“Your clothes came today. We can get you settled after dinner if you’re up for it.”
I nod. “That sounds good.”
“Work good?”
“Yeah.” My voice lacks conviction. “How was it with Leo?”
“Fine. We napped and went for a few walks.”
We talk about nothing in particular as we eat and we don’t talk at all as I help him clean up. Noah, I’ve learned, is the kind of person who likes to clean up soon after he makes a mess. He doesn’t like leaving dishes in the sink. He doesn’t like leaving clothes on the floor for long. He’s neater than I ever realized, and I wonder when this happened. He definitely wasn’t like this in high school. His room was always a mess.
I have a sudden urge to ask him to recount every moment of his life since I left him. He grew into a man, grew into an adult, and changed in ways I hadn’t considered. I want to know when it all happened and how it happened. I want to listen to his story of how he came to be who he is today.
Instead, we’re unpacking my clothes. I can’t believe this is happening. Slowly but surely, my clothes are filling half of Noah’s closet and half of his dresser. Luckily, he has a rather large dresser and there’s more room in there than I thought. I was worried there wouldn’t be enough room.
“Mere?”
I lift my head from my current box to see him holding the three jerseys. There might as well be one big question mark for the expression on his face. I walk over to where I stored the package from last week and open the box. I pull out the fourth jersey of his current team. “I always bought one. It was the one thing I allowed myself from your life.”
He drops his head to look at the jerseys in his hands. Then, he turns to plop down on the edge of the bed. I walk over and stand before him, worried by his silence. He lifts his gaze to mine. “I followed your career. I read every article about you. If I couldn’t watch your matches, I followed the results. I probably know your career as well as you do.” He holds up the jerseys. “This, it makes up for you not doing the same.”
“Why?” I don’t understand how it could do so when it means I know nothing about his career, except the teams he played on.
“Because you were still supporting me and cheering for me. You still cared. Did,” he hesitates as if he’s unsure of his question. “Did you ever wear them?” God, those brown eyes look so hopeful.
“Only when my parents said they were going to one of your games and if I was alone. I’d wear it and then sleep in it that night.” It totally contradicts my reasoning for not wanting to follow his career because it hurt too much, but I couldn’t help it. My parents would mention him and it would hit me hard how much I missed him; I took comfort where I could get it.
Noah tosses the jerseys to the side, including the one I was holding. He grabs my hips and yanks me forward to straddle him. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he strips me of my clothes to kiss every inch of my skin before burying himself inside me. If he reacts like this from simply hearing I wore his jerseys, then I can’t wait for him to see me in his Rebels jersey.
The week passes by without further incident. Well, mostly. Erica still hates me and makes me feel like I’ve made a fool of myself at least once a day. I’ve rallied a few times with the girls; my shoulder has been sore and full of pain after each time. Right now, none of that matters. I’m about to meet Noah’s entire team and their families. I feel like this is a test, one I don’t know how to pass. Noah captures my attention when he lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.
“I can hear you worrying from over here. Stop it. You don’t have to impress anyone.”
That doesn’t really make me feel better, but I give him a smile anyway. We get out of the car and walk inside the large house. There is a ridiculous number of people here. We’re greeted by a sweet woman who turns out to be the head coach’s wife. After that, we run into Marc. He’s standing with a few other players and presumably, their significant others.
“This is the Meredith,” Marc announces.
Their eyes widen. Had Noah not told anyone else he was with me again? Wait, do they all know about me?
“Tattoo Meredith?” one of the women asks.
“Yep,” Marc confirms.
Noah laughs and leans in to whisper in my ear, “They all thought you were a figment of my imagination.”
“We have so many questions.” The same woman who referred to me as Tattoo Meredith steps forward to take my hand and lead me away, the rest of the women following us. “I’m Sylvia. You are like an urban legend or something.” We’re basically huddled in the corner of the room. “Tell us everything,” she demands.
“Um.” What does she mean everything?
“Relax,” another woman says. “I’m Theresa. Sylvia is just excited about fresh blood. You don’t have to tell us anything.”
“But we’re dying to know!” Sylvia adds.
“Um, okay. We met in high school, but broke up before going our separate ways for our careers.”
“But why?”
“For our careers,” I repeat.