Page 39

Harper

My phone lay on the kitchen island, still silent, with no texts or calls from Jamil.

I’d come home from the game a few nights back to an empty apartment, with a text letting me know that he would be staying at Derek’s.

I’d spent the better part of our games fighting between trying to get his attention and desperately avoiding making eye contact out of fear of what I’d do once I had it.

I couldn’t blame him for wanting to stay somewhere else to clear his head and get some space from everything happening in his life all at once.

But that didn’t stop the ache that was growing in my chest with every minute I spent without him.

“Shit!” I exclaimed as the coffee I’d been pouring overflowed down the sides of my mug and onto the counter.

I swiped a kitchen towel over the spill, my eyes flitting back to my phone with no new notifications.

Last night, I’d lain awake long into the night going through almost every decision I’d made over the past four years and wondering how I’d gotten my identity so wrapped up in my career that I’d potentially thrown away the beginnings of something special.

I’d done the one thing I promised myself I’d never do—become my mother.

“What did that coffee do to you?” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Jamil’s voice.

He stood in the entry hallway, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

The sight of him still nearly stole my breath away, despite the heavy anticipation of seeing each other again.

I could have stared at the color of his eyes past the point of what was considered normal if it weren’t for him waiting for me to reply.

“I just got distracted,” I told him as I finished mopping up the spilled coffee.

Jamil walked further into my apartment and deposited his backpack on one of the empty barstools. “By what?”

His casual disposition was a stark contrast to the racing beat of my heart, as my anxiety grew over the possibility that this could be the point when he changed his mind.

Even though he’d told me everything was fine between us, maybe he realized he needed to end whatever was happening between us with the few days of space we had.

But what if he doesn’t? What if you were honest with him to a fault? Then you can’t regret anything if he still chooses to leave.

“By you. I was distracted by you,” I told him.

He walked around the island, keeping enough distance from me that I could still think, but close enough that I could make out the light smattering of freckles across his nose from the sun he was getting.

“I wasn’t even here. How could I have been distracting you?” he asked.

Take courage, my heart.

I sucked in a deep breath, preparing myself to do one of the most vulnerable things I’d ever done with Jamil—be completely honest without holding back. “Because you distract me whether you’re near me or not. I was waiting on a call or text from you because I was scared that you wouldn’t come back.”

Honestly, if the situation was reversed, I wasn’t sure I would have come back either. Not after someone went behind my back, despite the person’s best intentions.

Don’t get your hopes up.

But it was already too late.

“Why wouldn’t I come back?”

“Because you changed your mind and you realized you were actually upset with me and the feature story.” I felt small under his gaze. “And you no longer want to be around me.”

“Of course I’m upset, Harper.”

I swore my heart stopped beating in my chest.

“That doesn’t mean I’m tossing you to the side or I would just walk out without saying a word to you.

I just needed a minute to myself to clear my head.

A lot has happened lately, and I was overwhelmed.

I’ve since had others much wiser than me, surprisingly, remind me that my anger is misplaced.

I took the anger and fear that’s been building up for years for my brother and directed that at you. That wasn’t fair of me.”

Jamil’s mouth was tight as he watched me stand across from him trying to process our conversation.

He was right that he misplaced some of his anger on me.

However, he wasn’t wrong for being upset with me.

I’d allowed my work life to drive people away in my personal life.

Yet here I was trying to pick up the pieces that I had a hand in splintering.

If I looked in the mirror in my bathroom, would I see myself or would I see a young Maria Nelson, sacrificing her way to the top?

When I didn’t say anything back right away, Jamil continued. “Can you tell me more about your idea for the feature story?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I should never have agreed to do it. I could have told my boss to pick someone else.”

“I want to hear your idea.” Jamil stared at me with the same sincerity in his eyes that he did at every interview we’d worked together on this season. He still had respect for me and my craft and that gave me the courage to have this conversation, knowing that he’d listen.

“My boss wanted to cover a story on you.” Jamil pressed his lips together into a thin line but didn’t interrupt me.

“Any journalist after finding out about your brother would have used that for their story. But I couldn’t do that to either of you.

Especially because, in my opinion, that’s not the story worth telling. ”

I’d discarded my workbag on one of the barstools when I got home from the game last night and I pulled my laptop out so I could show him what I had been planning.

“When anyone covers something about Jamil Edman, they either focus on your statistical achievements, a single-game performance, or something without substance for clicks.”

“Like a grocery store run?” Jamil mumbled under his breath, and I chuckled in agreement.

“But no one has covered you . They don’t know what motivates you to keep playing, which is supporting those you love.

They don’t know about your origin story and where your love for the game started.

They don’t know how much you support the surrounding community of Chicago.

They don’t know how hard life has become for you over the last year because of your success.

You’ve had to change your routines, basically your entire life here in the city to still have some semblance of normality.

No one knows any of that unless they know you because you’ve never shown that part of yourself to the world. ”

“Because they don’t deserve all of those pieces of me.”

“Why not?” I pressed him. “You’re selling yourself short, Jamil.

At your core you want to help others. Think about what that could do on a global level or with the newfound pull that you have.

You have this hatred for the media because of the pressure you feel it’s brought, but why not embrace it?

You can show them how this has affected you and set boundaries on your terms. The only reason they put out the ridiculous articles they do is because you’ve made yourself a prized commodity.

You don’t give interviews, and no one knows anything about you.

A story about what kind of takeout you like to get on a Friday night will sell because you give them nothing else. ”

“Are you sure you want to be a journalist?” Jamil asked.

“Of course. Why would you ask that?” He, of all people, knew the hard work I’d dedicated to this career. He knew that I loved getting to showcase people in a light that reflected their best to the world.

“Because a journalist would never pass up an opportunity to run a story like Jordan’s, not even if it ruined my life.”

Jamil was looking at me with hesitation, like he was waiting for me to say “sike” and run a story that he had worked so hard to keep others from knowing.

“I’m not that kind of journalist, J. That’s not how I want to treat people. I want to be known as the reporter that athletes come to when they have a story they want to tell. Not someone they dread covering a story on them. I’m sorry I made you feel that I would do something like that to you.”

He was quiet for a moment as he considered my words. “I meant it when I said we were okay. Of course I’m going to be upset you kept this from me. But I’m beginning to understand why you did it.”

Maybe this is for the best.

“Can I ask you something that’s been bothering me though?” Jamil asked. “Did you not respond to me when I told you I wanted to date you because you felt conflicted about your story?”

“It didn’t feel right telling you that I wanted to date you, too. Not when I knew I had this story to write. I had been putting it off so far this season and at the time you asked me, I hadn’t written anything yet. But it was still there in the back of my mind.”

Jamil mulled over my words before he lifted his eyes to mine, the barest hint of his usual playful glint in them. “But you want to date me?”

I choked on a laugh as the tension that had been building inside me finally subsided. “Yes, Jamil. I do.”

“This isn’t me asking you. It’s good to know that when I do, I won’t be rejected.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he replied softly. He paused for a moment. “Can you promise me that next time something like this happens, you tell me from the beginning?”

“Yes.” I took a tentative step toward him. “I think I was hoping that it would all disappear, and I’d never have to have the conversation with you, which was stupid of me as well.”

Jamil closed the distance between us and wrapped me up in his arms. He held on to me like I was a buoy keeping him above the raging waters of his life, and I held on to him just as tightly to let him know that I was there.

“What about Jordan?” I asked after minutes had passed of us holding each other in the middle of my kitchen.

He untangled himself from my arms and turned to lean on the counter next to us. His shoulders were drawn up toward his ears as he let out a long sigh.

“I feel like I have no other choice but to release him. I’ve been holding on to the person that I used to know, and I fear that he’s no longer that person. If I keep waiting for the time that he’ll stop disappointing me and help himself for a moment, I think I’ll be waiting forever.”

If only I could take some of the weight this decision was putting on him onto my own shoulders.

But instead, I wrapped an arm around his waist and allowed him to lean into me.

For so long, I’d had to shoulder the challenges of my life on my own.

Now I knew that it wasn’t having someone that could fix your burdens and make your life easier.

It was having someone that allowed you to face it on your own but would pick you up the second you fell.

There was nothing I could do to fix this situation for either Jamil or Jordan. But I could be the one to pick Jamil up and help him keep moving forward.

“You shouldn’t look at this as a failure. You’ve done everything you can to give Jordan more opportunities and you’ve run out of runway to keep going. That’s all. Now he has to fly on his own.”

His eyes were glassy when he turned his head to look at me. “It feels like I’m mourning someone who’s still alive.”

“You haven’t lost him,” I told him. My hand rubbed an endless circle on his back. “You’re just letting him stand on his own two feet.”

Jamil nodded his head, trying to force himself to believe in what I was telling him.

“Do you mind if I stay here? After we get back from this round of away series while my house is fixed? They think it will be a couple more weeks before the police are done and the locksmith is finished, not to mention the contractors fixing the damage. I’m sure Derek will let me crash on his couch again if I need to.

I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate or if you’d want some space—”

I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m right down the road from the stadium and I have an extra room. It would be silly if you went anywhere else.”

He stared at me intently. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Now, you and I have flights to make.”

“Are you ready to go back home?”

Home.

I hadn’t stopped to consider that tomorrow I’d be back in Washington DC for the first of the next two away series on the Cougars’ schedule. I’d lived there for all my adult life, but it had never felt like home, only the place where my parents lived.

“I don’t think DC is home anymore,” I told him. It had stopped feeling that way the moment I’d packed my life up and left for Chicago.

“Do you think your parents will want to see you?”

The last thing I wanted to think about was enduring another dinner with my parents, but the likelihood of that happening felt high.

“Let’s hope not.”