Regulation ends, 2–0. Only two minutes of extra time get added. For a match against Ludlin, the game has been fairly clean, with few fouls or stoppages.
As soon as the final whistle blows, I’m swarmed by teammates. They, too, surprised me with their reaction to the news. There were good-natured grumblings about my upcoming departure, but everyone, including a nervous-looking Banks, said they were excited for me. Once our preliminary celebration ends, we line up to shake hands. As soon as I’ve dropped Nübel’s palm, I jog toward the sidelines rather than the tunnel.
A few confused shouts follow me, which spawn into many more as I vault over the barrier that displays advertisements, followed by the barricade separating the closest seats from the photographers and press. Everyone I pass wears a startled, confused expression. Just like during my press conference, no one is sure what the protocol is. Athletes don’t cross the boundary. Security is focused on keeping fans off the field, not keeping players on it.
I hustle up the aisle, taking advantage of the surprise that doesn’t last long.
A few rows up, spectators start reaching for me, grabbing my jersey and shouting congratulations. Autograph requests are shoved in my face. Security is rushing over from multiple directions, trying to achieve some semblance of order—or more likely, telling me to get out of the stands.
I could. I could return to the field, walk down the tunnel, and find my phone. Text her where to meet me.
But I’m too impatient. Too ebullient. She flew four thousand miles to see me. The least I can do is jog up a few flights of stairs.
So, I keep moving forward. And the crowd has either realized this isn’t a meet-and-greet opportunity or figured out where—who—I’m headed toward because people start to part. Helping, not hindering my progress.
Claire’s realized it too. When I reach the start of her section, she’s moving down the row, blushing at the dozens—hundreds—of eyes on her.
I hear her murmur a polite, “Entschuldigung,” as she passes the last person in her row.
We reach the same step at the same time, like this was coordinated rather than impulsive.
I pull her against my chest without hesitating, needing her in my arms to believe this is all real. Claire presses her face againstmy neck, her long exhale brushing against the hollow of my throat.
“Fancy running into you here,” I say against her ear, and her laugh vibrates against my shoulder.
There’s a lot we need to talk about, but none of it needs to be said here. Except for one thing.
“I love you.”
Claire pulls away enough to see my face, hers adorably stunned. “You-you do?”
“I do.” I tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “I have for a long time. I think since you told me you had a goalie kink.”
She laughs. Blushes. And I also brush a stray tear away before it can travel down her cheek.
I kiss her before she can say a word, slow and languid. For the first time, it doesn’t occur to me that it could be the last time. It feels like a beginning.
I can’t stay in the stands, even though I want to. I’m causing chaos, and a frazzled security guard is hovering nearby, talking into a hidden microphone. I kiss Claire once more, instruct the guard on where to bring her, and then jog back down to the field.
51
CLAIRE
The closer we get to the front door, the more nervous Otto seems to become. His house is gorgeous, unsurprisingly, and not at all what I expected. The yard is huge, the distant view of the mountains breathtaking. It’s quiet and peaceful and idyllic. Big for one person.
We reach the door, and Otto spins his key chain around one finger. His other hand is carrying my suitcase, and his equipment bag is slung over one shoulder. I offered to carry my luggage, but he didn’t reply. Just laughed.
“I have a hotel room,” I remind him.
That’s where I thought we’d head after leaving the stadium. But Otto insisted we grab my belongings and continue here instead. I was curious to see his house, so I agreed. But now I’m wondering if that was a mistake. We still have a lot to discuss, and I did ambush him by showing up here.
He makes a face. “You are not staying at a hotel, Claire. I just… I did not know you were coming.”
I manage a small smile, still nervous. “Yeah, that was the point. It was a surprise.”
“It was agreatsurprise. Just—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I do not want to freak you out.”
I squeak out an “Oh” as he unlocks the door—because of coursethatfreaks me out.
