Page 22 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

“So, yeah,” she continues with a shrug as she stares off into the distance, “I just sometimes wish they had decided to wait a few more years. Maybe even given me a chance to get a bit more settled, maybe find my own husband, I don’t know.

And I feel horrible for feeling that way, because I should be happy for them—I am happy for them—I just don’t really know how to experience this specific happiness without feeling like I’m watching my life pass by, and I forgot to get on the train. ”

That gives me pause.

“Is Dennis not going to be your husband?” I ask quietly. I think they’re back together, but it’s not really a friend thing to ask about. Not in our friendship.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s so hard to know with the distance.

It doesn’t feel the way it used to. I don’t feel the way I used to, and I don’t really know what to do about it, but I wouldn’t marry him if he asked right now.

He knows I won’t go to New York, and I don’t think he’s ready to come back to Chicago.

” She slumps, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders before I can think better of it and pull her to me.

“I’m a terrible person.”

“You’re not a terrible person,” I tell her, rubbing circles on her upper arm with my thumb.

“I just told you I don’t want my sister to have a baby, and I don’t want to marry my long-term boyfriend.”

“Hey.” I wait for her to meet my gaze, her face partially lit by the adjoining room.

“You’re not a bad person. And that’s not what you said.

Almost everything was about you, how you wanted to be recognized for the great things you’re doing in your own life.

You shouldn’t be held to someone else’s standards or definition of success. That’s not a crazy concept.”

“Not gonna touch the other one, huh?” She laughs, blinking as a tear falls down her cheek.

I wipe it away with my thumb, my palm lingering as it cups her jaw.

It would be so easy to lean down and close the space between our mouths.

Her eyes flit down to my lips and back up.

I could, I realize. I could kiss her, and she would kiss me back tonight.

But she didn’t say he wasn’t her boyfriend.

And the idea that she’d be thinking of him is out of the question.

I hear a familiar upbeat tune start to play through the glass window into the apartment.

“Here,” I say, standing and pulling her up with me. “It’s not ‘Sweet Caroline,’ but I happen to love this song.”

She laughs, recognizing the popular Journey hit as everyone starts to sing the first chorus. “I didn’t have you pegged as a soft rock guy.”

“I’m really more of a podcaster if I’m honest.”

“Even before games?”

“We can’t have our phones for ninety minutes before games or even at halftime, so I got used to going without or just settling for whatever’s playing in the locker room,” I say, remembering what a tough transition that was. She stares at me dumbfounded.

“I always assumed players had their curated pre-game playlists.” I laugh, it’s a common misconception.

“Dance with me, Lila.” I hold out my hand and wait for her to take it before pulling her in toward me and placing my free hand on her waist. We sway slowly and offbeat as the music fades into a slower country song.

The guitar strums a contemplative background noise for the moment as Lila steps nearer and lays her head on my chest, the hand not tucked into mine wrapping around my neck.

“Tell me something about your family,” she whispers against my shirt.

I take a deep breath, thinking for a moment before I say, “My dad doesn’t approve of me playing American football. Well, any sport professionally really. He wants me to take over for him at his company in a few years.”

“You still could, right? When you retire from the NFL?”

“I don’t want to.”

She doesn’t push, and it gives me the space to open up on my own. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Why not?”

“My childhood wasn’t the best.” She tenses, but I can’t handle another question. “Tonight’s not the night to get into it, but if I never saw him again, it would be too soon.”

She doesn’t respond but continues to dance with me until the end of this song and the next.

And the next.

This feels different. I should really tell her now, tell her how my feelings are anything but friendly. How I want her to give us a chance.

“Lila—” A wave of cheers inside cuts me off and ends whatever bubble we’ve been in for the past twenty minutes or so. We break apart, and Lila checks her phone gasping.

“It’s already after eleven. I should get home.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling the hit from earlier.” My body hurts, but more than anything, I just want an excuse to be near her for a few more minutes.

“Do you want to split an Uber”

I nod. “We should say goodnight first.”

We step back into the living room, a group of hockey players surrounding Katie as she explains something, one of them paying entirely too much attention to her ass, and I roll my eyes.

I get Theo’s attention and point to the door, then to Lila.

“I’ll make sure she gets home,” I call to him over the noise.

He waggles his eyebrows back at me, and I glance over to see Lila narrowing her eyes at him.

We ride the short distance in silence, our earlier conversation stretching to fill the distance.

“I’ll see you later?” I ask as she steps out of the car.

“I’m actually headed for New York tomorrow.” A lead weight drops into my gut. She’s going to New York. For him. But it can’t be my imagination that she seems disappointed in her plans. “But I’ll be cheering you on next Sunday if we don’t all do something before then.”

“Have a safe trip.”

She’s going to New York. And I almost told her?—

No.

She’s going to New York.