Page 127 of Through the Storm

The guys glance between us, and I watch as realization slowly dawns on them.

“Also,” Tyler adds, “shut up before he throws the ball through your face.”

Right on cue, Coach’s whistle cuts through the air.

“Ladies,” he yells from the sideline. “If we’re done gossiping, maybe we can try playing football.”

The guys scatter back to their spots. I take the snap and fire the next pass harder than I need to. Like that’ll fix anything.

It lands clean.

The guys all cheer.

But I don’t.

Because no matter how many reps I run, how many throws I make, how busy I keep myself, there’s still a part of me standing outside her door. Waiting.

Coach blows the whistle again. “Water!”

The guys jog toward the sideline, helmets coming off, everyone grabbing bottles. I sit on the bench and lean forward, forearms on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Sweat drips off the end of my nose and hits the turf.

Tyler drops onto the bench beside me and studies me for a second. “You good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.” His voice is dry. “You look fantastic.”

I huff out a breath that might almost be a laugh.

He takes a long drink from his bottle. “Rebecca says Katy’s beengoing out again.” He says it like it’s nothing.

My head snaps toward him too fast. Tyler notices immediately, and the asshole starts laughing. “Whoa.” He grins. “Relax.”

I glare at him.

“I meant she’s leaving the house,” he clarifies. “Hanging out with Ella and Rebecca. That’s it.”

I swallow, forcing my shoulders to loosen. “That’s good,” I say.

Tyler shakes his head.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You went straight to jealous psycho in half a second.” He nudges my shoulder, then watches the field for a moment. “She also says she misses you.”

“That doesn’t help,” I mutter.

Tyler shrugs. “Maybe not.” He nudges my shoulder again. “But it’s not nothing either.”

I stare out at the field. Some players are running routes. Coach is yelling at someone about footwork. It’s the same routine I’ve done a thousand times.

But none of it quiets the part of my brain replaying the same moment over and over.

The empty street. The movement in her window. The way I thought, just for a second, that she’d come running out.

I check my phone again out of habit.

No new messages.

The wallpaper is still a picture of her, hands resting on her pregnant belly. I haven’t had the heart to change it. Not sure what I’d replace it with.