When he falls apart. I want to be what he’s been for me: safe, strong, comforting.
I love him.
The words drift through me, natural and gentle as a breeze whispering over my skin, the sun warming my face. I love him.
I love Gavin whether or not he’ll love me back. I love him if he comes out of retirement or walks away from the game forever. I love him, and I don’t know when it happened. When annoyance gave way to affection, when bickering became foreplay and lust’s grip became love’s fist wrapped around my heart until its every beat was just for him.
He’s retiring, leaving the game, exiting my world, and yet nothing’s clearer, safer, easier simply because he won’t do drills with me or bark at me across the field. The old me would have been relieved, convinced this separation of our careers would be all we needed and voila!
What a fool I was, to think it could be as simple as drawing a line between the person I’d allow myself to love and the game I loved, too. What a bogus idea that I could open my heart to someone safely, cautiously; that with the right person and the right boundaries, falling in love wouldn’t scare me just as badly as, or worse than, it did the first time, that it wouldn’t make me feel like I was hovering on the edge of a cliff, no guarantee that the person I was falling for would be there to catch me.
I still don’t know if he’ll be there. But now I know the truth: the nature of my heart, the fullness with which I love and live, means that to love is to risk deep pain.
And it also opens my world to incredible, intimate love.
I want that with him. I want Gavin.
I just…don’t know if he wants me. But I’m ready to be brave and find out.
Staring at his image, contained on a phone screen as the press turns unsurprisingly feral, I start to plan, dream, hope. The flight home I’ll try to move up to today instead of lingering here alone for a few days, how I’d planned; the words I’ll say, the way I’ll say them.
But for now, I watch him because I have to do this, to stand witness to what I wish I could have witnessed in person—his bravery, his pain, his dignity as the press shout his name, begging to be called on.
Clearing his throat, Gavin rolls his shoulders and straightens, then points to a man in back who the camera pans to, slim, wiry, thick glasses. The man says, “Colin Woodruff with ESPN. Mr. Hayes, first, please let me express what a beautiful statement that was. We’re all sad to see the end of this era in your life, and yet, so much is still ahead of you. What’s next?”
Gavin nods, stares down at the paper on the podium. “Taking care of myself, finding ways to give back to the community. Hopefully settling down.”
“Where?” Colin asks, shouting over new voices.
Gavin glances up at the camera. “That depends.”
“On?” Colin prompts.
Before Gavin can answer him, a bang on the front door startles me so badly, I nearly drop Viggo’s phone. A dozen hands dart my way, collectively steadying it.
That’s when I realize my entire family has congregated behind my chair, looking moved and curious.
Two more rapid thuds shake the front door, ringing through the great room and the silence they’ve created. Then, a single ring of the doorbell, like whoever went to town on the door only just realized that a more modern method of announcing themselves was available.
“I got it!” Linnie yells, scrambling up from her tantrum spot on the floor.
“Hold up.” Viggo runs toward the door. “Adults answer the door, Linnie.”
“Rules you out,” Freya mutters, burping Theo on her shoulder.
Viggo flips her off.
“I saw that,” Linnie yells.
Aiden, ever the strategic one, simply leans back and glances out through the window with a clear view to whoever stands outside. “Shit. Shoot, I mean.”
He runs toward the door, bodychecks Viggo out of the way, then scoops up Linnie. “Oliver.” He jerks his head. “You should get that.”
Viggo’s just righted himself and is reaching for the door again when I get there and shove him away. I peer through the peephole. My knees nearly give out.
“Who is it?” Viggo asks, shoving me aside, trying to see through the peephole. “Ack!”
Ren’s got him by the shirt collar, dragging Viggo away, as he tells him, “Chill out, V. Ollie can handle himself.”
“Okay, let’s go!” Mom says, clapping her hands at everyone, shooing them to move. “Come on, hurry!”
It’s like Home Alone when the family realizes they’re running late for their flight, a mad dash of people crossing the hall, running upstairs, running downstairs. Bags land in the foyer. Sheets fall in piles outside rooms. Doors slam shut as footsteps thunder across the house.
I stand at the door, my hand shaking as I reach for the doorknob, my heart pounding in my chest.
Why is he here?
There’s only one way to find out. Breathing deeply, finding my courage, I wrench open the door and step onto the porch.
28
OLIVER
Playlist: “Wildfire,” Cautious Clay
I shut the door behind me. My heart swoops, then soars.
Gavin’s in the suit he wore at the press conference this morning. Except now it’s a little rumpled, his tie loose, a few wrinkles in his jacket, a scuff on his polished shoes. He holds a very fancy bottle of champagne and a breathtaking bouquet of flowers.
“I…” He clears his throat. “I was told there was a wedding. And on the off chance it was happening when I showed up, I wanted to be prepared.”
“The wedding was two days ago.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You’re a little late.”
“Ah.” He searches my eyes. “But I hope…not too late entirely?”
I bite my cheek, scared to hear a double meaning in that, scared to hope. And yet I can’t stop myself from saying, “No. Not too late.”
Slowly, Gavin crouches, knees popping as he sets down the champagne and flowers. He straightens, walks toward me. “Oliver—”
“I watched the press conference,” I tell him, backing up instinctively.
He stops, holding my eyes, searching them. “You saw it already?”
I nod. My throat feels thick with the threat of tears. “I’m sorry.”
He stares at me, looking suddenly very wary. “For what?”
“Your retirement. I know this game is…everything to you. Saying goodbye to it, the finality of announcing to the world that it’s over…”
My words trail off as something like relief smooths his expression. He takes another step closer, and this time, I hold my ground, too confused by his response to give in to fear and step away.
His knuckles brush mine.
“That’s just it, though,” he says. “It isn’t over. This part of my career is, yes. But my life isn’t. This is just the beginning.” He wraps his hand around mine, warm and dry, strong and steady. “That is, if you—”
The door flies open, startling us apart.
“Hello!” my mother says brightly. Wrapping Gavin in a sudden hug, she says, “Welcome! Go on inside. Get comfortable. We were just leaving.”
“Mom,” I say, voice strangled.
Gavin hugs her back, giving me a perplexed look over her shoulder. “Thank you.”