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Chapter 31

Lia

“I feel like you bribed me with margs and queso,” Shelbie accuses, taking a fresh tortilla chip from the bag and covering it with cheese.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I feign innocence while turning the volume up, as the second quarter is about to start.

Shelbie looks at the TV then back to me. “You just wanted someone to come over and watch the game with you.” She gestures to the TV with her margarita before pulling the salt-rimmed glass to her lips. “You know what, doesn’t even matter. What’s the deal with this food? It’s fucking incredible.”

“All thanks to Brooks. He took me here after a game and now I’m dreaming of it at least once a week.” I take a chip through the salsa before popping it in my mouth.

“Good dick and a food rec? You should keep this one.”

I roll my eyes and can’t help but laugh at her—she has such a way with words.

“Just watch—you’re going to end up marrying this guy. Only you would meet a random ass professional athlete who turns out to be the kind of man you could actually end up with.”

I take a long drink of my own margarita, letting the salt meet the shining sour of the lime before it balances out with the tequila. Her words hit me like below zero windchill when you finally open the door to brave the winter cold.

The kind of man you could actually end up with .

I’ve been trying to catch myself from falling too deep. The truth is that being stuck in our bubble, existing within the secret only we know, isn’t what real life is really like. I’ve been so wrapped up in the job, the slight slowdown of life, and Brooks. If there’s one thing that scares me most, it’s the hope. The hope this thing between us is real, even outside the veil of away games and luxury hotels. The hope it’s more than the allure of sneaking around. Keeping a secret.

Part of me thinks Shelbie is right; that even after everything my brain tells me is wrong with this situation, there’s still a chance. This isn’t your typical type of hope—it’s the massive kind that wraps around you like a never-ending blanket, fills a room, and takes up the space that’s been empty and lonely in your ribcage.

“Quit with the overthinking. You’re going to ruin the food buzz.” Shelbie pushes my shoulders and has me smiling. Everyone should have the type of friend who knows you enough to sense the spiral as it’s happening. “You know you don’t have to marry him. It was a joke,” she insists.

“I know. All of it feels… big.”

“I want to make a dick joke right now, but I’m not going to. That’s how much I know you need to talk.”

I laugh and shake my head. “It’s like I expected this to be short lived. The way I could think about the future is like the second before you drop at peak of a rollercoaster. It’s hard to explain.”

“No, I think I get it. It’s like you didn’t let yourself believe it, but then you did. It’s more than you thought.”

Nodding my head in agreement, I sit back and catch a glimpse of the TV. The Jags are up by five and they show Brooks resting on the bench.

“It feels too good. If it feels this way when everything is going well, what will it feel like if I lose it?” My voice cracks and I clear my throat .

Shelbie’s head tilts, taking me in as her brows furrow. “What if you don’t lose it? What if it’s something that works out? Something you keep?”

The lightness blooming in my chest is met with tears in my eyes. What if I can keep it? What if Brooks isn’t a blip, but something long term? Fuck, I want that. And it terrifies me.

“I know sometimes it feels like shit is too good to be true, but at some point, things swing the other way. Unless it’s someone telling you cauliflower is way better than pizza crust or chicken wings... that will never be true.”

I start to laugh but Shelbie stops me. “Buffalo cauliflower is too good to be true. I said what I said and will die on this hill.” She crosses her arms and puts her nose in the air.

Shelbie wouldn’t be who she is without a delicate balance between the heavy and the hilarious. Maybe she’s right; maybe this is the type of good thing I can really have. Shelbie gets up to refill her drink and I focus on the game. The Jags are still up, and I watch Jalen delivers a perfect pass to Brooks. He dribbles past a defender, pulling the ball back to dunk it when an arm comes in, trying to swipe the ball away or block the shot. Brooks gets hit while he’s in the air and he lands awkwardly, sort of on his shoulder.

When he doesn’t pop up right away, I’m standing in front of the TV, trying to decipher what’s going on. The training staff meet him on the court as Jalen kneels next to him. It’s hard to watch as Brooks’ face twists in pain, the arm he landed on limp by his side. The broadcast goes to commercial break—an injury timeout—and I’m pacing back and forth.

Shelbie says nothing as she sits back down on the couch. My hands scrub my face before pushing through my hair and ending at the base of my neck. I pull at my skin and pace in front of the TV, a mountain of nervousness building in my belly. Brooks. Is it his arm? His collarbone? Is something broken? How long is this recovery? The questions stack onto one another and when they get to be too heavy, it’s like they explode into pure chaos.

“Why don’t you sit. You have a full marg over here.” Shelbie pats the space next to her.

I take her suggestion and sit. Reaching for my glass, I start to tremble. Shelbie reaches for my hand, holding it tight in hers. “Take a breath and then take a drink. Tequila is perfect for this situation.”

“Nothing is broken. It’s a stinger,” Brooks insists, his face filling my phone screen.

I finally let out a breath and the relief is like a drink of cool of water on a scalding hot day. A stinger is an injury to nerves in the neck and varies in severity. Some can be remedied with a few days of rest, while some may need months to heal.

“The burning has already stopped. Seems like it’s mild.” His voice is quiet as he sits in his bed, propped up on pillows with an ice pack taped to his shoulder.

Mild. Nothing is broken. All of these are good things. “How do you feel?” I ask as I rub my hand on the duvet cover, holding my phone with the other.

“I mean, I feel okay. My hand keeps cramping and my arm feels… heavy? I don’t know, it’s weird.” He tries to lightly move his neck from side to side, probably itching to stretch the pain away. “I’ve never had one, but they seem fairly common.” He lets his head lean back and hit the headboard .

“Did they give you anything to take?”

“Anti-inflammatories and a Xanax. I asked for something to take the edge off so I could sleep tonight.”

I nod my head—this all makes sense. The urge to be there with him in that bed, making him comfortable and relaxed, is strong.

“I wish I was there with you.” I let the words out before overthinking has me keeping them in.

“Yeah, me too. I’m not that much fun tonight, though.”

“I don’t need you to be fun. I just wish I was there to help you feel better. If that sounds stupid—”

“No, it sounds nice. Supportive. I know I’d feel better if you were here.”

The words warm my skin, the blood rushing to my cheeks as I fight the urge to smile like an idiot. That doesn’t feel like it fits the mood.

“Let’s talk about something else. I’m all injury detailed out.” Brooks’ eyes look heavy as he slowly blinks.

“Thanksgiving is in a few days. Any plans?”

Honestly, I sort of forgot the holiday was this week until Shelbie reminded me. When my parents were alive, they’d do the whole full dinner thing, but when it was with my aunt and uncle, they never had the capacity to do anything more than order a pizza from the single shop that would stay open for a few hours that day. Now, Wes and I try to get together and eat pizza. If my aunt and uncle invited me, I’d go back and eat with them, but they seem too tired to do much of anything—that’s how it’s always been.

Brooks looks up, like he’s trying to remember something. “Yeah, my mom should be back from her trip. We’ll do something small, only the two of us.”

“That sounds nice. Where is she coming from? ”

“She’s been in Hawaii for a few weeks with my aunt. It seems like one of her favorite places she’s visited this year.”

I let out a sigh. “Hawaii seems like a dream. I can’t even imagine.” I think about what it’d be like to be someone who traveled regularly. Maybe it’s not a good idea, considering the thought of getting on the plane for the next away game may give me hives just thinking about it.

“You and your mom? That sounds perfect,” I say, finishing my thought.

Brooks nods and doesn’t ask me about my plans. I’m kind of glad I don’t have to explain the lore of the delivered pepperoni pizza. Whenever I tell that story, people look at me with the “you poor thing” mask—one I wish I’d never see again in my life.

“I’m exhausted. I’m going to get some sleep,” he says, rubbing his eyes with his good arm.

“Text me when you land and let me know if you need anything, ok?”

“You got it. Good night, Lia.” Then the phone goes blank.

I put my phone on the bedside table and pull the blanket up to my cheeks. I’m not tired; adrenaline is still cruising through my veins. Talking to Brooks and hearing him tell me how he’s feeling did ease my worry. Seeing him in one piece, in a hotel room and not a hospital bed, was the best I could have hoped for.

Something pulls at me, snagging the relief I should feel. Ruining the smoothness.

We hadn’t talked about it, but part of me thought he might have asked me to get together for Thanksgiving. If he were going to his dad’s house, I know that wouldn’t make sense and wouldn’t expect that invite. But knowing he’s going to be at his place with his mom, I would have thought maybe he’d want me to meet her. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe he doesn’t have the mental space to take on anything else.

Who knows .

It’s unfair for me to feel bad about something I didn’t bring up.

But I feel it anyway.