Chapter 1
Danny
Much like developing a random food intolerance in your thirties, losing is inevitable. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to, but playoff losses hit rookies especially hard. I’m pretty sure Castillo’s trying not to cry.
“We’ll get ‘em next year, man.” I pat his helmet a few times as we head toward the tunnel, where fans dressed in black and silver jerseys crowd against the railing. They’re visibly freezing in the winter cold, risking frostbite for a high five, gloves, or maybe a pair of cleats if a player is feeling particularly generous. Instead of the usual buzz of excitement, there’s only lukewarm chatter. I methodically start taking off my gloves, ready to hand one to a kid near the front wearing my number.
Then, without warning, I seeher.
My vision is blurry, but I’m pretty sure I’d recognize Gracie Sinclair by her fingertips alone.
That third quarter tackle must have hit harder than I thought. I shake my head to etch-a-sketch the apparition away, but it doesn’t work. She stands out, wearing a green and white Florida Sharks sweatshirt and faded blue jeans. The clothes puzzle me for a moment before I remember we played her ride-or-die team today.
Gracie gives me a small wave and walks down the steps to the bars lining the top of the tunnel. God, she’s breathtaking. Snowflakes decorate her hair, and I want to be close enough to watch each one melt. Seeing her again sparks a flurry of memories. Us at ten, fifteen, eighteen years old. Backyard creeks and school supplies, homecoming and Friday night lights.
The corners of her peachy lips point down into a small frown of worry as she takes notice of my current state. My heart gallops at a concerning pace. I haven’t had a panic attack since I started therapy five years ago, but it’s suddenly becoming harder to breathe.
I break eye contact, doing my best to focus on the techniques my therapist taught me before I spiral. I manage to take a deep breath and recite the steps in my head.
Three things I can see.Her curly, red hair. Her long legs. Her left eye, which is hazel, and her right eye, a mix of blue and purple. She always was self-conscious about her heterochromia, but the mere memory of her eyes has held me captive for years. I shake my head, attempting to regain my equilibrium and focus back on the exercise.
Three things I can smell.The crisp air. Spilled beer. And I swear I can smell coconut and vanilla, her perfume of choice since she got it for her thirteenth birthday.
Three things I can hear.The fans chattering, stadium announcements, and unfortunately, the ringing in my ears.
Accepting the noise, I slowly start to feel my heart rate come down.
My reaction is to be expected, I guess. That’s probably normal when you haven’t seen your best friend, and love of your life, in ten years.
“Hey, are you okay, DT?” the kid wearing my number asks, antsy for attention. I quickly reach up to give him my gloves,thank him for his support, and jog over to our stadium security guard.
“Hey, Joe!”
He claps my shoulder. “Tough game, but you did good out there.”
“I appreciate it,” I say absentmindedly, glancing at Gracie to make sure she hasn’t disappeared. She fidgets with a few curls framing her face, pushing a couple of them behind her ears only to have them pop right back out again.
“So, what can I do for you, man?”
I gesture to Gracie. “See that girl over there? With the curly hair?”
“Yeah, she yours?”
I pause for only a moment before giving an emphatic, “Yes. That’s my Gracie.”
I should probably take it back. But, really, it’s semantics at this point. Maybe I’m delusional.Fuck, I might be delusional. I’m already thinking of ways to hide this particular train of thought from my therapist.
Joe looks skeptical. “The one with the green and white shirt?”
I realize he’s wondering why “my girl” lacks team spirit. I could get into the weeds of how stubborn my Gracie is, but it doesn’t seem like the time. My main priority is making sure she doesn’t evaporate into thin air. And if she does, my next priority will be figuring out how to get her back here.
An involuntary grin takes up half my face as I happily nod at Joe. “Yep, she’s mine.”
I ask him to make sure she goes over to the suite outside the locker room, then make my way back toward the fans. As I pass Gracie, I hold her gaze and mouth the same words from the field that I did after every high school game senior year. “I’ll see you after, Gracie girl?”
I hold myself back from blowing the usual double kiss.
Her eyes go a little wide, but she nods. Once Joe walks over to her, I run with a little extra energy into the tunnel.
