“Will’s fiancée. Sophia Beck.”
“Beck as in…”
“Beck’s sister, yeah.” Otto chuckles, running a hand through his hair and mussing the windblown strands even more. “That got a little…messy. But it all worked out. Will proposed before I left Kluvberg.”
I smile. “And Saylor and Beck had a kid?”
I know they did; I follow Saylor on social media. But I’d rather hear it from him.
Otto nods. “A daughter, Gigi. She is cute. Probably a future footballer.”
“Good genes.”
He laughs again. “Exactly.” Then glances at me, amusement fading. “You keep in touch with her? Saylor?”
I shake my head. “She was always nice, but we didn’t spend much time together. And we haven’t played together since… It’s, uh, been a while.” Nervously, I tuck a piece of hair behind one ear.
We’re treading dangerously close to the topic of Paris. And maybe that would be a healthy conversation to have, to clear away the cobwebs of the past rather than continue to ignore their clutter.
But it will hurt. I feel a phantom spasm of it, threatening to tear my chest apart, and flinch away from the pain. I can’t change what happened; neither can he. What difference will discussing it make?
We’ve reached the edge of the parking lot.
Otto swallows.
I brace myself, studying the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“I thought you would be in Melbourne,” he states.
This is another prime opportunity to tell him about Mom. I want to—with an intensity that startles me. I’m battling between safety and impulsivity, and there’s a very real possibility I’ll choose to be rash. To just tell him so there’s one less thing unsaid between us.
“Otto!”
We both turn toward the sound of his name, watching Nicole walk toward us. She’s wearing her typical friendly smile, but her forehead creases with uncertainty as she glances at me.
I take a reflexive step back, even though we’re not standing that close to each other.
“Hello, Nicole.” Otto’s tone is even and polite, no trace that our conversation affected him at all.
I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth, striving for that same indifference.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she says, reaching us. “Hi, Caldwell.”
“Hey, Coach Green,” I respond, tightening my grip on the water bottle. Remembering I’m sweaty and red-faced while she’s wearing a cute sweater and jeans.
I probably would care about the contrast between our appearances less if Nicole wasn’t eyeing Otto the same way I’ve seen a lot of women stare at him. She’s not one of his players. I know nothing about her personal life, but based on the admiration on her face and lack of ring on her finger, she’s single.
“You’re dedicated, here on your day off.” It could apply to either of us, but she’s looking at me.
Otto replies before I can, “We ran a few drills. Eliza had suggested it.”
We did more than run a few drills. We’ve been here for nearly three hours.
Nicole nods, the smile still fixed on her face. “We’re all lucky to have your expertise.”
“I do not know about that. I am just a keeper.”
A snort escapes before I can stop it. He’s teasing me, for using his position as an argument last night. There’s no sign of arrogance now, just false modesty.
