Chapter 33

: Brandon

S he’s here.

The minute she walks into the field house that serves as our practice field, my eyes find her. She looks good. Her hair is in a high ponytail, swirling and bouncing with each step.

I want to grab it and pull her toward me.

I can’t. I will never be able to do that, and I have to accept that.

I want to know what she’s been up to this past month. How is she feeling? Did she ever get the pay thing straightened out?

I’m probably too loud, talking with my teammates. I’m probably showing off too much, messing around with the ball. I don’t know what to do with myself or my energy that isn’t running over to her and scooping her into my arms.

I did not for one second anticipate it would be this difficult to see her again.

It’s heaven and hell all rolled into one.

My new-found self-consciousness is a real pain in the ass. Reprieve arrives in the form of the event organizers who begin to herd us into our designated corners. “Remember, today is about the siblings. Do what you can to make them feel special. We expect lots of social media posts, so make sure to smile big. Thank you for donating your time and names to this event today.”

I feel eyes on me, especially from Leora and Callaghan. Hannah is here, filming away.

I pose for her, and she laughs. “You gonna work for us now? Do our social media?”

It’s Hannah’s turn to laugh. “You know it’s best to keep some separation between work and home. I’m happy with where I’m at. The networking is good. If I’d thought about it, I’d have brought some of my football players over.” Since Hannah’s now running social media and other public relations for the Patriots, she could have.

“You should have brought your guys over. I’d show them how to really kick a ball.”

Hannah laughs. “Oh, to have your confidence. We should have you put your money where your mouth is.”

TJ Doyle walks up, holding his phone out, obviously filming. “What’s Brandon talking smack about now? I want to record this for posterity.”

“You want to go viral at my expense.”

Doyle laughs. “Same difference. What’s the bet?”

I look at Hannah. This is all in good fun. “That I can kick a ball further than the kicker for the Patriots. Bring him over. We should do this. Get Chris Todd and let’s have a kickoff contest. I’ve got time before the game.”

Callaghan walks up, catching the end of the conversation. “Sounds like it’d be worth watching, but not on a match day. Save your leg for the game, especially in this heat.”

“Cally Entay is always spoiling the fun,” I pretend to pout, mugging for Doyle. I know Entay hates that nickname. I may be trying to be better, but I can’t let everything go.

The next ninety minutes are a whirlwind. Kids of all ages line up at my station. I’m at the back of the practice field, teaching penalty kicks. Entay’s working on goalkeeping skills. Doyle and Landon are working on passing and other drills. Periodically a buzzer rings and the entire group rotates to the next station.

Andi’s at the opposite end of the field from me. It’s good she’s far away. It’s bad that she’s in my line of sight. What’s she saying down there? She’s all smiles, hugging kid after kid.

Her expression is easy to read, even from this far away.

She looks happy.

Andi Nichols is a natural in this environment. She laughs as kid after kid pulls out a red card and holds it up. Each kid at her station gets a whistle as well.

That’s great, said no one ever.

As the event draws to a conclusion, we gather at midfield for lots of group pictures. We’re all wearing matching T-shirts and smiles. The participants are ushered out the door, and the rest of us are left to take some last photos with the organizers of the event.

Through no fault of my own or any underlying agenda, I end up next to Andi. She gives me a slight lift of her chin but no other acknowledgment. She’s not slighting me. This is how it needs to be.

It feels like a slight.

Nothing can ever happen with her again. No matter how many times I’ve thought about it. No matter how many times I’ve wanted to call her. No matter what I want.

Being with her would ruin her life, and I can’t do that to her.

I won’t do that to her.

“Get in closer so you all fit behind the side. Turn a little sideways.” The photographer waves at us. “You on the end, get a little closer.”

As directed, I take a step in toward Andi. There are only inches between our bodies. This is hell, not being able to touch her. In front of me, her posture is rigid. I can see the pulse thrumming in her neck. She swallows hard.

Good.

I mean, not good because this is agony and there’s nothing we can do about it. But good that I affect her. Because even if I were to confront her—even if she denied it—her body doesn’t lie.

It’s written all over her.

I can read her like a book, and that book wants to be open to me.

That’ll have to be enough for me.

My self-control isn’t that good. At the last moment, I stretch out my hand, my fingers grazing hers. We’re so close that this could look like an incidental brushing. For a split second, her fingers curl into mine.

It’s all the confirmation I need. This is hell for her too.

The moment the pictures are done, she all but sprints out of there. Part of me understands. She can’t be caught fraternizing with the team she’s about to officiate. She can’t be caught fraternizing with me .

Slowly I walk behind my teammates to the locker room where I’d pitched my bag upon arrival. I strip off my long socks and shin guards, sliding my feet into my flip-flops. I have time to run home for a quick shower and lunch before I need to report back for the game.

I wonder what Andi’s going to do with this downtime. There’s not enough time for her to drive home and back. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have her number. I don’t have the willpower not to text her and offer to let her shower at my house. With me.

I said I’m working on being a good person. I’m not one yet.