21
Fletcher
I’m staringat a stack of board games and wrapping paper in my living room, thinking about the pinball machines I have in storage that I’ve ignored since I moved here, when someone knocks at my door. Sweet Pea doesn’t stir from her plush doggie bed. I almost ignore whoever’s dropping by unexpectedly, but in the weeks since I moved in here, there’s been exactly one person who’s ever knocked at my door.
And even if I didn’t want to see her, I’d want to see her.
I should go to bed and pretend I didn’t hear. Got another long day of training ahead of me tomorrow.
Instead, I check the hall camera, verify it’s Goldie, and order myself to stop smiling before I answer the door.
Today was weird.
Training was hard. I’m not making progress fitting in with the team. Realized very quickly that my motivational speech wasviewed as my ego instead of my dedication, and it’s weighing on me harder by the day.
Especially since I’m not the only former star from another country who’s come to American rugby as a late-career step. There are guys from Ireland and New Zealand and Germany and South America all over the rest of the league.
Holt’s Canadian. Played in the same league I did for a few years, but the guys don’t think anything of that.
So it’s eating at me.
As if I’m the problem.
Which I probably am.
It’s been on my mind since I left training today only to run into Goldie at the bookstore.
Running into her gave me that unwelcome feeling in my chest when she smiled.
And then riding a carousel for the first time in—fuck, since right before my mom died—made me feel other things.
So did having tea and showing Goldie and Hallie how it’s done.
And now she’s standing on the other side of my door, fidgeting with something I can’t clearly see through the camera.
I open the door, and my heart gives a lurch.
Fucking heart.
It’s not supposed to do that.
“Hallie wasveryupset when she realized you left your tiara at tea, so she made me promise I’d bring it back to you.” Goldie shoves a sparkly metal object at me. “You don’t have to wear it, but I can now honestly tell my niece I kept my promise.”
I pull the door open wider, silently inviting her in, unsure if I want her to accept or not.
She stares at me like she, too, isn’t sure if she should come in or not, still twisting the tiara in her hands.
“Did you get dinner?” she asks.
I nod. Didn’t eat much of my spread at tea because none of it fit my body-as-a-temple philosophy.
The scones and clotted cream,fuckyes. I’m going back.
The rest of it I gave to Hallie. Except for the one cookie that Goldie kept eyeing.
“Hallie couldn’t stop talking about you once we got her home,” she says, still hovering in the doorway. “Your lessons in high tea made an impression. And that was before she got to talking about Sweet Pea. I told Brittany—that’s her mom—about how, erm,complicatedit will be for Silas and his feelings, and she was—well, let’s just say she knows exactly who Hallie’s father is, and she’s declared herself to be on Team Fletcher, despite my warnings that Team Fletcher is basically Silas of another flavor. Which I say with affection, I swear. And thank you. It was fun to have you along today.”
“I’m a shitty team player here,” I say.
