Page 9 of Five Things I See in You

We stay quiet, but it’s a comfortable silence, one of those that feel good even without the words. I lean over until my head rests on her shoulder and I leave it there until I realize what I’m doing.

“Thanks for bringing me,” I say, nervous.

“Get some rest, Noa. Try not to dwell on any of this tomorrow.”

That’s all.

I go up to my place and don’t turn on the lights. From the living room window I can see the street, a dark stretch of the bay in the distance and, below, Jordan’s car parked where she left it. Headlights on. It doesn’t move.

She could be checking her phone or entering an address in her GPS, I tell myself. The headlights stay on, lighting up the rain in front of the building.

Then the car starts, the lights sweep across the street and disappear around the corner.

It takes me a while to step away from the window, and I’d rather not think about what that means.

Chapter 7

Jordan

I don’t sleep. I try for a while, with the house dark and silent. The kind of silence you only get in the middle of the night, sometimes so much worse than noise. Then I stop trying and get up to make some tea.

For some reason, I find myself staring at my right hand.

I held Noa’s several times during the drive, and the problem is I didn’t even stop to think about it. I had her crying against my shoulder on the shower floor, and I was the one who didn’t want to pull away. Then I parked in front of her building, turned off the engine, and I didn’t want to move then either. I stayed still, watching an empty street with my hand over hers.

I told her, “Get some rest, Noa. Try not to dwell on any of this tomorrow.”

And I’m the one who’s been thinking about it all night.

In the parking lot I told myself I was keeping her company. But of course, you can keep someone company without holding their hand at every red light and, above all, without liking it every time you do, which is the worst part of this whole thing.

I know what’s happening to me. I’ve known it longer than I’d like to admit, since the party or maybe even before. I’ve worked very hard at calling it other things: professional concern, program follow-up, the most expensive signing in the club’s history that has to work out no matter what. All of that is true. What I didn’t want to admit is that there’s something more.

I like Noa Reeves. And I run the mental health program for the team she plays on.

I’ll talk to Tessa today.

I tell myself that in the early hours of Thursday morning.

I don’t talk to Tessa until Monday.

On Thursday, I get up with my mind made up, and it falls apart before breakfast, like a sugar cube in coffee.

I even see her in the cafeteria. She greets me by raising her eyebrows from her table and waving me over to join her. I point at my watch and mouth the words: later, I’m in a big hurry right now.

I’m in no hurry at all, but the thought of what I have to tell her terrifies me.

In the afternoon I write a message. I can’t put this off any longer.

“Do you have a minute today? I need to talk to you about something program-related. It’s important.”

I save it to drafts.

I write another one.

“I think I’m in serious trouble and I need to talk it over with you.”

I save that one too, and then I start one for Noa, and just thinking about her name makes my heart race and my chest tighten.