Prologue
Jack
I learned how to smile whenyou feel like crying when I was twelve years old.
There’s an ache in your cheeks that forms when you hold a smile for too long when it isn’t meant to be there, and for most of my life, I’ve come to know that ache intimately. That ache means that the world can’t see that I’m hurting, means that I’m being strong for the people who need me to be.
That ache means I’m still pushing through, even when I don’t want to sometimes.
Kind of like how I feel right now.
“What do you mean I ‘might not be able to play anymore’?”
My fingers brush against my throbbing arm, an ache there that is not unlike the one I feel from smiling when I feel like crying.
But I’m not smilingnow.
One
Abby
“Are you sure we’re allowedto be down here?”
Lila rolls her eyes. “Kind of the perks of dating the owner’s son.”
I follow after her as she moves deeper into the inner workings of the stadium, the halls empty but a low murmur of voices coming from just down the way.
“Besides,” Lila goes on. “You’re his sister. You’re practically in nepo-baby territory.”
I snort. “Hardly.”
Sure, my relationship with Ian has gotten a lot better in the last few months since our dear old dad ran off to California with his tail tucked between his legs, but I heavily doubt that I could start using Ian’s name to throw my weight around. Definitely not to be practically sneaking down to the locker rooms.
“We’re going to get in trouble,” I hiss.
Lila shakes her head. “No, we aren’t. Ian told me to bring him his phone. He forgot it back at the apartment.” She throws an armaround my shoulder—something that is a little difficult given that I’m at least four inches taller than her five foot four—giving me a shake. “Live a little, Abby.”
Live a little.
Seems like that’s the mantra most of the people in my life choose for me. In my last year of grad school for psychology and doing my very best to keep my nose clean so that I don’t bring any more hardship to my brother than I already have—it’s not a concept that comes to me naturally. I’m more of the “sit quietly in the corner” type. It’s why I don’t really have a lot of friends.
I watch as Lila raises her fist to the slightly cracked locker room door, giving three heavy knocks before shouting, “If your balls are out, cover them up!”
And then she just blazes in.
Ever since meeting Lila, I’ve always admired her ability to just run headfirst through anything standing in her way; this is also not a concept that comes naturally to me. Hence, I remain outside the door, lingering against the wall.
“Brought your lucky jockstrap, Cupcake!” I hear her shout.
She’s met with an answering groan. “Phone,” Ian says. “She brought me myphone.”
“Whatever you say,” she hums.
I hear a series of whoops then, assuming she’s kissing him. I assume this because it seems like the pair of them can’t be within four feet of each other without planting one on the other. And since I’ve been at their place every week for dinner for the last few months, I have been privy to alotof kisses.
Animals, those two are. Animals.
I lean on the wall and let my head thunk back against it as I shut my eyes, letting the voices from the other room fade into thebackground as I mentally check off all the homework I need to get to tonight. Truthfully, I probably shouldn’t have come to Ian’s game at all, with how much work I need to get done, but I’d been so damned excited that he’d even thought to invite me, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
