Page 29

You sighed, and I was back to being a whole wheat baguette, but then you laughed. “Yeah, that’s true.”

A year later, I still can’t believe you said yes.

I never told you this, but that day was also the day I started feeling like I might be getting better at being on this team. Not the belonging part . . . at the time, that still didn’t feel like a real thing. But the whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing? Give me an A+. I was great at pasting on a grin and pretending the team culture was totally my jam, even though I would’ve preferred to go away and think thinky thoughts before voicing them.

You know what the problem was, and still is to some extent? Everyone is so nice. No one’s shutting me out. I just don’t know how to navigate this new normal in a way that feels like I’m not interrupting it. Does that even make sense?

You’ve never had that problem, though, have you? You just barrel on forward until the world gives you what you want.

One of these days, maybe I’ll learn to do the same.

Yours always,

Freddie

Eli had always been a fan of mornings. When he’d been a kid, mornings had meant traipsing through the field behind his house with his friends on their way to school. When he’d been a little older, they’d meant hockey practice. In college, they’d meant dawn jogs around a quiet North Dakota campus, when the frost glistened on the grass of the quad and the only sound was that of his footsteps and his breathing.

Now, they sometimes meant flights for away games, but Eli had perfected the art of plane napping last season.

Earbuds? Check.

Music cued on his phone? Check.

Eye mask? Check.

It was only a short hour and a half to Newark for tomorrow’s game against New Jersey, and Eli expected to sleep for an hour and twenty minutes of that.

Except, as he bounced into the private hangar at the airport in Burlington and spotted Nolan chatting with Prinnie, Eli’s plans suddenly did an about face.

Because hadn’t Nolan said that he wanted to sit next to him?

A mini explosion of fireworks detonated in Eli’s chest, and he grinned. He didn’t even care why Nolan wanted to sit next to him. Nolan could quiz him about team culture for ninety minutes, and it’d be the best spent ninety minutes of his life.

Nolan wore the same Toronto Blue Jays hat he’d worn at the café, an insulated jacket in army-green over a waffle-knit sweater, dark jeans, and boots. He looked trendy as hell compared to the players. Eli’s travel outfit du jour was a Trailblazers tracksuit in green that had a white stripe running down the length of his left leg.

Comfort over fashion, especially on travel days.

He spotted Hughes and CC climbing the stairs onto the plane, but since it wasn’t due to depart for another fifteen minutes, Eli gave his bag to one of the equipment managers to load and headed toward Nolan.

Nolan saw him coming and excused himself from Prinnie. “Let me see,” he said as he approached.

“See what?”

“Your hand.” Nolan took both of Eli’s hands in his, then dropped the good one and brought the injured one closer. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

Eli’s arm hairs stood straight up, and he gulped. Those fireworks in his chest returned for a second, longer round. “Uh, yeah. Just scraped up a bit.” He’d removed the bandage because it had been annoying as hell, and although the wound hadn’t bled after he’d tripped over Dabbs’ dog, it was still a touch tender a day later.

Nolan passed the tips of his fingers gently over the scrapes, and Eli inhaled a quiet breath at the gesture. It tickled, but he forced himself not to jerk away.

“It’s DeShawn,” he blurted without thinking.

Nolan frowned. “What’s DeShawn?”

“The person I sit next to on the plane. So, you know.” Eli lowered his voice an octave. “If you want to sit next to me, you’ll have to take it up with him.”

He meant it as an invitation, and Nolan appeared to be thinking about it as his gaze found DeShawn. Eli held his breath.

But Nolan shook his head. “I need to get some work done.”