Page 24 of The Keeper
“Yes.”
He opens his eyes and the look of sadness I see in them reflects every piece of disappointment rattling around in my soul. He sits in his chair and rubs his hands over his face. I follow suit, sitting across from him, just staring at him, aware that this might be my last chance to just look at him unabashedly without feeling self-conscious about it. I won’t get that luxury again without fear that someone will see my feelings written on my face.
“RJ,” he starts.
My head drops and I stare at my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
“I know,” I whisper.
And when I look back up at him, I see the look. The look I was anticipating.
It’s over.
It doesn’t surprise me. Both of us could get in serious trouble if there was even ahintthat something was going on between us.
“How is this happening?” I ask.
He shakes his head and exhales a heavy breath, taking a seat back at his desk.
“I’ve been talking with Jeremy about trying to get back into the soccer world. He called me a few weeks ago. Told me he’d heard word that Coach Walker might be moving on and a coaching job might come open here. That I should head out to be available for an interview.” He shrugs. “I’ve been here about three weeks. I didn’t even know if it was going to work out until last night.”
“So it’s Jeremy’s fault,” I say with a small smile.
He laughs. A small laugh, but it’s still better than the desolate look he was wearing a few minutes ago.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” He picks up his pencil and starts twirling it in his fingers. “So that’s it then.”
“We barely know each other.” I try to brush it off, but even I can tell there’s no conviction behind my words. “We went on one date. This shouldn’t matter.”
“You’re right. It shouldn’t.”
And then we stare at each other, each of us silently acknowledging the fact that whatever was blooming between us would have been something special. Something more. Sometimes the loss of what might have been can feel just as intense as the loss of what is. We’re in the process of losing both.
“We can’t just sit here and stare at each other.” I finally say with a sigh. “Treat me like the other girls. What questions do you have for me?”
His eyes drop to his clipboard.
“Tell me about yourself.” But before I can answer he draws a line through the question and reads the next one. “What are your long-term soccer goals?” And then he scratches through that one and moves on. “Why are you a part of this team?”
There’s a silence and I realize he’s going to let me respond because it’s finally a question he doesn’t know the answer to.
“As you know, my brother plays soccer. He always made it sound like it was a way to escape from his life. So I joined the team in high school and I was hooked, just like he was. My dad had his own idea about what Jeremy and I should do with our futures, and it didn’t involve soccer, or Glendale. I had to get a scholarship if I wanted to go to school, because my dad sure wasn’t going to help. Half of my tuition is an academic scholarship, but the other half is covered by athletics.”
“So you’re a part of this team because it pays your way?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then what did you say?”
I pause, trying to find the right words.
“There are a few people in my past who have intentionally tried to make me feel like I had no value.” I see Mack wince slightly, and I focus my attention out the window behind him instead of at his face. “It was important to me to be able to leave that behind and create a better life than what those people think I deserve. I knew my only way to get free was to go to college and I needed some sort of scholarship. I was lucky enough to fall in love with a sport when I needed it. I took that love and channeled it to learn and improve and kick ass so that I could get that scholarship. And now I’m using that scholarship to get my degree and be the person I think I’m capable of being.”
When I finally look back at him, his eyes are roaming over my face. “You’re going to do amazing things, RJ.”
“I’m not sure about amazing things,” I respond with a small shrug. “But I’ll try my best to do something with my life that’s more than getting drunk and ruining other peoples’ lives.”
Mack’s nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. His posture has gone rigid, and I see him clenching his fist around his pen. Then he looks at his watch.
