Hannah puts her hands on my chest. “Easy. I don’t mean that a professional sports career is easy. It’s not at all. Less than one percent of D1 male soccer players ever sign with a professional team. You not only signed, but you’ve maintained it all these years. You’ve played all over the world. You’re literally one of the best in the country. That’s not only not easy, but it’s nearly impossible. But it’s easy to let that take over and be your whole personality.”
“That’s because it is my whole personality.”
“But it’s not. I’m sure there’s more there, but it’s hard work to look and find it. To cultivate and develop it. To work on yourself. Because, Callaghan Entay, you are so much more than soccer.”
She is the first person to ever acknowledge that.
My God, I think I love this woman.
“Hey, are you guys gonna stay in there all night?” The moment is interrupted by Hannah’s roommate knocking on the door. I didn’t even realize anyone was here besides us.
Like always, when I’m with Hannah, nothing else exists.
That’s bad. So very bad. I didn’t work this hard for this long, making all those sacrifices to forget that there’s a world outside her molten chocolate eyes and engaging smile.
Yet, still, I can picture lazy days far away from the soccer field spent with this woman.
I could see us lounging on the deck of a boat, like Bastian St. Ames dreams of. I don’t even know how to sail. Or better yet, a house on the beach, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Maybe in Sea Girt or Avalon. We’d have coffee on the balcony in the mornings, watching the sunrise. Long bike rides with the salty air whipping past our faces. Pork roll for breakfast.
This is crazy. Maybe I’ve taken too many balls to the head.
Hannah smiles slightly at her roommate’s interruption. “We’re done.” She pushes past me to open the door and slide out. She gives Carlos a hug as she walks by. “You remember Callaghan.”
He looks me up and down. “Mr. Cally Entay? Of course, I do.”
Hannah turns to me. “I’m surprised no one’s ever used that in a piece about you.”
“Because I’ve punched more than one guy who called me Cally.” It’s another thing the press has had a field day with. In my younger days, I had a slight proclivity toward bar fights. Mostly over my name. What the hell were my parents thinking when they named me? Did they not even consider that dumbass nickname that would follow me around my whole life?
“You don’t seem to mind it when I call you that.”
I lean in and kiss her gently. “That’s because I love hearing my name from your lips.”
“Aww, you guys are the cutest,” Carlos says. He asks Hannah, “How was your trip?”
“Great!” She tips her head in my direction. “Obviously.”
“I wanna see your pics,” he demands.
We crowd around Hannah’s phone as she swipes it open. There are a lot of great pictures and video clips that she should be able to use for her ClikClak account. Why hasn’t she been posting?
“What did you get up to while I was gone?” Hannah asks, letting some video footage play. I don’t think Carlos appreciates the footage of the big names in the clip, but he’s being a good sport. No pun intended.
“I got my new backdrop and lights in. I set them up in the corner of my room. You’ve got to see it. It’ll be a great place for you to film. Come look at it.”
Hannah gives me a small wink and hands me her phone before walking down the hall after Carlos. Without really thinking, I continue scrolling through her footage of the weekend. There’s a whole series from the photo shoot.
It’s so weird seeing myself like this. It’s going to take some getting used to, especially if I make it on a billboard somewhere. I scroll through the pictures of yesterday until a video pops up.
It’s Hannah, recording herself walking along the street in Manhattan.
Word on the street is that Boston Buzzards goalkeeper Callaghan Entay is injured. This is not public knowledge, but once it gets out, will it affect his standing on the US Men’s National Team?
Her words are like catching a cleat to the gut.
Or worse.
Because I trusted her.
