I keep my gaze trained on the floor. I can’t…do people right now. My teammates' stares bore into me, crawl over my skin. I’m never quiet. I’m never reserved.
I’m tying my shoes when a shadow settles over me along with a hint of cinnamon and spice. I glance up and meet Jed’s gaze.
“I’ll wait. Just text when you’re ready to leave. Or if you need anything.”
I nod and shoot him a smile—that fails and instantly twitches into a grimace. He drove me in today, and Pauls drove East. My throat clogs, and I draw in an unsteadybreath. Jed’s quiet support has me off-balance. He seems to always understand what I need. We’ve barely spoken, yet he knows. He knows I can’t handle conversation. He knows I need a barrier between us right now. If he treated me softly in the slightest, snuck in a discreet touch of comfort—I’d break and reach for him.
Wouldn’t that just be icing on the cake of today?
I make my way to the player’s lot and pause at the exit. I stare unseeing at the door. Just me, my shallow breaths, and my drumming pulse. I finally shake myself from my stupor and push through the door.
A figure steps away from the wall. The low light from the distant parking lot lights shadows his features. Makes it easier to face him this time.
The tumult inside me is deafening. It’s like the roar of a crowd. Everyone’s screaming, but you don’t actually hear anything. It doesn’t allow my tangled thoughts to settle, doesn’t give them room to breathe and register. All I know is my first instinct back on the walk was to get as far away from this guy as possible. I don’t even know why. And as he shifts on his feet in front of me, this beanpole of a kid, the fact that I wanted to run from him…is slightly embarrassing.
“This way.” I’m proud of how level my voice comes out despite how out-of-control I feel.
I lead us a bit farther down the brick wall of the complex so we won’t be interrupted by anyone else leaving. Then I turn to face him.
“Graham Ackerman,” I murmur. That’s another thing of my dad’s he has. The last name.
When I was sixteen, I went to Mom and asked her if I could change my last name to hers. I still wanted my dadback in my life. I haven’t ever stopped. I’ll always wish he’d wanted me.
But that year I realized something: even if he showed up out of nowhere and we had this magical reunion and somehow rebuilt a relationship, he’d never deserve the privilege of my last name.
That belongs to the woman who fought tooth and nail to feed us, to keep a roof over our heads, to give me this dream I’m living right now.
The woman who loved me without condition.
Every. Fucking. Day.
“So. Ah…you know who I am.” There’s a slight tremor to the guy’s voice.
I finally let myself truly take him in. The gaze that can’t settle. Hunched shoulders. Muscles in his face contorting in a way that makes him look like he’s about to be sick. But also…also the roundness of his cheeks, the lankiness of his frame, the New Cannan High School sweatshirt. He’s a kid. And he’s terrified.
All my tension flees. “Yeah. I think we covered that. And you know who I am.”
“Um. Yes. I do now. For about a month…”
My chest hollows out. I swallow roughly. There’s a lot in that small statement. The most glaring being my dad’s preferred family doesn’t know I exist—at least not until a month ago. Don’t know how to feel about that. Besides empty.
“What was it you wanted to talk about?”
He stuffs his fidgeting hands into his hoodie. “Um. I…don’t know. I’m not sure why I came here at all, actually.” He steps back. “Fuck. Sorry. I’m just going to go.”
He turns, but I grab his arm, and he stiffens.
“I’m sure you came for a reason.” Even if he doesn’tknow what it is yet. But this could be my only chance to have a conversation with him. He’s half me, right?My brother. We’re both here. Might as well talk.
He’s silent and still won’t meet my gaze, but he hasn’t tried to leave again. So I prod a little. “Why don’t we grab a beer? See if what you wanted to talk about comes back to you?”
“Ah… I’m only eighteen.”
Right. Duh. So much for alcohol making this easier. “All right. So something of the non-alcoholic variety. How’s that sound?”
Three figures appear through the exit door and make their way toward us. I recognize the three of them instantly. Jed’s tall, broad frame, Easton’s built form, and Paulie’s stocky swagger. They stop just behind Graham.
Graham’s quiet “okay” drifts off as he follows my gaze and looks over his shoulder. He freezes. The three of them stare him down, arms crossed over their chests.
