Page 120 of Lucky Shot

I flash a grin his way. “Actually, you told me to stop thanking you so I’m allowed to apologize.”

He laughs and shakes his head before leaning over and pressing a kiss to my forehead. But he goes on talking and I simply stare at him and see how natural that show of affection was for him.

And how easy it was for me to accept it.

“True,” he muses. “I’m not going to lie. It’s been interesting trying to figure out the time management and dynamics of it all. Putting the right amount of time where it needs to be without reworking the guys’ schedules and pissing them off too much. But it wasn’t until I was at your academy that I realized how much I’d lost touch with the reasons I fell in love with the game to begin with.”

“Like how?” I ask, but I already know the answers. I know because I get the privilege of seeing them every day.

“A chance to get out of the house and lose yourself in something bigger than you are. The excitement of game day. The bets on who was going to have the dirtiest kit by the end of the day. Oh, and orange slices.”

“Orange slices?” I burst out laughing.

“Yes. Nothing says a proper game of recreational footie than a bag of warm orange slices after the game that have been sitting in the sun provided by the team mum.”

“Oh my God. That’s so true.”

“It was the best.” His smile is nostalgic. “My mum would sit on the sidelines, and my dad would coach. After the match, we’d go out to dinner to celebrate. Then it all changed when he died, but these past few weeks have reminded me of those times with him. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here today.”

“I’m sorry you lost him,” I say.

He draws in a breath and shakes his head. I reach over, put my hand on his, and squeeze. We both still because an outward show of affection is so rare for me but I appreciate that he doesn’t say anything but rather just laces our fingers together and settles into the silence with me.

“It changed the direction of my life for sure. Losing a parent always does, as I’m sure you know.”

“Hmm,” I say as he runs his thumb back and forth over the top of my hand. “Now I know this isn’t allowed, but I have to thank you again.”

“No,” he mock groans and lets his head fall back on the pillow, but then I poke at his ribs until he starts laughing.

His immediate reaction is to reach for me, to reciprocate, but then stops when he realizes he can’t.

“Ah-ha,” I say with a lift of one eyebrow. “For once I have the upper hand when it comes to you.”

“It seems you’ve had it since day one,” he murmurs, his words so raw and honest that my breath hitches. That damn flutter takes flight again.

I clear my throat. It’s not like that’s going to slow down my pulse any, but I do it again. “I-uh-I wanted to thank you in regard to the club. About stepping up to help me while I’ve been . . . sick. You could have just done the bare minimum but instead, you went above and beyond. You brought guys from your team to help. You’re helping. The whole world knows about it. I mean . . . you really did that all for me?”

His smile is soft and boyish and my heart goes thud at the sight of it.

“Ah, social media strikes again. It’s the least I could do to help. I figured the more people there, the less people pushing you to come back before you were ready to.” He squeezes my hand. “I know you’re too proud to accept more donations from me, so I figured the best way to help would be to draw more people to the academy. How did I do that? More star power. We’ve had a lot of sign-ups for camps and for the year. Even had some coaches come forward wanting to donate their time to help.”

We’ve had a lot of sign-ups. We. Not you. The fact that he’s including himself in that comment says a lot and only serves to reinforce everything Suri and I spoke about earlier.

He is one of the good ones.

“I appreciate it—you—more than you know. I better up my game and figure out how to keep all these kids and parents happy when you all go back to your day jobs.”

He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. I’m startled and stunned by the simple intimacy of the action, by the normalcy of it, and by how much I want to lean into it and him even when I’m not feeling the best.

“Why do you think so little of me?” he asks as he leans back to meet my eyes.

“What?”

“Do you think I’d do all this with the guys to set you up to fail?” He smirks. “I have it all planned out. A schedule—surprising from me, I know, but it’s true.”

“You, Mr. Fly by the seat of your pants?”

“Yes. I know, but I do, in fact, have a schedule. Two team members will be there one time a week through the rest of the year.”