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There is a beat of silence as the boys exchange a look.
“You wanna practice? Here? With us?” Austin asks, clearly the leader of the group.
“If you’re interested.” I shrug. “It sucks practicing alone.”
“Hell yeah!” Michael nods. “I’m game.” He nudges James with his elbow. “You swallowed your tongue or what?”
James lets out a grunt, red creeping up his neck.
“He’s ahugefan,” Michael explains, which earns him a slap on the head, followed by a low, “Will you stop it?”
“How about we let the football talk?” I drop my duffleon the grass on the sidelines and crack my fingers. “You guys ready?”
A chorus of agreement spreads through the group. I join them on their run before we work on some drills. Timothy was right; there was some pretty raw talent that he was working with here. I make a mental note to check what’s happening with them in the future or if there is any way I can help the Bluebonnet team.
“Good job, you guys. A break before we play a little friendly scrimmage?”
“Yes!” they all agree in unison.
I grab the water bottles, handing them out to the boys before taking one for myself. I’m just turning around when I see a flash of red from my peripheral vision. My fingers clench the bottle as I slowly turn around, and sure enough, Rebecca is right there, sitting on the bleachers.
The wave of longing slams into me like a freaking train wreck, leaving me breathless in its intensity. It was like I fell through time or some shit, and we were seventeen again, and Rebecca came to cheer me on during my game.
Fuck, I missed this.
I didn’t even realize how much until this very moment when I laid my eyes on her. I didn’t have a lot of people sitting in my corner at the games, but Rebecca always made a point to be there for me and cheer me on. She was my person. Sun or rain, win or lose, I knew I’d find her waiting for me after the game.
I didn’t have that these past three years.
I didn’t have her.
Her mouth curls in a smile as she spots me watching her. The soft breeze is making her auburn hair fly around her face. She tries to tuck it behind her ear, but it’s useless.
“Mr. Fernan— Miguel?” one of the boys asks, correcting himself at the very last moment.
“Give me five?”
My heart is racing as I jog toward the bleachers—towardher—as if an invisible string is pulling me in her direction.
Rebecca gets up, running her fingers through her hair.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, taking her in.
“I stopped at your place, but you weren’t there.”
My brows shoot up in surprise. “You came looking for me?”
“Well, technically, I stopped to check in on your dad, but I did have something for you.”
She turns around and grabs something from the bench—a box, I realize—handing it to me.
“What is that?” I poke at the box, my finger slipping under the lid so I can peek inside.
“It’s the—”
“Holy shit.” I glance at her before ripping into the box. “Is it those peanut butter cookies you make?”
“Umm, yeah. It’s a thank you. For the, umm…” She clears her throat. “A thank you for the date the other day.”
