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Lacey gasps. Her hand tightens on my arm, and the press of her fingers is grounding. They keep me calm and relaxed as I tell a story I’ve tried to forget. I’m not sure what compels me to share this with her. I don’t know why the urge to give her every little detail sits on the tip of my tongue, just that Iwantto. I want her to know this side of me.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she says. “Showing intimate parts of the person you dated to the masses is downright mean.”
“Yeah. She always wanted to be in the spotlight, and by releasing some of our text messages and private things about me, she really catapulted her way to stardom.” I laugh, and it’s rough and humorless. “Anyway. The article talks about the panic attacks I sometimes have. Decompressing after games helps get rid of that tension, and for some reason, I gravitate toward classical music as the antidote that calms me down. My grandmother used to play Pachelbel’s Canon all the time on this shitty little stereo she had in the kitchen of her condo, and I started to associate it with being safe.”
Lacey is quiet, but her touch on my arm is unwavering. When she finally talks, her words are soft. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Shawn. What a terrible thing to experience. I can’t imagine trusting someone with such sensitive and vulnerable information, only to have it thrown in your face. I know it might not mean much, but to me, the panic attacks make you a superhero.”
I frown and look over at her. “What do you mean?”
“You have the ability to fight off these thoughts of yours, which isn’t easy. You don’t let the negativity win. And if it does win sometimes, that’s okay. That doesn’t make you less. It makes youmore. You’re an incredible human learning to juggle the balance between your mental health and being on the field, and I respect you for it. Thank you for sharing part of yourself with me.”
“Thank you for listening,” I say. I clear my throat and fold my left hand over hers. “Okay, enough of this heavy shit. We have milkshakes to devour.”
“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Lacey says, and she squeals excitedly. “Want to split a plate of loaded fries?”
“Of course I do. But only if we get extra cheese sauce.”
“Deal.”
We pull into the parking lot of the diner a few minutes later. There’s no sign, no flashing neon lights to announce you’ve arrived. It’s hidden, three left turns off the main road and tucked between a laundromat that’s open twenty-four hours a day and a group fitness studio. Blink and you miss it, which is why I love it so much.
I’m not a football coach with an eighty-million-dollar contract here, but an average guy with his friends, eating greasy food and dunking French fries in my vanilla milkshake. There are no cameras, no interviews, no reporters. I can relax. Take a deep breath and justbe, a luxury I so rarely get to enjoy.
Lacey unbuckles her seatbelt. She jumps out of the car and closes the door behind her. I watch as she puts a beanie with a little pom pom on her head and runs her palms up and down her arms, trying to stay warm. She laughs, and her breath cuts into the chilly night air as a puff of white dances from her lips.
Her eyes find mine through the dashboard smudged with handprints and covered in a thin layer of dust. I think there’s a drawing of a dick near the rearview mirror, a gift from one of my players who was trying to be funny.
When she smiles, it’s slow and indulgent. It starts soft, at the edges of her mouth and in the wrinkle of her nose, before tugging upward and splitting her face into a full-fledged grin. She motions for me to get out of the car and follow her inside.
I can’t explain it, but the invitation to join her makes me feel higher than our win did.
FIVE
LACEY
“What the hellam I supposed to wear?” I ask Maggie. I toss a dress onto my bed, then a sweater and a stack of scarves. “It’s literally freezing outside. There’s snow in the forecast, and I’m going on a date. This is hopeless.”
“Okay, it’s not hopeless,” Maggie says, and she rifles through a row of hangers with a determined look on her face. “What about—no, that’s not practical. Neither is that. Okay. This.” She pulls down a navy-blue cashmere sweater and hands it to me. “With leggings, your big puffy jacket, and a beanie.”
“I’m going to look like a blueberry.”
“At least you’ll be a cute blueberry who is warm.” She pats my head affectionately and tugs me to my feet. “We have to leave in twenty minutes. Is Matthew meeting us there?”
“Yeah.” I grab a pair of fleece-lined leggings and high socks. “I don’t want him to know where I live in case he turns out to be a psychopath.”
“Sweetie, you need to stop watching those true crime shows. One day you’re not going to want to go outside anymore, and I’ll be sad. Who will I eat lunch with?”
“Your adoring boyfriend. What do we think? Sports bra or sexy bra?”
“Sports bra. You don’t want to give it all away on the first date.”
I fling a pair of underwear at her head, and the purple thong whizzes past her ear. “You literally slept with Aiden four hours after meeting him.”
“I’m not sure we even made it that long.” Maggie bites her bottom lip and grins. Color splashes on her cheeks. “I think it was only two and a half hours.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you? I’m going with sexy. Even if he is a dud, we can go back to his place after and have a little fun,” I say.
“There’s my sex-positive girl,” she says, walking out of the closet and knocking her knuckles against the door. “Get changed.”
