. She beckons us to join her in the kitchen, taking the bottles Valdez hands her when he follows Gideon, who peels off towards the living room. I peek in and see Adaline stacking giant cardboard blocks, which she immediately hands to her "M'uncle Gid-On" so he can make her toppling tower bigger. Valdez flops back on the couch, loudly exclaiming his love for the cartoon Addy is watching.
Back in the kitchen, Ives and Landon are joking around while setting the table. Lily is putting the finishing touches on dinner.
"It smells incredible," I tell her, kissing her cheek lightly. "What can I help with?"
"Want to carve the turkey? I think it'll be easier to pass around if it's already carved."
Nodding, I grab the utensils she's handing me and get to work. Once I'm finished, I bring the platter to the table and then step back, watching everyone sit around our dinner table, talking and laughing. Even Gideon seems in good spirits. I soak it all in, thinking that this is what life is supposed to be like.
Dinner is everything we’d hoped it would be. We're full of laughter and great food, leaning back in our seats watching Ives play with Adaline. He's helping her add some color to the fingerfood painting she's making on her high chair tray. She shrieks with joy when he adds more whipped cream to her pumpkin pie masterpiece. He makes a big deal out of her mess, exclaiming in French how magnificent it is. Lily grins broadly and asks him if he has children of his own.
"Nah," Ives says distractedly, laughing at Addy when she splats her hand down in the middle of the mess and gets splattered with orange pie filling and whipped cream. "Maybe someday. Right now my schedule is too full, and Phillipe travels a lot as well." He freezes, the color draining from his face.
Lily doesn't seem to notice his change in demeanor. "You're a natural," she tells him. "What does Phillipe do?"
Ives swallows, his shoulders tense. "He is a pilot," he answers, his nerves making his accent stronger.
Landon scrunches his nose, confused. "Who the hell is Phillipe? Is he your–"
