Page 100 of Made Better Together

“So this is it? We’re going all in on soccer?”

“We are. Win the College Cup first, keep earning my spot on the national team the rest of senior year, and then go pro.”

“You got this, Eden.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

And when we hang up, I text the one person who knows about my struggle.

EDEN: I did it. I told my parents. I’m withdrawing my medical school apps.

CONNOR: Shit, that’s huge. How do you feel about it?

EDEN: Like a crate of that Peach Cobbler Chard is off my chest.

CONNOR:

EDEN: Sorry, that was a bad joke. But yeah, free!! Liberated from at least one huge thing.

CONNOR: I enjoyed the joke.

CONNOR: And good.

EDEN: I had a really nice time last night. I should have started there.

CONNOR: Me too. And no worries.

EDEN: Sorry for dropping all of this on you this morning, and again, now.

CONNOR: No apologies for being real, right?

EDEN: Right.

CONNOR: You can talk to me about anything. Anytime.

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CONNOR

“Holeee sheeet, this is cool,” Rawley says for the fifth time this morning. “I can’t believe you might be on the Waves?”

“My mind is still blown,” Landon says, accompanied by a vigorous clap on my back.

“I’d just be on the practice squad.”

Despite the fact that it’s only nine, we’re all on Forever Field, the regulation-sized field in Johnson and Grace’s backyard. They flew back after their away game last night, making this “group project” possible. I’d texted Milo yesterday that I needed to use a personal day, and I wouldn’t be at work.

My brothers are “helpfully” huddled around me while Johnson changes, so they can assist with a “private” kicking session before my tryout later.

Private even with the three guys here, watching. And that’s not all, because Grace, Rori, and Avery are sitting on the deck, sipping coffee, observing. Avery’s in her off-season, while Rori’s season is winding down.

Awesome.

“Guys, a little space, please.” I need room to get myself gathered mentally. My brothers’ Energizer Bunny excitement is not setting the right tone.

“I’m glad we’re getting this practice in before your tryout this afternoon,” Landon says, bulldozing like he didn’t hear my request. I do notice the “we’re,” as if he’s key to this practice.

Finally, Johnson appears out the sliding door and jogs down the deck to us. “Let’s do this.” Glancing around once he’s in our group, he seems to clock that I’m getting hounded. “Hey, why don’t you two go stand by the sidelines for a bit?”