“Good.”
An awkward pause falls before I ask the most obvious question. “Is something wrong?”
“Papers are saying you’ll be playing again soon.”
“You read the Sports section?”
“It wasn’t in the Sports section. Front page.”
“Oh.”
I didn’t consider that, but it makes some sense. Kluvberg ended the season decidedly mediocre, and although Banks wasn’t to blame, we had been first in the league when my injury happened.
“You’ll be back before training starts?”
“Yes. I still have commitments here, but they’ll wrap up by the end of June.”
“You’ll be back in July then?”
My forehead furrows in response to the unexpected question. “Yes?”
“Good. Goodbye, Otto.”
“Bye,” I say, and then the line goes dead.
Leaving me with the realization… I think my grandfather called me just to check in.
31
CLAIRE
PARIS
Six Years Earlier
Irest my head back against the cinder-block wall, closing my gritty eyes and attempting a few deep, grounding breaths. I barely slept last night, and that’s not an exaggeration. Every time I got close to dozing off, I’d be jolted awake by a reminder of today’s gold-medal match. Or I’d replay my breakup with Otto.
Breakupisn’t really the right word. We were a fun fling, one I knew wouldn’t last past the end of the Games. Well, logically, I knew that. I didn’t realize how badly I’d wanted to be wrong until I realized how right I was.
It hurts, far worse than ending things with Nolan did. Worse than when I caught my senior prom date kissing a teammate at the after-party.
Heartbreak is aptly named because it does feel as though something is fracturing inside of me. A piece is splitting off, the part that foolishly fantasized about him coming onto the field to congratulate me after we won.
If the ache in my chest wasn’t so visceral, I’d laugh with relief. My whole life, my practicality has been pointed out to me.Pragmatism was a character flaw, according to my carefree sister and adventurousfriends, and commendable, according to my creative mom.
Unfortunately, I discovered romanticism at the worst possible time—when I should be fully invested and focused on nothing outside the four boundary lines of a soccer field.
Football, my brain automatically corrects, the European terminology pulling my thoughts right back to Otto.
He texted me this morning—a simple,Good luck, Boston—and I stared at it for twenty minutes until my alarm went off, torn between relief and resentment. In many ways, it would have been easier to have a clean break. But Otto has been the center of my Olympic experience ever since the night we met. A source of advice and encouragement that built me to a certain level of confidence. Just because the foundation fell away doesn’t mean I can’t forge ahead.
“Caldwell?”
My eyes fly open, registering the matching jersey in front of me. Saylor Scott is appraising me with a speculative tilt of her head, her expression amused and also a touch concerned.
“Hey, Saylor.” I straighten so I’m no longer supported by the cinder blocks.
Unlike me, our team captain looks energized and confident. Every other time we’ve interacted, I’ve been intimidated by Saylor’s reputation and intensity. I’m too drained to summon the typical awe from being in the presence of a player who is already being heralded as one of the greatest of all time.
