"You don't know that for sure. Your brain is jumping to the worst-case scenario, but maybe it's not that bad. Maybe the Terrors will be happy to let the Buzzards buy you out. Maybe the Buzzards really want you. The coach seems to like you."
I stand up and resume my pacing. This apartment feels too small. "I can't believe Tony did this. I was apparently the last client he was in touch with. And now he's disappeared."
Ophelia frowns. "It doesn't make sense. I mean, maybe he's been in a horrible accident and is lying in a bed somewhere with amnesia."
That ridiculous statement stops my infernal pacing. "Ophelia, you've got to be kidding. This is real life, not some daytime serial. It's not a fantasy book. It's my life, and it's utterly ruined."
I should stop there, because none of this is Ophelia's fault, yet I can't. "I've given up everything just to play one more day. One more game. One more time. I've given up my home, my country, and hell, I even married you for just one more season."
As soon as the words are out, I wish I could snatch them back in so they don't land the blow I know they will. Indeed, Ophelia looks as if I've slapped her right good.
"Oh, Ophelia," I gasp, closing the distance between us. "That's not what I meant."
Her gaze is trained on the floor. Can't say I blame her.
I take her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "What I mean is that I've gone to extreme measures, like getting married. Not marryingyou. Just the marriage thing. You're perhaps the only bright spot, currently." More words tumble out before I can think. What the hell is wrong with me?
"You don't have to lie. I know what you meant."
"I'm not lying. I never lie. Not anymore. The last lie I told ruined my life."
"About Phaedra not driving?" Her dark blue eyes look huge.
I nod. "Yes, and I haven't told a lie since."
She pulls out of my hands, stepping away. "Wrong. You’re a liar. This whole thing is a lie. You pride yourself on being honest, but you'll lie if it suits you. If it means you can play your soccer. Apparently, soccer is worth lying for."
This time, it's her words that land like a well-timed blow. I can't say she's wrong though.
My hands fall helplessly to my sides. "You're right. I'm a liar and a hypocrite. Perhaps I don't deserve to be playing. I shouldn't be a role model, that's for sure. I wouldn't want anyone emulating me or trying to live as I do."
Ophelia looks at me for a moment before closing the distance between us. This time, she takes my face in her hands. I try to look away, but her grip is surprisingly strong. "Xavier Henry, I may not know you well, but I see your heart. You've been nothing but kind and considerate since the moment we met. Hell, the first thing you ever did was help me. I wouldn't have agreed to all this if I didn't think you were worth it. It's not like I would have married Trent or any of those guys from ClikClak. You're different. You're special, and you're absolutely someone to look up to. You're just in a run of bad luck that we'll get figured out. Somehow, someway, we'll figure this out. We'll get you playing soccer again. No husband of mine is going to sit the bench."
I want to believe her.
"Xavier, look at me. Come on, we'll figure this out, together. I know I'm your wife on paper only, but we're still a team, at least where the rest of the world is concerned."
I don't know how I ended up here, in the middle of Boston, in the middle of America, married to a stranger, with an absent agent, and the very real likelihood of no team to play for. Yet somehow, none of that matters. All that matters is the woman standing in front of me, cradling my face in her hands, telling me everything will be alright.
It'll never be alright. Never again.
"Xavier, you're starting to panic. I can see it. Look at me. Look at my eyes."
With a Herculean effort, I drag my gaze to hers. She continues, "Tell me five things you can see."
Unable to move my head—cripes, she is strong—I say, "I see your blue eyes and a smattering of freckles. The cat is staring at us. Your hair is mussed, and that couch truly is ugly."
"Okay, now four things you can hear."
I have to focus on this one. "I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Your cell phone is constantly vibrating. The cat is now meowing at me like he's trying to tell me to leave. And I can hear your breathing. It's heavy."
Ophelia nods. "Good. Now three things you can touch."
"The ground under my feet." I raise one hand to cover hers. "I feel your smooth skin." I bury my other hand in her hair, at the base of her neck. "I feel your hair, soft and silky."
I see her swallow hard, even though she doesn't ask me for that. "Okay, two things you can smell."
"Pizza and lilacs. The two smells of you."
