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I wouldn’t say we love it but we love each other and that’s what matters most, that we’re together.
It’s actually been nice not having the crushing expectations of our parents constantly hanging over our heads. It’s given us both a lot of clarity, about ourselves, about our futures.
I changed my major from sports management to sports medicine. While navigating my own recovery, I’ve learned a lot about the human body, not just my own but in general, and found what I think is my calling. I want to help other athletes in their journeys to heal, to grow, to maintain. I hate to give Graham any credit, however…my injury ended up being a blessing in disguise, and it wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for him. If I hadn’t gotten shot, I would’ve continued on the path my mom set me on and I would’ve hated my life more than I already did.
Khaos and his…chaos shook things up, made me see things—everything—differently. But my injury caused me to actually do things—everything—differently. And now I’m headed in a direction I never would’ve even considered, never mind chosen for myself.
Khaos found something he enjoys, too. He quit fighting—after he made enough to pay Guy back—and now he goes to a job every day that he finds fulfilling, with people he…doesn’t hate. He is still Khaos, he just abides by more laws these days.
Despite the giant at my back, I fight a shiver. September remained warm up until its last week, then October took over, giving Sea Haven that quintessential crisp bite of fall us New Englanders love so much. I’m used to being in near-constant motion at these games. Standing here, doing absolutely nothing is new.
And honestly…I hate it.
With a groan, Khaos says, “Right when we’re down to three.”
Checking the scoreboard, nothing on it signifies three anything.
“Three?”
“Scabs.” Gently, he takes my arm and pulls it down.
I don’t always know when I’m picking, but somehow, Khaos does.
“How do you know how many there are?”
“I count them.”
“When?”
“Every night, after you fall asleep.”
“Every… That feels like an invasion of privacy.”
“Apparently it doesn’t feel like anything if you never even noticed.”
“Well—” I have no argument for that. Damn it. “Don’t do that anymore.”
“I’m gonna do it,” he says simply and unapologetically, his attention on the field.
So annoying. I didn’t even think he liked football. Does he like football? The last time we were here, all he seemed interested in watching was me.
“Do you like football?”
“As far as contact sports go…” He shrugs. “It’s all right.”
I chuckle. “Looks like you like it.”
“I’m waiting for halftime.”
A part of me aches. Halftime. My team will be out there, performing without me in a matter of minutes and I can’t even yell for them.
“Will you cheer for me?”
Finally, he looks down at me. “Always.”
I grin. “I meant for my team.”
I fully expect him to laugh the suggestion off. He may be my cheerleader but he’s not anyone else’s.
