Page 62 of Anatomy of Us

Wes tears across the grass, chasing any player willing to get caught. Like Tess says, he has too much energy. He escapes us. He shrieks. He never stops talking, even if nobody understands half of what comes out of his mouth.

Out of all the girls, Iris is still his favorite. He learned to say her name, or something close, right after “mama” and “Teh,” but we keep that little fact to ourselves. She would become unbearable if she ever found out.

Iris is still Iris. Four warnings from Hades in the first week of preseason. A personal best. Also twenty-one goals last season, so Coach tolerates her. Barely. But she does.

Some things don’t change.

Other things do.

After we won the final, Hades decided this season I’ll play with Jade in the middle, with her a little higher. I re-signed for three years, so I’d better be able to adapt. Hades says she needs two midfielders. One to yell and one to organize, and she never bothers to say which one of us is which.

Jade makes me better every day just to keep up with her pace. I'm not the player I was before I gave birth. I’m different. Maybe better.

I'm not the woman I was, either. I’m definitely better now.

**

After dinner, right before we put Wes down, Iris knocks on the door.

“Hey, happy family,” she says, scooping Wes up and kissing his hair. “I’m out. If Coach asks, I’m with you until midnight.”

“There’s a double session tomorrow,” I remind her, eyebrows up.

“I know. Just feed me balls to feet. Don’t make me run. I don’t think I’m in sprinting condition.”

“Hades is going to kill you if she finds out.”

Iris grins like consequences are a bedtime story for other people.

“Probably,” she says, then winks, pure trouble.

She’s gone a second later, ponytail swinging side to side like it always does when she’s in a hurry.

“One day she’s going to find someone who makes her settle down,” Tessa murmurs beside me.

“Iris? Impossible.” I snort and roll my eyes. “That person doesn’t exist.”

Tessa laughs under her breath and shuts off the mini-suite living room light.

We put Wes to bed together, like we do every night. We take our spots, one on each side, and he grabs my hand with one sticky fist, Tessa’s with the other, refusing to let go until sleep finally wins.

We stand by the crib and watch him breathe. Slow. Soft. His lashes rest on his cheeks like he’s innocent on purpose.

“Do you remember a year ago, right here?” Tessa asks, whispering so she doesn’t wake him.

“I was terrified,” I admit, biting my bottom lip as it hits me. “I thought I was going to lose everything all at once.”

“And now?”

Now I look at her in the dim light, at the shape of her shoulders, the tired line of her mouth that still looks likehome to me. I smell her soap. I feel her warmth beside me like a steady hand on my spine.

“Now I have everything and more,” I say. “I have my spot back, my fitness back. I’m not scared Nate’s going to take him. And I’m with the woman I’ve always been in love with.”

For years I asked myself who I am without soccer, without titles, without people clapping for me like that makes me real.

Now I know.

I’m the woman Tessa stops running from.

Seven years wasted, and now we have a whole life in front of us.

Because in the end, love isn’t measured by how long it takes you to find it. It’s measured by what happens when you do.