Page 245 of On His Team

GIANNA

The first NCAA tournament game feels different before it even starts.

Not because Toledo is glamorous. It isn’t.

Not because the arena is bigger than Camden’s. It isn’t, really.

It feels different because everybody here knows exactly what happens if they lose.

There is no selection committee waiting on Sunday. No ranking left to save them. No second game guaranteed because of a best-of-three format.

If Denver wins, the team comes home.

If Camden wins, they keep going.

I know all of that before we even leave for Ohio and somehow knowing it does not make me calmer. It makes me pack like an insane person.

By Wednesday night, I have three Camden sweatshirts spread across my bed, two pairs of jeans, a dress I absolutely do not need, enough underwear for nearly a week, and four different chargers tangled together near my pillow.

Lucy stands in my doorway and watches me take a sweatshirt out of my duffel bag, stare at it, then put it right back in.

“You know we’re not moving, right?”

I sigh. “I know.”

She leans against the doorframe, smiling a little. “You’ve packed everything you own, G.”

I look down at the bed. She’s right. Half of this is ridiculous. I don’t need three sweatshirts. I definitely don’t need the dress. There is absolutely no reason for four chargers to be coming with me.

I sit down on the edge of the mattress and exhale. “I’m freaking out.”

The smile leaves Lucy’s face. She comes into the room and sits beside me without saying anything. For a second, I just stare at the pile of clothes.

“This is it,” I say. My throat tightens immediately. “This is Benson’s dream.” And saying it out loud makes the entire thing feel real in a way packing apparently didn’t.

“He has wanted this forever,” I explain. “Like actually forever. I remember him being a kid and talking about playing college hockey. Then it was getting recruited. Then it was Camden. Then it was being captain. Then getting drafted. And now they’re in the NCAA tournament and every game could take them closer to…” I stop and laugh once, because my voice is already starting to go. “I don’t even know. Everything.”

Lucy’s eyes soften. “I know.”

I turn toward her quickly. “I know you do. I don’t mean that like you don’t understand him. You do. Probably better than anybody now.” I swallow. “I mean I’ve just watched him do this my whole life.”

Lucy nods.

“I’ve watched him wake up at stupid hours for practice. I’ve watched him miss things because he had hockey. I’ve watched him be pissed off for two days over games nobody else remembers. My parents built entire weekends around rinks. I sat in freezing arenas with snacks and homework and complained about how long everything took.”

A tear slips down my cheek before I even realize I’m crying. I wipe it away and laugh under my breath.

“I’m being so stupid.”

“You’re not,” she whispers.

“No, I know.” I look down at my hands. “It’s just hitting me now.”

Lucy puts her hand over mine.

I squeeze it.

“I think I kept thinking there would always be another season,” I say. “Another schedule. Another Friday night where we all know where we’re going. Another game for Benson. Another weekend at Hawthorne where everybody ends up there afterward.” My chest hurts. “And now it feels like we’re getting to the end, and that’s terrifying.”