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“Oh! It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand.
Holly comes to stand next to me. Her eyes are on her daughter as she serves. “Thank you for what you’ve done for Kira.”
“She deserves all the credit.” All I did was make sure she was playing with the correct hand.
“So do you,” her mother insists. “She was happy on the team before, but now? She’s over the moon. She and Ginny both love working with you.”
“Yes, we do,” Ginny agrees.
“Thanks,” I mutter, unsure how to handle the praise.
This is a different kind of accomplishment, one that I’ve never experienced before. I’ve won matches, tournaments, and championships by playing them. I had a coach, a personal trainer, and plenty of people around to support me. I worked hard and selfishly sacrificed the love of my then-young life to have a shot at being one of the best female tennis players. Being the best wasn’t my goal. I only wanted to be among the greats, to consider myself similar to them.
I made that accomplishment, however brief it was. I went from doing something every single day to floundering around like a fish out of water with nothing to do and a load of heartache I wanted to avoid. With No
ah gone and too much free time on my hands, even with my job, I’ve made good use of the gym in the complex. My life is vastly different than it was this time last year.
The love I have for my current job is overwhelming sometimes. Not to say I don’t miss playing, I do, but I’ve found a replacement for it that’s mostly giving me what I need. And watching a girl I’ve helped play her first match and kick ass? More than I could’ve imagined. It’s the icing on the cake. However, I just can’t give up on the idea of returning to the game. The thought saddens me every time I think about it. Not to mention that now, I hear Noah in the back of my head, questioning my ability to do so.
It hurts, even if he has the right to question me. Everyone keeps telling me I can’t do it. I desperately want to be one of those people who powers through the obstacles and proves to everyone who said they couldn’t that they can. I want to prove to myself that I’m not damaged. I want to prove to Vance that I’m not pathetic, even if he never sees it. I want to make sure I have no regrets, that I do my damnedest to try.
I’ve played through pain before, and I’m most likely crazy to want to continue doing so. So far, it’s not working out the way I want, but I haven’t given up yet, especially since my shoulder has gotten better the more I rally with the girls.
“I need you to take notes on everyone,” Erica orders. Her voice gets more and more annoying the more I hear it.
I nod and tell Holly and Ginny I’ll see them later and begin making my rounds. I don’t know why she wants me to take notes. She rarely does anything with the suggestions I give her. She’s bumped Kira up, but we’ll see if she listens to my other piece of advice.
Our top four girls are horrible in doubles. Carrie is the number two seed and her bestie is number four. I’m certain Carrie’s attitude is why she doesn’t play well with our number one seed. I told Erica that the problem is a lack of chemistry. All she needs to do is play seeds one and three together and two and four together instead of one with two and three with four.
While I jot down things the girls could improve on, which Erica will or will not acknowledge, I also keep track of score. There are five matches happening simultaneously, but it isn’t too hard to keep up. It’s actually harder to concentrate because Noah will be home tonight. He’s not getting in until late since they are flying home after a game. The good news is tomorrow morning is an optional skate since there’s a game tomorrow night, and I’m crossing my fingers that he’ll choose to skip.
I’ve missed him more in this two weeks than I did in all the years we were apart. Now that I have him back in my life, I wonder how we lasted so long without one another. How did we live without hearing I love you or I miss you every day? How did we manage to not speak to one another for nearly eight years when we can’t go all day without doing so now? Life with Noah is so full of love and laughter, comfort and happiness. The little things feel like big things. The contentment of knowing a person so well and of anticipating his next words, his next touch is indescribable. For the first time in too long, there’s peace and a sense of being home.
I didn’t even have that in my actual home.
However, with all of that, there’s still a heaviness in my chest. Knowing that I’m going to tell Noah once he returns has brought about all sorts of anxiety, but in the back of my mind, I’m hoping that by telling him, the heaviness will alleviate. Maybe even completely disappear. That’s doubtful. At the very least, it can shrink to a more tolerable weight.
I’ve worried over how Noah will respond. Whenever I try to imagine possible reactions, I come up blank. For my parents, it’s easier. But with Noah, I can’t seem to come up with anything. Part of me is ready to get it over while the other half just wants to keep it to myself for the rest of my life. He should know. He’s my best friend, the love of my life, and it’s something you share with that kind of person. I start planning my speech. I put together the perfect string of words in my head and hope they’ll leave in the order I’ve arranged.
Thinking about this zones me out for the rest of the afternoon. My body is on autopilot throughout the matches, as I grab something to eat on the way home, take Leo out for his walk, shower, slip on Noah’s jersey with a pair of pajama shorts, and finally lie on the couch with my cuddle buddy to watch the game. My goal is to stay awake until Noah comes home. Conveniently, I have tomorrow off.
I feel myself being lifted and my eyes slowly open. My head is against a neck.
“Come on, Leo,” I hear Noah whisper.
I lift my head. A smile easily lifts into place. “You’re home,” I whisper.
“Yeah, Mere, I’m home.” He sets me on our bed before leaving me for the dresser. “Long day?” he asks over his shoulder. He’s already stripped down to his boxer-briefs, so I admire the muscles in his back and those thick thighs and bubble butt that seems to come along with every hockey player. Thank you, Hockey Gods.
“Yeah,” I answer.
Noah brings me a pajama shirt. I toss it aside and throw my arms around him. He doesn’t hesitate in letting his arms hang around me. “I missed you,” he murmurs into my hair.
“I missed you more.”
His hands run up my back. “You’re my favorite part of coming home, especially when you look so fucking beautiful asleep and in my jersey.” His fingers grasp my hair, tugging gently, so I tilt my head back to look at him. His eyes are so intense as they search mine. “I still feel like you’re going to slip through my fingers and disappear on me.”
“Never again,” I promise. A reason why I’m actually struggling with my attempt at a comeback. I don’t want to leave Noah. Ever. I like the new life I’ve built with him.
