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Then he couldn’t stop looking at my wet T-shirt and the way it clung to my skin.
He left the room after, his cheeks pink and his eyes full of liquid heat.
I sigh and set a bookmark in place. I stand up and do a lap around the living room. I like it so much better when Dallas and June are here, and even though I like to be alone and crave that independence, it feels like something is missing when they’re gone.
A burst of adrenaline and courage hits me as I round the coffee table. After days of pushing outside my comfort zone, my body buzzes with curiosity. If this excitement is coming from doing something I’m only decently good at, what would it be like if I tried something I wasverygood at?
I hurry to my room and rifle through my dresser, pulling out athletic clothes. I trade my jeans for a pair of soccer shorts and my sweatshirt for a sports bra and tank top. I grab the cleats thathave been sitting untouched in a box in my closet, and a ball I haven’t kicked in months.
Before I can change my mind or think too long about what I’m doing, I slide my keys off the kitchen counter and head for my car.
The park is only a few blocks from Dallas’s apartment, and I’ve driven past the soccer fields a hundred times. There is always a wistful tug in my chest when I see the goal and the center circle. Flashes of memories come to me as I remember what the grass feels like under my feet and the joy of victory. It’s like I can still hear the crowd, an echo in my ear that’s becoming fainter and fainter the further removed I get from the sport I love.
The parking lot is empty. Late afternoon is turning into early evening and the time when families are get ready to sit down for dinner together. The sun hangs low in the sky and the field almost looks like it’s glowing. The grass is golden, the nets are a burnt orange, and it’s a beautiful sight.
I take a deep breath and climb out of the car, bringing the ball with me. I walk to the sidelines and swap my sneakers with cleats. I lace them slowly, the habit of double knotting and making a perfect bow coming back to me like it hasn’t been months since I last slipped my feet in the white Nikes. I put my hands on my hips and stare out in front of me.
The sense of dread creeps up my spine and spiderwebs across my back. It’s always there when I look at the place I used to call home. The place that brought me solace and joy. It wraps around me in a vice-like grip, a nearly suffocating fear and the clear image of what happened last time I put on my cleats at the forefront of my mind.
I sigh and hang my head. My shoulders sag, and I know no amount of adrenaline will get me to step a foot further.
“Maybe next time,” I whisper into the autumn air, and I turn back to my car. I walk ten feet before my phone rings, and I stop to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Dallas says, and even through the phone I can hear his smile. The curve of his mouth and the soft timbre his voice takes when he talks to me is all too familiar. “June and I just got home, and I’m going to make dinner. “Where are you?”
“Nowhere.”
“Nowhere?”
“I’m out.”
“Out,” he repeats slowly. “That’s vague. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod even though he can’t see me. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine. Is this one of those hostage situations?”
“No.” I laugh and plop down on the grass, reveling in the breeze. “It’s silly.”
“Try me.”
“I’m at the soccer fields.”
He’s quiet on the other end, but I think I hear a soft hum. “Which ones?”
“The ones behind the playground up the road.”
“Stay right there.”
“What? Dallas you?—”
The line goes dead. I sigh and pull my legs to my chest, watching the clouds roll by.
Ten minutes later, Dallas’s SUV parks next to mine. I lift my chin and smile when I see June sprinting toward me. She’s wearing a Mia Hamm jersey and tiny cleats, and the thought of her liking something I like makes tears prick my eyes. I stand and scoop her up, spinning her around and burying my face in her hair.
“Hi, Mae Mae,” she says, and her arms hug my neck.
“What are you doing here, June Bug?”
