Page 17 of Guarding the Star

“Mama says giwlfwiend.”

We look at each other, neither of us knowing what to say, while the kid watches us with total calm. Two-year-olds have a gift for hearing things you don't want them to hear.

“Yeah, well, she's kind of my girlfriend, okay.”

“She's pwetty,” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Yeah, Wes. She is,” I say, barely a whisper, while I tuck him in.

Chapter 6

Paula

First home game. The Seattle Emeralds stadium is packed, and I barely know how to react when Iris grabs my hand in the tunnel and laces our fingers together.

“Camera there,” she whispers in my ear, tilting her chin toward a TV operator to our left, and then she kisses my cheek.

She did it for the cover. It's professional. It's what we agreed on. Physical contact when cameras are around. Holding hands in public, gestures of affection. All within protocol.

The camera moves. Points at other players. The reason for holding hands disappears.

But Iris doesn't let go.

Neither do I.

We walk the last fifty feet of the tunnel like that, twenty-five thousand people roaring on the other side. The PA system rattles the walls. The floodlights are on and the Seattle sky looks like a gray sheet designed to make the artificial light burn brighter.

“Nervous?” I ask.

Iris looks at me. Green eyes full of spark. When she chews her gum fast, she's nervous. When she chews slow, she's locked in. Right now she's chewing fast.

“I'm always nervous before a game, even preseason, but don't tell anyone. I'm supposed to be the tough one on the team,” she says.

“Your secret's safe.”

“When I'm nervous, I score more. If I miss, I walk over to the photographers and scream something I shouldn't. The fans love it. Makes them feel like I'm one of them. And honestly, I am. I'll do everything I can to never leave this club.”

She lets go and sprints toward the center circle, hands up to greet the crowd, her blonde ponytail swinging side to side.

I climb to my seat next to Tessa. Wesley spots me and reaches out his hand.

The game hasn't started, but the kid is screaming nonstop. Could be “goal” or could be any other word. Tessa wipes his chin with a cloth. He's cutting some molars and chewing everything in reach: the collar of his jersey, his stuffed animals. A couple days ago I let him bite my finger, and he nearly took it off.

Watching Iris play live is different. She reads gaps before they open, cuts with a hip fake that drops defenders flat. She receives with her back to the goal, spins, shoots.

The ball goes wide.

“Son of a bitch!” she screams, veering toward the photographers, and that section of the stands loses it.

Twenty minutes later, she scores.

She gets a through ball from Zoe, traps it on her thigh, turns, and drives it low, past the keeper's reach.

She rips off her jersey again and swings it over her head. Hades buries her face in her hands. Tina jumps on top of Zoe. The whole team celebrates. The stadium roars.

Next to me, Wesley screams:

“Iwis! Iwis!”