Page 93 of Fair Catch
Gavin stifled a laugh as I peeled Mom’s hand off my head and pinched his side.
“I’m fine,” I said, with more of a bite than I intended. I forced a soothing breath before smiling at my mother. “I promise. Just a little nervous.”
“That’s to be expected,” Dad said, sitting on the arm of the couch behind Mom. He pulled her halfway into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist while she smiled and leaned into him in return. “Our baby girl. Playing in the Blackberry Bowl on New Year’s Eve!”
Mom teared up immediately, swiping her tears away as soon as they fell. “We’re so proud of you.”
Dad’s eyes shone with that pride as he assessed me, like he was just realizing I wasn’t a little girl anymore. His eyes were the same shade as mine, a warm brown laced with green and gold, and looking at the two humans who gave me life and helped me get where I was today made me loose a sigh.
My annoyance faded altogether, and I smiled — genuinely for perhaps the first time in weeks. “Thanks, guys.”
“And Zeke!” Mom added, clapping her hands together with stars in her eyes.
My stomach dropped.
“He’s going to have a record-breaking return,” Dad said. “I can feel it.”
That genuine smile I’d worn was gone now, replaced by one that fell as flat as a pancake.
“You sure you don’t want to get the vomiting out now?” Gavin asked, nudging the waste bin toward me again.
I smacked his arm as our parents laughed, Dad giving Mom’s backside a little love tap as they both stood. “We’re going to run out and grab something for dinner. You sure you can’t join us?” Mom asked me.
“Can’t. Team meeting soon, just came to say hi.”
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to hang out after the game tomorrow night,” she said, kissing my forehead. “And celebrate.”
She winked at me when she stood, grabbing her purse as I tried to overcome the nerves that were riddling my stomach. She started singing “Celebration” by Kool & The Gang, wiggling her hips with her hands in the air, and Dad joined in on the chorus one time before laughing at the deadpan looks Gavin and I gave them.
“Any requests, Gav?” Dad asked on their way out.
“Not seafood.”
“Sushi? Got it!” Mom said, and they giggled themselves into the hallway, shutting the door behind them.
Gavin poked a thumb over his shoulder. “Your parents.”
I smiled, leaning back into the stack of pillows against the headboard. I didn’t mean to, but as soon as it was quiet, I slipped into my thoughts, a tornado of kicking drills and game circumstances that might land me in a sticky situation. I ticked through the weather report, noting the wind possibilities, and visualized my kick being good each time I kicked it despite the Louisville Thunder defenders’ attempt to block it.
Somewhere along the way, those thoughts drifted from football to Zeke — a pattern I should have been used to at this point but was still immensely annoyed by. I thought time would help, thought distancing myself would start to patch every tear he’d left behind.
But when you’re on the same team with the person who broke you, there is no such thing as true distance.
Every day, I saw him. Every day, I watched him pull his shirt overhead, watched his muscles flex as he replaced it with a practice jersey or pads or nothing at all before stalking to the shower. I heard his voice calling out encouragement to our teammates, smelled his body wash when he brushed past me, felt his eyes on me when I was doing everything I could to keep mine off him.
He was inescapable.
And the worst part was that I wouldn’t escape him even if I could.
The masochistic part of me was thankful to have those stolen moments, to run into him in the weight room or kneel next to him in the team huddle. I longed for an accidental brush of our hands, or to look at him and catch him staring at me.
I wanted to know he still wanted me, too.
It was sick — that much I knew. Just like it was sick that I clung to him the day Coach told us we were playing in the bowl game, that I cried and held onto him, silently begging him to fix it, to fix me when he was the one responsible for the damage.
His words that day had haunted me every second since they left his lips. Everything he said was sincere, that I knew just from how he suffered getting them out.
I just wished his apology was enough.
“Okay, now I’m not even joking — you really look like you’re about to vom.”
Gavin’s voice snapped me back to the present, and I sighed, managing a small smile. “I told you, I’m fine.”
