AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m sure there would be a lineup of people who’d be desperate for five minutes of his time. But here I am, occupying a whole lot more than that. It gives me an odd sense ofsatisfaction, arrogance, and pleasure. I’m all he’s thought about tonight. He left the bar…his team to sit with me right now. I never imagined I’d like the idea of that so much.
He clears his throat before he looks back over at me with that intent gaze. One that tells me he could make me fold any second.
“I suppose we both have areas to improve then, don’t we?” He speaks thoughtfully, jumping right back into where our conversation got cut short.
“I guess so,” I pause, assessing his words as we hold each other's attention until, nervously, I start to pick the grass off of my palm, hardly contemplating my next question before it escapes my lips. “Why did you bring me here to talk?”
Warren starts to mimic my movements. Eyes down, pulling on the grass strand by strand before he peers back up at me—eyes full of query. “Tell me.” He unconsciously glides his tongue along his lower lip. “Where do you feel the most safe?”
I expect the question to leave me stuck in my mind, with no which way out. But it doesn’t.
Instead, I think back to Saturday mornings with Gramps. Sitting on the couch—watching this stadium through the screen. Little did I know that one day, I’d find myself being a part of it.
All at once, rather than answering Warren’s question, my attention diverts to the photo of Gramps that had been placed above the tunnel entrance. I’d never commented on it, but that small yet impactful gesture completely rocked my world the first time I laid eyes on it.
I’d never seen the photo before, but Gramps’ smile…God, it doesn’t matter how much time goes by without him here. I’ll always be able to remember that smile.
“Your grandfather made this a safe space for me.” Warren seemingly catches onto my diverted gaze.
I swiftly turn my head back in his direction as he continues.
“He had that ability, you know…” he admits, toying with his fingers.
I swallow. “Ability to do what?”
This is the first time we’ve ever talked about my Gramps before. It always felt like an unopened wound between the two of us.
Warren smiles faintly before he’s back to staring up at the sky. “To make the simplest of things feel likehome.” His words almost make me believe that they weren’t for me but for someone else—someone watching over us.
He looks back at me for a final time. “That’s why I brought you here,” he reveals. “Not just to this stadium, but to the field. Because though it might be some simple grass with lines and two nets, this field is the only place I’ve ever truly felt like myself. I lost a part of me when I got hurt—and I never thought I'd find it again. YourGrampswas the only one who made me believe in second chances.”
Hearing Warren call Gramps by my own nickname strikes me to my core. “I’m certain he loved you.” The words break free from my lips without a second thought.
Warren's eyes widen as if he’s never heard the word before. Though, it doesn’t matter if he has or hasn’t because being with him right now—seeing what he’s done for Crawfield and knowing even just a slither of who he is…how could Gramps not have loved him?
He swallows. “I loved him too,” He speaks back up. “Though,” there’s a somberness in his voice. “I don’t think I ever told him.”
I refuse to let another second go by allowing him to believe that. “He knew,” I tell him wholeheartedly. “Trust me…he knew.”
Unlike earlier, now, as Warren breathes in, I notice myself doing the same. It’s incredible how such a simple action likebreathing—an unconscious necessity to life, can hold such an ulterior message.
It feels as though we’re breathing in a fresh start between us. The oxygen is new—the air has been cleared, and perhaps this is an opportunity to give this partnership another go.
As we exhale as one, I’m left wondering if the look on his face is telling me the same thing. What’s he thinking as he meets my eyes? Are we on the same page?
I don’t know.
Maybe Warren and I will never be on the same page…the same chapter…but I know for a fact that we’re in the same book, and for now, that’s all that matters.
FIFTEEN
W A R R E N
38 matches.
That’s all we have each season to count on to showcase what we’ve got and who we are. It’s eight consecutive months of hard work, travel, and dedication. Yet, it still hardly feels like enough.
It’s all I’ve known my whole life—the routine of practice, play and repeat. It’s not an easy lifestyle to maintain, and throughout my years of playing competitively, it took its toll on me in more ways than one.
