Page 8 of From A to Us

Nikki pretended not to know me, but you walked me to the public restroom and helped me clean the scrapes on my palms.

Instant friendship formed.

And friends make the best lovers, isn’t that what you once told me?

The thing I remember most about meeting you was how at ease you were in yourself and your surroundings. Talking to the other joggers like you already knew them, like there wasn’t a version of you that had to rehearse what to say in your head first. I remember thinking that if I could figure out how you moved among people like everyone was your best friend, it might be something I could learn.

I’ve been trying to fit here, with the team. Have been trying since I first landed here last season. My teammates say there’s a place for everyone because Roman Kinsey, the team captain, has made it his mission to make sure everyone feels welcome and everyone gets a say. Which is great. I’m all for inclusive and friendly team cultures. But finding one’s place among a group is easier for some people than others, and being the quiet guy who prefers to observe means that I often get overlooked.

But you, Annie, you also prefer to observe, and yet somehow people gravitate toward you without them even realizing it.

Except for me. I chose to gravitate toward you, and you chose to choose me too. I’ve never quite known what to do with that, but seeing as it’s been almost a year and you’re still choosing me, it feels like I won the lottery AND was first round draft pick at the same time.

And if I fit with you, do I really need to fit anywhere else?

Yours always,

Freddie

“What have you got there?” Eli asked, jolting Nolan back to the present.

Eli stood patiently behind him, holding the box of water bottles, and here Nolan was, blocking his exit.

“Sorry.” He moved out into the hallway, which was the only real way for Eli to get out.

“What’s that?” Eli nodded at the letters as he placed the box next to the storage room door.

“Do you know anyone named Freddie?”

“Uh.” Eli pursed his lips, drawing Nolan’s gaze to them. “I went to school with a Freddie Dameski up until sixth grade. He used to trade his chocolate-covered cranberries for my apple slices. Is that what you mean?”

Nolan laughed, and it eased the tight fist that had gripped his chest as he’d read Freddie’s words. But finding one’s place among a group is easier for some people than others.

Nolan felt that statement down to his bones, as though someone had written it on his ribs.

He waved the letters at Eli. “No, a Freddie who was a Trailblazer fifteen years ago. There were a few letters in the bag written by someone named Freddie addressed to Annie. Do either of those names ring a bell?”

“Nope. But believe it or not, I don’t have every roster from the past nearly two decades of Trailblazers history memorized. Let me text the group chat.” Eli whipped out his phone. “Zanetti and Cotton will know. They’ve been with the team since the beginning.”

Nolan stared at him for a beat. “There’s a Trailblazers group chat?”

“Uh, yeah. Obviously. A players group chat, a second one with the coaches, a third one—oh. That was quick. Zanetti says he doesn’t know of any Freddie, but Cotton says there was a Frederica who worked in the office but that she went by Freda. Could that be who you’re looking for?”

“No.” Nolan skimmed the letter again. “Says right here that he was on the team.”

“Can I see it?”

Nolan handed the stack over, and while Eli read, he searched through the messenger bag for a clue as to Freddie’s identity. Or even Annie’s. This bag could belong to either of them. But there was no wallet, no student ID, no name written in Sharpie on the bag’s label.

If he had to guess, the bag belonged to Freddie. Only a Trailblazers’ bag could’ve ended up in a Trailblazers storage room. And since Freddie was a Trailblazer, it must be Freddie’s bag, meaning these letters were unsent.

But why?

And how had the bag ended up here anyway, gathering dust for fifteen years?

And if neither OG Trailblazer recalled a Freddie ever being on the team . . . then who the fuck was he?

The thrill of discovery fired up Nolan’s spine. He did love a good mystery—had loved them since he’d devoured the Encyclopedia Brown books as he’d waited at the arena after school for his dad to finish with his hockey team to take him home. It was part of the reason he specialized in stress-testing employee engagement programs—to discover why they worked for some but not others.