She was there with a tablet pressed to her chest, talking a tech through something while a volunteer modeled a new Rampage jacket. Even from across the field, I could tell it was hers. It wasn’t the usual team stuff—this one looked sharp, bold, something you’d actually want to wear off the field. Bright color down the sides, cleaner lines, confidence built right into the fabric. It screamed her: fearless, a little stubborn, impossible not to notice.
My lungs hit pause.
Two months ago, she’d been right in front of me, sitting on that bench at Navy Pier, fingers shaking over her phone while I was trying to work up the nerve to ask her out. I’d been seconds away—close enough to taste the words, to imagine what it might be like to finally lean in and kiss her after five years of pretending I didn’t want to. I could still feel the weight of that night: her head tucked against my chest on the Ferris wheel, the smell of her shampoo, the sound of her laugh when she said “okay, coach.”
And then I blew it. I stayed out late, partying with other alumni, rehashing the past with old teammates, and getting home way too late. I couldn’t call her then.
The next morning, camp started. Pads, install, travel schedule. I kept thinking I’d text her that night, call her from the hotel, something. But I got nervous. I wanted to see her. What would I say? Great seeing you, can’t hang out for a month? Then we had the trip to the lake house planned, and that was when the call came from Nat’s neighbor, and the ground under me gave out.
After that, everything blurred—police, hospitals, lawyers. Packing up her house while my mom cried in the next room. Signing papers I didn’t understand. Telling a five-year-old that his mom wasn’t coming home. I wanted to reach out to Em somany times it hurt, but what was I supposed to say?Hey, remember that perfect night? Sorry I never called.
So I told myself I’d wait until my life wasn’t so heavy. Until I could breathe again. Except it never stopped being hard and consuming.
And now she was here. The same laugh, the familiar curve of her mouth when she focused. She looked up, caught me staring, and the recognition hit her too. A flicker of warmth, then a professional smile, the kind you gave someone who used to matter. That gutted me. She lifted her chin in a small hello. Polite. Distant.
She did it. She shot her shot, and she was here, now, with a team. I was so proud of her my chest swelled and words escaped me.
I opened my mouth, ready to say something—anything—but a coach called my name from behind the bench, snapping the moment clean in half. I gave her a short nod—because what else was there to do—and turned toward the field.
By the end of run-through, sweat dripped into my eyes, my arms burned, and my mind was still anywhere but here. Booth yelled one last cadence, we broke the huddle, and I bent at the waist, helmet hanging from my fingers while I tried to catch my breath.
Practice ended with the usual noise—guys smacking pads, laughing, swapping plans for dinner. I gave a few tired fist bumps and peeled away toward the tunnel. Ivy waved me down halfway, a small smile tugging at her face.
“Your kid’s a hit,” she said, handing me a juice box. “He made friends with the kicker and convinced the mascot to dance with him.”
I snorted. “Sounds about right.” That was the thing about Miles. He was resilient. Despite the tears and unending questions, he still found joy. He smiled, and that was my entire goal.
“He’s in the family section. Go rescue him before he starts interviewing reporters.” Ivy held out a fist, and I bumped it, grateful that I had a family at the team to help me.
I thanked her and started the walk up the ramp, the roar of the crowd thinning to a hum. My body ached in that good way, but my chest still felt wrong—tight, unsettled. Seeing Em here messed with me. Reminded me of life before. There was a time before Nat died and after.
Miles spotted me first. He ran down the stairs in his too-big jersey, waving both arms. “Uncle Noah! Uncle Noah! Guess what? Guess what I did?”
“Hey, champ,” I said, scooping him up. “You behave for Ivy?”
“She said I could have two granola bars if I sat still. I had three.” He grinned, one of his big teeth missing. No one prepared me for how damn hard it was to sneak into a child’s room and slide money under their pillow, especially when this child set about ten booby traps to catch her. He was hysterical, and Nat wasn’t here for it.
I swallowed down the pain and grinned.
“That’s our little overachiever.” I smiled and ruffled his hair. “You ready to head home?”
Home was now a three-bedroom condo on the north side. Closer to his school, closer to where Nat had lived. That was a whole ordeal too, moving and ensuring things were as similar for Miles as before.
He nodded, resting his head on my shoulder. His little hand fisted the fabric of my undershirt. Every time he did that, I was struck by how small he still was. We cut through the corridor that led to the players’ lot, my mind going over everything we had to do. Researching nannies, overnight services, or a traveling nanny for games, then meeting with my lawyer about my parents. They were contesting the will and demanding Miles live with them. Instead of grieving for Nat, they wanted to fight me,and now I wasn’t sure if Miles would be safe staying with them. I didn’t trust them to give him back to me, and I didn’t know what to do with that. The throb in my temple returned, and I pinched my eyebrow, willing it to settle.
I was halfway to the exit when I saw Em again.
She stood near the double doors, laughing at something Ivy and Sloane said. God, she looked so happy, and that made my lips curve up. She’d been so open and vulnerable that night, sharing her fears and wants with me. My jaw flexed as a million what-ifs went through my mind.
I stopped walking before my brain caught up.
Ivy noticed me first. “Hey, Abbott,” she said, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “You remember Em Sanders, right? Went to Central State but was a little younger than us.”
Em’s head lifted, eyes finding mine with surprise. She smiled softly. “Hey, stranger.”
I shifted Miles higher on my hip. “Hey.” My voice came out rough. “Didn’t know you were working with the team now.”
She tilted her head, her gaze moving toward Miles as her eyes lit up. “Yeah. Partially your fault for that. When I reached out to Ivy, she made it happen.”
