Much sooner than I expected to be, I’m back in Germany. Beck insisted on picking me up from the airport, and he’s driving a black SUV that became his default ride once his daughter was born.
“You didn’t need to do this,” I tell him, watching Kluvberg’s familiar scenery fly by outside. It’s nice to look out the window and know exactly where I am.
Eliza didn’t hesitate to tell me to take all the time I needed after I explained the situation, even though this trip meant I’d be missing the first game of the season. So, with no excuse not to, I booked the flight home.
Beck scoffs at my comment, not bothering to reply. “You look good,” he says instead.
The sling is gone. It’s a massive improvement, not wearing a physical reminder of my injury, but it doesn’t change the fact that my shoulder is still stiff and sore.
“I always look good,Kaiser.”
I grin when he includesgroßspurigin his response.
He’s smiling, too, obviously relieved I’m in a better mood than the last time we talked. “Boston not as bad as you thought?”
“It wasn’t the city I wanted to avoid.”
Ifeelhis surprise. It fills the practical car.
When we don’t discuss football, we talk about Beck’s life. Saylor and Gigi. Sometimes Sophia and whether Aster is worthy of her. We don’t discuss my life.
At least Beck attempts to mask his shock as he cautiously asks, “What do you mean?”
I don’t answer right away.
I’ve never discussed Claire with anyone. I don’t know where to start. How much to say. Six years later, the past still feels too raw to talk about. The present—how often I catch myself staring at her without ever choosing to—scares me as much, maybe more, than my torn shoulder. She’s a player; I’m currently her coach. She lives in Boston; I live here. She’s moved on; I thought I had. Maybe mentioning some of it aloud will relieve some of the pressure in my chest.
“Remember the Paris Olympics?” I ask him.
Beck grins. “Of course.”
That tournament means something different to every other German player who was on the roster.
“I met someone there. Didn’t see her for six years. She plays for the Siege now.”
“She’sAmerican?”
“So is Saylor.”
Beck scoffs. “I’m aware of my wife’s nationality, Berger.”
I resume staring out the window.
“What happened?”
“It didn’t work out,” I say dully.
“I put that much together since you’ve never mentioned this woman before.”
Just like you hadn’t told me Juliette was moving in with you, and then she was there when I came by after practice. This happened six years ago, and you’re bringing it up now. Why?”
“I was just… I was nervous about seeing her again.” The longer we discuss Claire, the more likely I am to say something stupid. “I’m flying back through New York and getting dinner with Juliette.”
I expect Beck to focus on that revelation, especially since he just brought my ex-fiancée up. Instead, he asks incredulously, “You werenervousabout seeing her again?”
Something stupid…like that.
I’m energetic, not anxious, before matches. I’m usually volunteered for extra press interviews because I don’t clam up like some of the guys do. Confidence is never something I’ve lacked. So, yeah, I guess this is the first time I’ve admitted to being nervous about anything.
