“Why did you go out tonight if you do not normally?” I ask.
“My teammates wanted me to.”
I frown. “And they let you leave alone?”
“No, they all offered to leave with me. I told them I was calling my boyfriend.”
I don’t get attached easily. Probably because so much of my life has been transitory. Football has been the one reliable constant. But I’m bothered Claire isn’t single. It hits me like a letdown—a trip you were looking forward to taking getting canceled at the last minute.
“He did not answer?” I ask.
“He doesn’t exist.”
Just like that, my mood rebounds.
“Well, heexists. Just not as my boyfriend anymore.”
“His loss,” I say, taking another detour.
“You don’t even know him.”
“Yeah, but I have met you.”
Her smile grows before she glances away, out the window. “He didn’t get soccer. Said I was wasting my time.”
“How many gold medals does he have?”
She laughs. “He’s not an athlete.”
“Do not take advice from anyone who does not share your goals, Claire.”
I learned that lesson the hard way. My success boils down to one source—me. I never had anyone cheering me on, not until I reached the top.
She’s silent. I think she’s looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the street rather than check.
“Oh.Wow. There’s the Eiffel Tower.” Claire leans forward, and a vent blows her curls toward my side of the car. I can smell her shampoo—feminine, but not overly sweet. “You know where we’re going, right? We didn’t drive past it on the way to the club.”
I wait until she glances over to smirk. “I know where we are going.” We pass Paris’s iconic landmark and reach another intersection. “Right—back at the Village in ten minutes. Left—will take a lot longer. Which way, Boston?”
She holds my gaze, and it’s another hold-my-breath, incoming-shot moment.
“Left.”
10
CLAIRE
“The Chain” blares in my ears. Cold wind blasts my cheeks.
I tug the knit cap Lydia gifted me lower mid-stride, ensuring the wool covers the tops of my ears as I continue jogging alongside the Charles. It’s early, barely March, and a Saturday. Only the hardcore are out this early, braving the elements.
And the avoiders.
Cassidy found a job; she’s working at the same accounting firm Dad has been part of since before my sister was born. She swore that Dad had nothing to do with her hiring, that he’d merely mentioned an opening and she applied because nothing else was working out, but we both know that’s bullshit. Not that Cassidy isn’t qualified. She’s one of the savviest people I’ve ever met. But Caldwell isn’t that common of a last name.
Dad and Lindsey, his wife, were coming by the house at nine to take Cassidy and Tommy out to breakfast to celebrate. I know Cassidy told me in the hopes I’d have an actual face-to-face conversation with my father. Instead, I set my alarm and snuck out earlier than she’d be awake. I don’t have the energy to deal with that drama. I’m preoccupied with Mom’s upcomingmove to Echo Glen. With transitioning into a new season. With getting to know my nephew better. With Otto’s low, “It’s good to see you,” which has been on repeat since our conversation on Monday.
I’ve said that to acquaintances who hadn’t crossed my mind in years. But Otto didn’t just say it. He said it like he meant it, like him being in Boston was a coincidence instead of a calamity.
