“I had a meeting with the athletic director. He wants me to talk to the Willow Creek athletes.”
“That’s right,” she says.
“You knew?”
“It was mentioned in the staff meeting.”
“Then, I wanted to see you because I woke up and I saw your note.”
There’s a pause where I do nothing but map her face with my eyes. She blushes before glancing away. “Have any idea what you’re going to say to them?”
“To the students?” I ask.
She nods, eyes returning to my face.
“Building your whole identity around sports is a surefire way of losing it. That our bodies are not invincible,” I continue. “That the brain isn’t either.”
“And?” she prompts.
“And I’m going to tell them the part people don’t put in the tabloids. That arenas can still be lonely. That applause can feel empty if no one knows who you really are.”
Her eyes hold mine. “That’s…good.”
“It’s honest,” I say.
The silence that follows is different. It’s intimate—charged with everything we’re not saying out loud.
Her next question comes from deep inside. “What do you want from this? Us?”
“Truth?”
“Always.”
I swallow. “To be with you. To not ruin it.”
“What makes you think you could?” Amy’s gaze flicks down to my mouth and back up again, turning the air in the room static.
“Because I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want you getting scared. I want you to be comfortable. ”
Her eyes bore into mine when she says, “I can’t promise you I won’t get scared.”
“I’m scared too,” I admit.
“Of what?”
“That I’ll look at you and feel everything I lost. That I’ll try to grab on too fast.”
Amy’s eyes soften. “I won’t let you.”
“Good,” I whisper. “I need your strength.”
Amy shifts closer. “Brennan, you don’t need me to know who you are.”
I start to protest, but she lifts a hand, stopping me before the words can form. “Who you were? The boy I loved? The man I…care for? You won’t let them disappear again.” Her hand lingers between us after stopping me from speaking. Then it shifts—her fingers drifting toward my face.
I don’t lean in. I don’t force it.
Then her fingers brush my jaw lightly.
