Oh. Disappointment hits me like a thousand bricks. Of course, he has plans. It’s Friday. He’s handsome, funny, kind, and single. Maybe he’s not really single. Why am I even worrying about this?
“Well, that gives you a few days to think about it, I guess.”
He gets up, grabs a couple of bottles of wine, and walks up to the register. “See you soon?” he asks as soon as he pays.
“Sure. You know where to find me.”
Holden leaves with his bag of wine and his receipt. “Goodbye, Natalie.”
What the hell are these feelings and butterflies in my stomach?. What is this knot I got when he said he had plans tonight, and why do I hate all of it?
17
SHE’S LIGHT
You’re Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan • Count On Me by Bruno Mars
Holden
“I’ll be right out there,”I shout to Liam as I do one last sweep of the lounge outside the locker room to make sure everything is in order. Even if the league is paying us to do this, we’re still guests.
I’m about to turn off the lights when I catch a glimpse of something in the back. No, not something—someone sitting on the bench.
“Izzy?” I ask in a hushed tone, in case something’s wrong.
She doesn’t look up, her head hanging between her knees. “Are you okay?” I ask again, taking slow steps toward her but waiting for her reply before I approach fully.
She lifts her head, her blue eyes filled with tears.Oh, man, okay.
“Can I give you some tissues?” I ask, suddenly aware of how terrifying this is. I mean, here I am, a grown man, and thisfourteen-year-old girl—who’s not even supposed to be here right now—is crying, and it terrifies the hell out of me.
Liz was fourteen when she died, and it’s uncanny how similar these two are in personality. I know I’m not supposed to have a favorite player, but I can’t help it. She reminds me of my little sister too much, and seeing her cry breaks my heart.
She knuckles away the tears gathered on her cheeks and shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Okay…” I hesitate. Do I push for more? Or do I let it be?
“You don’t look fine,” I say, stepping closer. “Can I get your mom?”
She shakes her head, sadness filling her eyes. “My mom’s not here.”
I pause. “Oh, your dad, then?”
Her expression shifts from sadness to disappointment, then anger. Her tears start falling faster. “Well, that’s impossible. Since he’s dead.”
Well, shit. What is it about me attracting people who have dealt with loss? Is it life’s way of showing me I’m not alone? Of showing me that in the vastness of the world, we all share experiences, even if they’re crappy? Love, grief, joy, passion, lust, anger, disappointment—all compounded in the experience of life’s package.
I sit across from her on the bench, my hand rubbing down my face before landing in my lap. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I mutter softly.
She shrugs. “It’s not your fault.”
I nod, but I can’t stop myself from saying, “I can still feel sorry, though.”
Her eyes widen. “Thanks.”
I let her words sink in. She’s not the only one who’s been through the kind of grief she’s feeling. I’ve been there. The difference is, when I was a teenager, I didn’t want tohear people talk about their own losses. I wanted my grief to be acknowledged, not compared. But something I’ve learned, especially from my therapist, is that sometimes, it helps to hear someone say, “I’ve been there too.” So, I do.
She looks at me, still unsure but a little more open. “Oh, I’m sorry, Coach Clay,” she says. “I didn’t know.”
