The timer dings, and Brooks pulls the dish from the oven. The sight is magazine-worthy—bubbling cheese golden-brown on top, sauce simmering around the edges.
“That,” I say appreciatively, “is definitelynotwhat happens when I try to cook.”
“Because you haven’t had the right teacher.” He serves the chicken with enthusiasm.
We settle at the table; the candles casting a glow that feels intimate in a way I’m still not used to associating with Brooks Kingston. The first bite of chicken nearly makes me moan—it’s tender and flavorful, the cheese perfectly melted, the sauce rich with herbs and garlic.
“Okay, I admit it,” I say after swallowing. “I do love this.”
“I knew it.” Of course he’s smug.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments; him tossing Gus bites as he goes, and now I know why that dog hasn’t lost any weight.
The only sounds are the clink of silverware and occasional appreciative murmurs. It’s good—not just the food, but this. Us. The ease we’ve found with each other.
But I’m aching to learn more about him—I want to know everything. He’s only shown me glimpses of what lies under the surface, which I’m realizing goes to depths I never imagined. My eyes hone in on him. “Tell me something real. Something you’ve never told anyone.”
I expect him to divert or delay, but he answers without hesitation. “I started having panic attacks in college. When I got that concussion.” The words come out in a rush.
I nod, another piece falling into place. “That’s why you recognized mine.”
“Yeah.” He looks down at hisfood. “I got them under control, but now, after the shoulder, I can’t shake the fear that grips me. It all plays back—the hit. The sound of my body crashing into the boards. Smashing my head again. The way the arena went completely silent.” He swallows hard. “The doctors say I might not ever heal completely, Syd. Everyone thinks I’m just rehabbing a shoulder injury, but the truth is, I’m not sure I’ll ever be The King again. And what if it happens if I’m not? What happens if next time it’s worse?”
Wow. That waswaymore than I expected him to say in my wildest dreams, and I’m honored he shared that. At the same time, I’m completely heartbroken for him. My hand finds his, fingers intertwining. “Hockey’s a dangerous sport. And I know you players are supposed to be machines, but you’re still human. I think the question has to be, ‘Is it worth the risk?’”
He’s silent for a moment before he says, “Right now, I don’t know. I’m lost, not wanting to get my hopes up too high in case my shoulder can’t get there. It’s also hard to think about what I actually want with my agent, coach, and dad breathing down my neck.” A bitterness creeps into his voice. “I get several calls a day. Updates on my return timeline.”
My heart pinches tighter, and I squeeze his hand. “I know—the pressure of professional sports is excruciating.” In so many ways, I’m glad I didn’t go pro with soccer. I see this with Jonah, too, and I don’t think I’d want it.
“It is, and my dad makes it infinitely worse. Sometimes I think I’ve spent most of my life trying to pay off a debt to him I never asked for,” he continues. “Like I owe him my success because of what he sacrificed. But what about what I sacrificed? Normal teenage years. College experiences. Relationships that lasted longer than a road trip.”
My thumb traces patterns on his hand. I can’t believe I’ve known this man since I was nine years old, and I’m just now hearing this from him. That he hurts, physically and emotionally, and he’s being crushed under the pressure of it all. I don’t know what to say, but maybe I don’t need to say anything because I don’t think he’s looking for advice. Just a listening ear.
“What about you?” he says, clearly needing to shift focus. “What’s the Sydney Holt five-year plan?”
I smile, but there’s something wistful in it. “Actually, for a while now, I’ve been thinking about something more. A big sports network in LA is looking for fresh talent. I sent in my demo reel two weeks ago.” To them and several other networks.
“LA?” he echoes, surprised. “That’s... far.”
“It’s a long shot,” I say quickly. “Probably nothing will come of it. But if it did...” I trail off, forming my thoughts. “It’s the biggest sports haven on the West Coast, as you know.”
“Oh, you’d be amazing. They’d be lucky to have you.” His tone aims for light but misses by a mile.
“Really? You think so?”
“I know so.”
Now, it’s my turn to shift topics. Why has it become difficult to talk about future plans with Brooks when we both know this ends? I know why, but I can’t face it right now. I refill both of our waters and say, “Remember that disaster double date?” My voice goes light. “My sophomore and your junior year, when I set you up with Melissa Danders?”
“So awkward.” He shakes his head. “And didn’t your date spend half the night texting someone else?”
“Trevor the Texter.” I sigh.
“Right. And then we found out later he was coordinating a drug deal for after the movie. Classy guy.”
I laugh. “You spent the entire movie talking about hockey plays.”
“And you, soccer.”
