“This is Chelsea Lewis, coach for the 2012 Olympics women’s football team to represent the U.K. I’d like to speak to you about trying out. London is the host city and we want to make a good show of it. Call me at…”
Dazed, I hang up the phone, staring blankly at the wall.
“They want me for the Olympic football team.”
“I know!” Abby is jumping up and down, looking as if she might burst from excitement.
“England never has a women’s football team in the Olympics,” I mutter, more to myself than to Abby.
She stops bouncing immediately. “What? They don’t? Isn’t that like, your national sport?”
I explain to my oblivious American friend. “Women’s footy isn’t a big deal in the U.K. like it is here in the U.S. I don’t know why, it just isn’t. I was lucky to attend a school that had a program. It’s the reason I had to come all the way here for university.”
“Wow. I had no idea.” Abby shakes her head.
“I don’t really understand why they’re having a team now,” I admit.
“Then call the woman back.” She points to the phone that’s still in my hand.
“Right. Oh,” I glance at the time and frown, doing the math in my head. “It’s late there already. After midnight. I’ll have to ring her tomorrow.”
Abby wraps her arms around me in a big, comforting hug. “I’m so proud of you, Kate.”
“I haven’t made the team yet, Abby.” Even though I’m being cautious with my excitement in case it doesn’t pan out, I can’t help the grin on my face or the way my spirits have been lifted.
“You will. I know it.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I joke.
Abby give me a serious look. “I know so.”
I won’t admit it to Abby, maybe not even to myself, but this is the most hope I’ve had for my future since Dax walked out of my life two years ago.
It never occurs to me that my first thought wasn’t to ring Logan and share the good news, it was to ring Dax.
Maybe I’m not cured after all.
Dax
“This is so stupid,” I mutter to myself as I stop my Ducati in a large parking lot surrounded by a half-dozen green football pitches.
Kicking down the stand, I pull off my helmet and set it between my legs. There are players on every single field, ranging in age from primary school through young adult. The littlest children squeal in delight as they pass the ball back and forth. Wistfully, I remember wanting to play footy as a kid and my dad responding by having me hit a punching bag for an hour.
I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I just need to make absolutely sure Kate is okay. I’ve been replaying the conversation I had with Abby at Kate’s football game over and over in my head for the last six months. Once I let the cat out of the bag about Kate’s assault, I never got around to finding out if Kate was able to find some semblance of happiness.
For some reason I need to know.
Reaching down, I pull a hat out from the compartment under the seat and tug it down low. Hopefully, with my sunglasses on, no one will recognize me. It tends to be fifty-fifty when I go out alone without a beard or disguise of some sort. When I’m with Adam, it’s one hundred percent guaranteed that someone will spot us. There are quite a few benefits in not being the lead singer.
I don’t want to pass through the actual office building to get access to the pitches. There’s too much chance in being recognized and then I’d have to explain my reason for being here. I walk directly over to the fence surrounding the property that spans the length of the fields. I’m passing the second pitch when I spot her not more than twenty meters away.
Heat spread across my skin, my heart pumping blood through my veins at a pace fast enough to feel my pulse throbbing in my neck. A lump forms in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it refuses to move.
Unwelcome emotions flood my brain, emotions I’ve shut down every time they’ve tried to appear—longing, heartbreak, and most of all fear. Fear that Kate will turn me away, that she despises me for what I did.
She’s speaking to a teenage girl, maybe fifteen years old. The girl is chatting animatedly, pointing down the pitch and making gestures as she speaks. Kate is smiling, her face radiant, nodding at the girl’s words. Kate kneels down and flexes the girl’s left ankle this way and that, doing some sort of clinical exam.
Watching her, the genuine joy on her face, reminds me of a time when I was the one who made her happy. I was the one who held her when her team lost a match, the one she smiled at when she aced her latest exam. Seeing her getting along without me is heart wrenching. I’m glad that Kate has found something that makes her happy, yet I’m upset that it seems she was able to move on.