Page 74 of With the Assist

Nathan: Seems that way. I was just hoping for a distraction.

My pulse jumps.

I think of how close he’d been. Our breath had mixed in the chilled air. There had been no crowd or excuse. He’d wanted to kiss me, for real.

The fear is still there, crawling up my spine. But beneath it is something else.

Me: Careful what you wish for.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. I slide forward in my seat, watching my screen in anticipation.

Nathan: I always am.

The words sit on the screen longer than they should, confident in a way that causes a slow burn to start under my skin. I don’t reply.Instead, I let the noise of the restaurant wash over me, my mind heading in directions that I don’t usually allow.

I’m a professional athlete. The captain. The default mother to my sister. The budgeter and bill payer for my father. I’m the person everyone looks to when something needs to be handled, when pressure spikes, and there’s no margin for error. I pull off the impossible not because it’s easy, but because it’s required.

I love soccer. I do. But loving it doesn’t erase the weight of it. I play because I need to, because people need me to.

What scares me isn’t Nathan. It’s wanting something that doesn’t serve a purpose beyond me. Letting myself want him doesn’t pay the bills or further my career.

But maybe, letting myself have a little fun wouldn’t derail everything I’ve worked for.

It’s not like it would be serious. Nathan Wilder, Boston’s golden boy, doesn’t do serious. He has fun. He has flings.

Maybe that’s what I need. Fun that can be filed away when everything goes back to normal.

I glance down at my phone again, my thumb hovering over the screen.

For the first time, instead of shutting the thought down entirely, I let it sit there.

I wonder what would happen if, just this once, I leaned in.

20

Nathan

Friendsgiving is a generous term for what’s happening in my apartment.

There’s takeout spread across the counter in mismatched containers, a grocery store pumpkin pie that no one bothered to eat, and Wyatt has already claimed the couch like he’s guarding it in the crease.

Liam and Wyatt are deep into some hockey video game, Liam yelling at his on-screen player while Wyatt critiques every missed save as if it’s actually him between the posts. Meanwhile, Grayson sits across from me at the kitchen island. My laptop is open between us with our game tape paused mid-play.

It’s loud, but comfortable and exactly the kind of night I needed.

“Run it back,” Grayson says, leaning closer to the screen.

I hit the spacebar and the clip rewinds. Tomorrow’s opponent cycles the puck along the boards, with their defense pinching aggressively.

“That’s where you’ll be,” Grayson says, tapping the screen with his knuckle. “Left side instead of right. You come down earlier. Don’t wait for the lane to open.”

Wyatt snorts from the couch. “Listen to Captain Sunshine. He’s already planning the Cup parade.”

Grayson grins without missing a beat. “If you’re invited, you can bring your bad attitude.”

Liam pauses the game long enough to glance over his shoulder at me. “It’s still kind of wild that Coach is moving you, though.”

I shrug. “Someone got hurt. It’s temporary.”