I didn’t even know what that meant at nine, but I learned fast. I practiced smiles in the mirror all night, and I promised myself that I would never be the reason my mom cried again. Even that young, I knew she was trying. Her condition wouldn’t let her do the things she wanted, and it broke her heart probably even more than it broke mine.
I made sure that when I came home from a game—win or lose—I acted as enthusiastic and positive as possible. The more bombastic I was, the more she cheered.
And soon, her tears were a memory, and my replays became more exciting to me than the games themselves. Because my mom enjoyed them with me.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Doug,” I say with my patented smile.
“Good man,” Doug says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I walk away from Doug and, more importantly, Liesel, and I keep that fake grin on my face until I’m out of sight. When it’s time for dinner, I start for a table as far from Liesel as possible, even though it feels like I’ve crossed over from being famished to positively dying of hunger.
When I’m about to sit, I make the mistake of looking at Liesel. Her eyes are searching, and I see her smile at her own team, assuming she’ll go sit with them, but she waves and keeps looking.
Until her eyes find mine.
Her expression shifts, and she shoots me a look—half wary, half challenging.
Don’t go over.I tell myself.Don’t go over!
“Is this seat taken?” I ask her.
She takes her napkin and drops it on the open chair. “Oops, sorry. It’s an otherwise full table, but I don’t think about others, so I like to put my stuff on chairs so people can’t sit there.”
“That’s okay,” I say, picking up her napkin and returning it to her lap, letting my finger skim her knees. “You’re only human.”
She shakes her head, but she has a saucy, exasperated smile on her face that makes my stomach growl.
I take the seat and move it ever so slightly closer to her.
It’s dumb of me, but hey.
I’m only human.
CHAPTER NINE
LIESEL
Ican’t focus all throughout dinner.
Our owner is talking, giving some speech about taking the Firebirds farther than we’ve ever gone before, but Coop is incorrigible.
“What does that even mean?” Coop asks, almost in my ear. “Space?”
“Shush,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.
“Who were those guys you were talking to?”
I would ignore him, but he’s relentless.
Also … this is kind of boring.
I pick at a piece of breadstick and put it in my mouth, chewing slowly because Coop’s eyes are on me, and I can tell the wait is driving him nuts. “Just stats and marketing guys from the affiliates. And your buddy, Braden.”
“Braden,” he scoffs.
“Youintroduced us.”
He drains his water. “Biggest mistake of the week,” he grumbles, the glass at his lips.
