Page 167 of With the Assist

He knows what I risked to be at his side. I don’t regret it. There was no part of me that could play a soccer game knowing he was in the hospital. But I still hope it doesn’t cost me my future.

Me: Nah, but there is still plenty of time before the deadline.

I bite my lip and let out a sigh, trying to convince myself of what I’m telling Nathan. I wait for the anxious spiral and racing heart that normally accompany the idea of not making the National Team, but they don’t come. Could it really be this simple?

Harper glances at Avery and me. “The cup is next week. Are you guys feeling ready?”

“It’s just another game.” Avery shrugs, her usual nonchalance in full force. I nod in agreement.

The pre-game jitters, the endless worry over the scouts, and the pressure to perform all feel manageable. The image of the ball against my cleats has anticipation humming beneath my skin. I’m excited to play.

“And?” Harper prompts.

“I’m trying not to let myself get too fixated.” I hesitate, then add, “Coach Bennett wasn’t as mad as I thought she’d be about me leaving the scrimmage.”

Avery turns toward me. “Really?”

We’d lost the scrimmage. While I am not egotistical enough to think it was solely because of my absence, I am realistic enough to know it played a role.

“Yeah. Once everyone realized Nathan was hurt, she didn’t blame me for needing to be there, especially because it was just a scrimmage. If anything, she’s been more solid about me being captain this season.”

Harper smiles softly. “I’m proud of you.”

“She told me that it makes me human, which is exactly the type of person who should be leading the team.”

Avery lifts her glass. “Here! Here!”

“The National Team coaches still haven’t called,” I admit. “Which is fine. I mean, not fine, but I’m still hopeful.”

Harper nudges my knee. “They’ll call.”

“And if they don’t, I still get to play. I still get to lead my team. There are worse things.”

Avery studies me for a second. “You sound different.”

“Good different?”

She smiles. “Yeah, good different.”

I lean back into the couch, letting the noise of the cars driving by settle into me. Knowing my friends see the changes I’m making means the world to me. Hopefully, Nathan sees the changes, too.

My phone buzzes.

Nathan: They’d be insane not to pick you.

I don’t know what comes over me, other than that Nathan makes me want to feel the things I’ve shied away from for years. He makes me honest about what I want in a way I never have been.

Me: There’s only one person I care about picking me these days.

The next move is his.

46

Nathan

Grayson’s house smells like pizza grease and stale beer. Normally, he has a girlfriend, but he’s on some sort of dating hiatus, and the smell shows it.

I’m sunk into the far end of the couch, my right arm locked in its sling, useless and heavy against my chest. Every time I shift, my collarbone reminds me that I am very much not healed.