Page 120 of Keepsakes and Kismet

I move back and forth on my feet, shaking my arms to wake them up. I only spent a few minutes warming up earlier, wanting to focus on my breathing exercises before the game.

The whistle blows, and my heart flips in my chest. My body moves of its own accord, remembering the game as though no time has passed.

But time has passed. And by the tenth minute of running up and down the field, my fragile bones ache, and I need a breather. Thankfully, this is a charity game, and there are planned time-outs for fundraising updates. Family and friends share stories about their loved ones impacted by epilepsy, and various performers put on little shows. While the Waterton High Dance Team does their thing on the opposite end of the turf, I walk to where my family sits.

“Looking good out there, Cal Pal!” Ma shouts through the netting.

“You’re sweating, like a lot. Visibly more than the other players,” Clover comments, glancing up from her phone. Fucking Jackson sits next to her playing a hockey game on his Nintendo Switch.

“Uncle Callie! Up!” Lila shouts, hands reaching for me, before getting shoved by her twin.

I smile. “After the game, Lila girl!”

The dance team finishes up, and I’m about to head back to the bench, but a frazzled Peyton takes a spot next to Clementine.

“I’m here, I’m here! Sorry,” she apologizes, out of breath. “Taking that seahorse off solo is definitely harder than an inspector costume.” She smooths some of the hair framing her face and winks at me. “What did you think of my little performance?”

“Oh, I think you’ve never been more attractive to me.” I wink back.

Peyton gives an impish smile. “Ew, Callum. Do you have a thing for seahorses, now?”

“Isn’t it seahorsi? Like, plural?” Clover asks, not looking up from her phone.

“Jesus, Clover. Thank God you’re famous,” Clementine mutters.

I sigh, but my mood is at an all-time high. “There’s no time to address any of you weirdos, so let me just say thanks for being here.” I blow a kiss to Peyton (Clover mutters “yikes”) and head back to my spot on the field.

Almost two hours—and another electric performance with Campi the Seahorse—later, the final whistle blows.

My team lost. Badly.

Jeff doesn’t seem to care one bit, wrapping me up in a tight hug before I can take a swig of water. “Thank you for doing this for us. Thank you for doing it for him.” His voice cracks as he leans back, eyes teary.

I pull him in for another embrace. “Thank you for giving me another chance.”

When Jeff releases me, some emotional weight lifts from my shoulders. I soak up the arena one last time, really taking in the amount of people that showed up. It’s not exactly the audience size at a Premier League match, but in a small way, it feels like I fulfilled our childhood dream. Playing on a professional field with our families rooting us on.

I grab my bag and water bottle and walk to the other side of the arena, where my entire family waits for me. Dad spies me first and starts heading my way while the rest of the family hangs back.

The T-shirt Dad’s wearing has my high school number on it. “Proud of you, Cal Pal. Watching you play again… It was awesome.”

“I didn’t score a single goal.”

His eyes twinkle. “I think you were focused on other goals today. And you smashed them.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He squeezes my arm. “The rest of the family wants to congratulate you. Go say hi before you leave.”

We walk over to the Galvins and Peyton in the bleachers, and it feels nice, knowing my family is here to support⁠—

“Have you been using the pore strips I got you?” Clover asks, cutting off my train of thought.

I pull her into a gentle headlock, mussing her hair. “Listen, you little shit. Stop talking about my pores in front of my girlfriend. It’s embarrassing.”

She squeals, trying to squirm out of my arm. “Let me go! Your sweat is dripping on my hair!”

Peyton giggles in the background. “Free her and hug me instead. I don’t mind your sweat.”