Page 132 of With the Assist

I’ve never been a fan of soccer, not for any particular reason other than not having a lot of exposure to it, but I’ve started paying attention. I know what teams will be a challenge for the Tempest this year and most of Wesley’s stats. The bones of soccer aren’t too different from hockey, and I find myself turning it on during my free evenings.

It’s because of this newfound familiarity that I understand how big a deal it is that the coach running the Futures Camp is willing to set aside time to meet with her early.

Their conversation moves on to the upcoming season and other plans I’m not going to be part of.

I stand there anyway, memorizing the feel of her next to me.

Tomorrow, this ends.

Tomorrow, I’m supposed to go back to being who I was two months ago. Star athlete. In the limelight. Light-hearted bachelor. Alone.

My stomach hollows out.

The three of them keep talking. I nod in the right places and smile when expected.

Wesley listens with her whole body. Her chin is lifted, and she has one hand wrapped around her glass, the other gesturing while shetalks. It’s confident without being loud. Every once in a while, she glances at me, like she is checking that I’m still with her, and every time she does, something tight in my chest eases.

I don’t realize I’ve checked out completely until her elbow nudges into my side. It’s not a hard nudge, just enough to bring me back to the present. I look down at her, startled, and she’s grinning at me, eyes bright with amusement.

“You okay over there?” she murmurs.

Before I can answer, Todd Sawyer clears his throat.

“Nathan,” he says, smiling easily. “Sorry, I was asking you something.”

Heat crawls up the back of my neck. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He waves it off. “I was curious. You’re having one hell of a season. What do you think clicked for you this year?”

This is familiar territory, even if it sucks. To everyone, I’m just hockey. Becca’s date, the owner of the team, my teammates, and even my own parents all look at me and see the hockey player. The only person who hasn’t asked me some variation of this question is the woman currently pressed into my side.

I go with it anyway.

“It’s been a mix of things. Consistency, but I’ve also spent a lot of extra time working on my conditioning and decision making.”

Todd nods approvingly. “It shows on the wing.”

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it.

Then he tilts his head, expression shifting slightly. “And do you think any of that has to do with Wesley?”

The room does not go silent, but it might as well have.

My chest locks up. It’s not panic exactly, but something close. This is the train of thought I’ve been avoiding, knowing that it doesn't lead anywhere productive. Still, it’s been circling the edges of my thoughts for weeks.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because how do I answer that without confirming the fear that’s been eating at me? People only think I’m playing well again becauseof her, and when she walks away, whatever version of me they are praising goes with her.

My jaw tightens. I keep my expression neutral, but inside, everything is stalling out.

Wesley feels it immediately.

She shifts closer, hand lacing with mine easily, and speaks before the silence stretches too far.

“I don’t think that’s fair.” She looks the owner of her team directly in the eyes.

Todd looks surprised, then amused. “Oh?”