Page 49 of The Assist
It’s aboutmefalling for her.
And that terrifies the shit out of me.
I stare at the floor. “Because she sees past all the shit. The noise. The name on the jersey. She makes me feel like I’m more than just the guy who hits hard and smiles for the cameras. She looks at me like I matter.”
Murphy’s quiet for a beat. Then, he says, “Do you ever think maybe that’s what you’ve always wanted? Someone who sees you?”
I don’t answer. Because I know what he’s really asking. The stuff I don’t say out loud. Like how I’ve spent half my life trying to earn something I’m never gonna get from my old man. His approval. His pride. His goddamn love, if we’re being honest.
How I kept thinking maybe if I played well enough, big enough, maybe if I got just one more goal, one more contract, one more headline, he’d call. But it’s never happened. And it probably never will. And I’m sick of chasing ghosts that don’t want to be caught.
Mia doesn’t ask me to prove anything. She just sees me.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “She’s scared.”
“Of you?”
“Ofus. Of what it could mean if we let this happen. She’s got a line, and she’s not ready to cross it.”
Murphy nods, thoughtful. “Then maybe you have to meet her where she’s at. Make her feel safe enough to want to cross it.”
I glance over at him. “Since when did you become an expert on relationships?”
He smirks. “Been watching too many romcoms. You know, for balance.”
We sit in silence for a minute, both drinking, letting it settle.
Eventually, Murphy claps a hand on my shoulder. “You want my advice?”
“Not really.”
“Too bad. You’ve got two choices; keep dancing around her until someone else sees what you see and makes a move, or grow a pair and tell her how you feel. Properly. Not this angsty eye contact and heavy breathing shit.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just don’t be a dick about it. And maybe let herchooseyou, instead of cornering her into it.”
That hits something soft in my chest.
Let her choose.
The thought of her choosingme, not because I’m famous, or convenient, or persistent, but because shewantsme? That kind of wanting? It’d ruin me.
But I’d welcome the wreckage.
Murphy stands and stretches, grabbing another beer. “Right. I’m off to charm that bartender at The Oak. You coming?”
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
“Didn’t think so.” He winks. “Try not to write any sad poetry while I’m gone.”
When he’s disappeared, I sit in the silence for a while. My mind keeps circling back to her. Her hands. Her voice. The way her eyes softened when I told her I was fine, and she didn’t believe me. I want to tell her everything. About my dad. About the pressure. About how fucking lost I feel most days, even with all the noise around me.
And maybe I will.
Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t care. Tired of acting like she’s just another girl.
She’s not.
