Page 6

Nice To Meet You – Myles Smith

Addie

W hy the fuck are there so many cars in the parking lot?

I’m rounding the corner to park in the overflow area—a small open field next to the practice facility—when a child darts from between two cars and runs right in front of my car. I slam on the brakes, body jostling as I narrowly avoid running the teenager over.

He sheepishly waves, then runs toward the entrance. His Seattle Mavericks jersey hangs off his gangly limbs, and a small smile tugs on my lips when I read ‘Monroe’ stitched across the back.

I wiggle my car into an empty parking spot in the back of the lot and book it toward the front entrance. Mornings with Nora aren’t always the most productive, and I was already racing against the clock for my meeting with Ben before I nearly ran over a child.

I’m halfway through the large glass doors of the Seattle Mavericks practice facility when I skid to a stop and absorb the chaos consuming the foyer.

A massive silver and navy balloon arch surrounds the door, and football-shaped balloons line both sides of a makeshift path. A group of people stands behind a folding table covered in tote bags, and they offer me a confused look.

“Are you here for the event?” An older woman asks.

“Uh…I work here?” It comes out as a question, and I scurry past them before the embarrassment tinges my ears pink.

There are children everywhere . They’re running through the halls, zipping past and darting in and out of open rooms. Players, interns, and coaching staff chase after them, and I pause to survey the route to get to the nutrition room at the end of the hall.

A head of deep brown hair appears from the locker room, surrounded by a gaggle of children, and another on his hip. My heart skips a beat, and my feet glue themselves to the shiny linoleum floor.

Declan’s head lifts, and his eyes meet mine, then someone rips me to the left and into an office.

“It’s a nightmare out there,” Deon says, slamming the door shut and falling into a desk chair with a massive sigh. “This is what happens when I put the group chat on silent.”

“What is happening out there? ”

“Oh, right. Fundraiser for a foundation. They’ve taken over.” Deon rises and peeks through the blinds that lead to the main hallway. “Children everywhere.”

He shudders.

“I have a child,” I say, slightly amused.

Deon whirls. His jaw opens and closes, like a fish gasping for water. “You… what? ”

“Her name is Nora. She’s five.” I pause. “She goes to summer camp at GameChangers. Nathalie never mentioned her?”

He shakes his head, then falls back into the seat. “Husband?” he asks. “Boyfriend? Co-parent?”

I stare at him. “No, to all of the above.”

An odd, deranged smile curls on his lips.

“Great. Good. Nice .” He leans back in the chair like a mob boss. “How old is your—”

“There you are!” I spin—so quickly I make myself dizzy—to find Declan standing in the doorway, a toddler on one hip and another holding his hand. He smiles at me, but focuses on Deon. “We have some fans here that would love to play with you.”

Both children, a boy and a girl, are drowning in Seattle Mavericks jerseys, and they each wear a mask of uncertainty. The small girl on Declan’s hip burrows her head into his neck, and he whispers something in her ear.

She turns to look at Deon. “Can we make bracelets?” she asks.

A gentle, excited smile lights up on Deon’s face. “My Nathalie is the best at making bracelets. I can show you what she taught me.”

My Nathalie.

The way he claims her sends a pang of longing through my body. It’s clear how much he loves her by the way he says her name.

Declan passes off the children, who now cling to Deon. “There’s a craft area at the far side of the field.”

Deon nods and guides the kids out of the office, leaving Declan and me alone. God damn, he looks good. His cheeks are flushed in the way that tells me he’s eating and sleeping well, and the smile he offers me is real and wide.

“Hi,” he says, stepping closer. The air in the room disappears when he peers down at me with searching eyes. “How are you?”

“Good.” It comes out as a squeak, and his lip ticks up at the corner. “What’s going on out there?” I ask, pointing toward the practice field.

“It’s the first official event for EndZone,” he says, eyes lighting up. “It’s going really well, I think.”

“EndZone?”

I’ve never heard of the organization, but before I can ask more, Declan takes my hand and drags me out of the office and down the hall. The closer we get to the field, the louder the sound of laughter becomes, and when we step into the sprawling space, it puts the chaos in the hallway to shame.

Dozens of players run around with hundreds of children. There’s a buffet lining the back wall and tables for people to eat. One end of the practice field is lined with different booths and activities. I catch Deon measuring bracelet string and helping the small girl make a friendship bracelet.

Henry and Jack referee a game of flag football at the center of the field, and adults walk around, helping kids with what they need. That’s when I notice the lanyards hanging around the adults' necks. Some are social workers, therapists, and employees for the Mavericks. Others are prospective and current foster parents.

When I’ve stopped in my tracks, stunned, Declan elaborates. “EndZone is the foundation I started to support children in the foster care system.” He points to the back wall to a pyramid of duffel bags. “Each child gets a duffle bag, and depending on age, there are essentials inside. No child should ever have to shove their belongings into a garbage bag.”

He says the words like he knows the experience well, but before I can ask, he moves on, guiding me through the large room.

“This event is an opportunity for these kids to make friends, have fun, and get access to things they may need but don't know how to ask. We have suggestion boxes around the room for anonymous requests, as well as people they can talk to, if they need.”

“Wow.”

It’s the only word I have bobbing around my head.

“There are quiet spaces spread out around the facility for anyone who may need a moment to decompress, but EndZone also promotes and helps people through the process of becoming foster parents. This event is for them as well, where they speak with professionals about the needs of children in foster care.”

I pause again and snatch his hand. His brows crunch. “Declan, this is…” I fumble for the right word, “incredible.”

With his free hand, he rubs the back of his neck. “You think so?”

I nod, and a timid smile takes over his face.

“I’m hoping we can offer more scholarships and affordable housing to kids who age out of the system.”

“Declan!” Henry calls out from the other end of the field, where he’s being tackled by a gaggle of children. “Help!”

Jack stands at his side, doubled over in laughter.

Declan sighs. “I have to go save him,” he says, but it sounds like the last thing he wants to do.

“I need to get to work.” He frowns, “But I’ll come back later when I finish food prep for the week.”

The next few hours drag on, as the music from the field filters into the nutrition room while I wash and cut fruit. Excitement grows as the tasks on my to-do list begin to dwindle, and I’m wiping down the counters and grabbing my bag.

I wave to Ben, who barely lifts his head from his computer, and dart to the practice field. When I slip into the massive room, Declan is standing at the front, surrounded by his teammates, friends, and all of the people in attendance.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says into a microphone, his deep voice carrying to the corner I’ve chosen to hide. I drop to the ground and pull out the small notebook in my bag. “EndZone was founded to help give kids in the foster care system opportunities and support that may seem out of reach. With that, I’d like to announce the first recipient of the Dreamer Scholarship—a full tuition and housing scholarship to attend university.” He gestures, and a teenage girl steps forward. “Hailey was accepted to the University of Washington on a pre-med track.”

He speaks the words with such pride for Hailey, and when she smiles softly, he squeezes her shoulder. My fingers itch, and I pull out a pen and begin to sketch.

I’ve always loved drawing, and art class was one of my favorites as a child, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had the overwhelming need to draw—to capture the moment through my own eyes.

Declan thanks everyone for coming, and reminds the kids to take home a duffel, but before the crowd can disperse, Jack takes the microphone. Henry, Deon, and his other teammates surround Jack, forming a small half circle.

“We have one more announcement,” Jack says. “As many of you know, Declan is one of the most caring, selfless, and generous people we know.”

Declan’s face morphs into surprise, and I scramble to sketch the features, loosely drawing his friends beside him. I snap a photo of them as a reference, then focus on Declan, who looks around with confusion. Henry grabs him on the shoulder.

“As his teammates, we’ve had the privilege to get to know him, and we couldn’t be prouder of him for starting EndZone.” Jack pauses to smile at Declan. “To show our support to you and your foundation, we’ve all agreed to sponsor a full-ride scholarship.”

The crowd gasps, including me.

Holy shit.

And if I couldn’t be any more shocked, Declan begins to cry. Big, fat tears in front of the entire room as Jack explains that there will be an additional twenty scholarships for high-school-aged kids to attend college or trade school, and that they’ve each donated to support the search for a permanent facility for the foundation.

Warmth blooms in my chest as Declan hugs his friends, clutching them tightly and freely expressing his emotions.

He’s making it incredibly difficult to keep my emotions in check.

The crowd breaks, and I pull up the photo on my phone, using it as a reference for my sketch. I’m lost in the drawing, hand flying over the small page of the notebook. The lines are raw and rough, but I do my best to add shading and convey the emotion I witnessed into the drawing.

I’ve missed this feeling—the way my mind shuts off when I draw, and I can escape into the art. I rarely have the time anymore to draw or paint, and when I do, it’s often just coloring with crayons with Nora.

She’s a stickler for staying within the lines.

“Oh, wow.” The words pull me out of my trance, and I jerk, surprised by Declan’s proximity, but he’s looking down at my notebook and my drawing of him.

This is so creepy. Nothing screams crazy lady than drawing photos of someone in a notebook.

Declan reaches out and plucks the drawing from my hand, studying it with a curious expression.

“You did this?” he asks. I nod. “This is breathtaking.”

I survey the lines with new eyes, trying to see the scene of him and his friends like he does, but it’s only a rough sketch. I did nail his biceps, but I’ve spent so much time staring at them, I could probably pick them out of a lineup by feeling alone.

“It’s rough.”

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” he says, dropping down onto the turf beside me. I pull my knees to my chest.

“I’m not.”

He holds up my notebook. “This says otherwise.”

My heart thuds behind my ribcage. No one has seen any of my work in a long time, and his praise of it seems to do some odd things to my chest, causing it to flutter like a swarm of honey bees.

“Can I have it?” I nod, turning my head to hide my blush, and rip out the sheet and hand it to him. He slides it into his pocket, then hands me a plate I didn’t notice he had. “I brought you this, in case you were hungry.”

A perfect cheeseburger sits surrounded by a sea of French fries.

“You spoil me.” I take the food without hesitation and pop a fry into my mouth. He watches while I eat, and though it could be perceived as creepy, it doesn’t feel that way.

It’s almost like he’s studying me, and there’s something thrilling in the thought.

As subtly as I can, I try to smooth out the frizzy strands of my hair. He leans back on his palms and crosses his legs out in front of him while he watches the room.

“So not only are you a professional athlete, but you also have a foundation, and manage to save women from shitty dates. Any other secrets you’re hiding?”

I extend my plate and he takes a fry. “Hm…I’m a part of a book club with my teammates’ partners, and I know every word to Despicable Me. ”

“Oh, I love that movie. Minions, assemble! ” I stick my finger in the air, and Declan laughs, loud and sharp.

He points a finger gun in my direction. “ Fart gun! ”

There’s a heavy pause, and then we both tumble over in laughter, and I wheeze until my sides hurt and my face flames to a million degrees.

“I’ve always wanted my own set of minions,” I admit. “They would make life much easier.”

Cleaning, cooking, entertainment, scheming. It could all be accomplished with just a few minions. They could also keep Nora company and give me some precious alone time. Sometimes, a girl just wants to pee in peace.

I laugh again, and Declan rubs his chest, staring at me with a bizarre look.

Uh…weird.

His muscles flex, and I have to rip my eyes away.

Work. I have work I need to do.

I rise from the turf, taking my notebook and shoving it back into my purse. It’s immediately sucked into the void of random items I’ve collected. It’s like Mary Poppins' bag of wonder, if you added random children's toys, trash, and snacks.

“See you tomorrow?” It’s meant to come out as a statement, but it morphs into a question at the end, like I’m pleading he’ll come and find me.

Not good.

“Promise.”

With that, I spin around and dash out of the practice area, running away from how my chest flutters from the conviction in the single word.