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He’d wanted me for months while I convinced myself he thought I wasn’t good enough for him. While I shrunk inside myself.

You have a terrible way of showing it, I texted.

I’m sorry for taking so long to figure out what you knew after five minutes.

And what exactly was that?

That this was always going to happen. Us.

The words made me dizzy.

I didn’t know that, I said, feeling as if I should clarify. I hoped. There’s a difference.

Are you still hoping?

My eyes were burning. This felt too big. Too fast.

Yes, I texted.

Even after tonight?

Especially after tonight.

Why?

I had to think about how to reply to this. It was important I get it right. Because you were scared and played badly and you’re still here. Still trying. That matters more than any save.

I’m going to kiss you again. Properly this time. Not in a pool where you’re my physical therapist and I’m your patient. Just you and me.

My stomach dropped straight through the floor. When?

After game four, when I’ve won.

That’s very confident.

I’m a goalie. We’re born that way.

My laugh burst out, startling Marzipan. And humble.

That too.

I was grinning at my phone in my empty condo, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled like this. Marzipan’s purr got louder.

I should go to bed, I said.

Me too. Practice tomorrow. Coach wants to make sure I don’t play like garbage again.

I shook my head. You won’t.

How do you know?

Because I’m very good at my job. And I said you’re ready.

For the game or for us?

I stared at the words on my screen.

Both, I thought right away. Ready for the game and ready for us. But was I? I’d spent ten months thinking Brashe Kedish was a player with a reputation, an orc who’d shut me down at a picnic. I’d been wrong about almost all of it. What if I was wrong about this too?