I can handle anything.
Until I walk into the Boston Buzzards training facility and see Brandon Nix standing there.
My step falters before I regain my footing. The last time I stumbled because of Brandon I ended up with a mild brain injury, and we all know what happened next. I don’t think the outside observer would notice my slight loss of rhythm. Nor would they see the lump forming in my throat or the tightness constricting my chest.
He looks good.
His hair is slicked back into a low ponytail. It looks shorter than before. There’s not as much blond on the ends. His normal five o’clock shadow has grown in thicker, almost to a full beard at this point. He’s wearing his glasses.
Damn.
I love those glasses.
Brandon’s joking around with his teammates, bouncing a soccer ball on his knees.
I’ve been around soccer players my entire life. I’ve played soccer since I was a kid. Until the COVID pandemic, I played in a few recreational leagues. I’m not usually impressed with this type of horsing around.
Is it hot in here or is it his thighs?
I swallow, allowing myself one more look before I shut all those feelings away. I can’t have them. I can’t think them. They cannot exist.
It’s probably a good thing I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of experience not allowing myself to feel or express anything. I’m going to need every single bit of it today.
Chapter 33: Brandon
She’s here.
The minute she walks into the field house that serves as our practice field, my eyes find her. She looks good. Her hair is in a high ponytail, swirling and bouncing with each step.
I want to grab it and pull her toward me.
I can’t. I will never be able to do that, and I have to accept that.
I want to know what she’s been up to this past month. How is she feeling? Did she ever get the pay thing straightened out?
I’m probably too loud, talking with my teammates. I’m probably showing off too much, messing around with the ball. I don’t know what to do with myself or my energy that isn’t running over to her and scooping her into my arms.
