Page 54 of Courageous Hearts

But that day, for the brief few minutes Diesel and I talked, he didn’t see me for who I was. Who I am. And I think if he does, maybe he’ll understand just how wide this divide between us is.

Dee nods. “Just be careful, yeah?”

“O’course,” I reply.

She slaps the bed near my leg once before standing. “I’m meeting some of my girls for brunch. Have fun at your football practice.”

“Have fun with your mimosas,” I counter, to which Dee grins.

Dee disappears around the partition to her side of the room, and I splay my arms wide over my empty bed. Last night, I resisted the urge to stay over at Jameson’s again. He said I was welcome, and I know he meant it, but I have a feeling if I make a habit of spending nights at his warm, cozy house, I might not ever want to leave.

It should worry me how comfortable I am with the man already. That I almost want to test out that theory of his about never getting enough of me.

It should be scary that, when it comes to the two of us, I don’t want to pump the brakes. Not even a little.

But the only scary thing is…it’s not scary at all.

The football field at Damian’s high school brings back all sorts of memories I’d long ago tried to push away. The smell of grass and dirt, that big stretch of green where childhood battles are fought, the squeak of shoes on the metal bleachers. It’s like I’m right back in time at a place far from here.

But as I watch Damian, those memories start to recede, and I find myself enjoying being on the opposite end of the equation. As an observer, instead of a participant.

I cheer Damian on quietly, smiling when he secures an opening for his teammates. Flinching when he takes an especially hard hit. For once, I simply enjoy the game, and I feel another one of those little spaces inside of me mend as something that was once a source of pain is soothed over.

When the coach whistles for the end of practice, I stand up from my spot on the bleachers near a few other supporters, most of them likely parents. I assume Damian will head off with the rest of the kids, but, instead, he catches my eye and starts to jog over. I make my way down to the rubber track that surrounds the field, and the teen stops in front of me, shuffling his foot a little before meeting my eye.

“You didn’t have to come,” he says. Like half of his teammates, he’s wearing a blue practice jersey, and it’s covered in a good bit of dirt and sweat.

“I know, but I wanted to,” I reply. “You did good out there. You like bein’ an offensive lineman?”

He nods, shuffling his feet again. “It’s all right.”

“I was a wide receiver.”

Damian’s eyes flare slightly. “You played football?”

“I did,” I say with a chuckle. I don’t know if Damian is more surprised because of my appearance or my size. I don’t scream sports type. And I’m not the biggest person, but, “Back where I grew up, almost everybody was on the team. Our school was tiny, and it was our only team sport.”

“Did you like playing?” he asks.

“No, not really,” I admit around another laugh. The hypermasculinity, the trash talk, feeling like, yet again, I was out of place because I didn’t fit into the role of what a man should be. As if there’s one right way to be in the first place. “D’you like it?”

He nods. “Yeah, it’s fun.”

“That’s good,” I say. And it is. I would never begrudge someone else enjoying the sport.

Damian fidgets, looking off toward the school, where most of his teammates are disappearing to. He probably needs to get to the locker room.

“I don’t wanna keep you,” I say. “Thanks for comin’ over to say hello.”

I take a step, but Damian’s voice halts me.

“Uh, Bo? Thanks for the advice.”

“Which advice?” I ask, pivoting back his way.

He rocks on his heels. “About my friend. And the bully,” he says. “I have an idea I think might help.”

A small smile spreads across my face. “Yeah? Wanna tell me ’bout it?”

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