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“I’d love to. Can I have one second?”
He nods and holds his recorder flat against his pad of paper.
I turn back to search for Cutter, but he’s no longer in the doorway. I step toward the remaining fans still milling at the bottom of the bleachers, and I scout for his beanie, or a glimpseof his sweatshirt. But he’s not there. The balcony has emptied. The only people left are family members and regulars at our games. And my mom.
“Laney, I’m so . . .” She wipes her eyes. She gets emotional a lot more easily than I do. Though seeing the pride reflected in her glossy eyes and stretched smile does crack open my heart a smidge. I fall into her embrace and hold her tight, letting her cry into my ear.
“Thank you for coming, Mom. Thank you so, so much.” I bury my face against her shoulder and breathe her in. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed this.
“I knew he wouldn’t make it. I couldn’t let—” She pulls back and shakes her head. I don’t let her finish that thought.
“I’m glad you were here.” I squeeze her shoulders and look her in the eyes and we make a silent agreement that what’s been said is enough. She was here because he wasn’t. Like always. And I’m finally going to stop asking.
“I have to do an interview, but can you wait here?”
She nods. “I still have to get a hotel. I’ve literally got nowhere to go,” she laughs out.
I jog back to the reporter and fly through a few questions. He takes a photo with his phone of me leaning against the referee stand while I hold a ball held against my hip. It’s not going to be anything like the shot Cutter took.
I hold up a finger and urge my mom to wait for me a few more minutes while I talk with coach and gather up my things in the storage room. I don’t need a locker room. But damn it, I still believe we deserve one. I glance around the space and plot my next request with our athletic director. If I leave one legacy behind at Tiff, it’s going to be that.
My mom is standing by the door when I walk out, waiting in the same place Cutter was standing. She puts an arm around me and holds me to her side as we both walk out to her rental cartogether. I dump my gear bag into the back seat and climb into the passenger side, cranking the heat on and holding my hands out to warm them. It’s getting cold at night now. And I didn’t change from my shorts and jersey.
“Oh, here’s your phone,” my mom says, pulling it from her purse.
I blink at it a few times and puzzle my brow.
“That very handsome man who was here and cheering for you had it. He told me to give it to you.”
My eyes dart to hers. Her head falls to the side a tick.
“Cutter, right? He seems to really believe in you. He had everyone shouting MVP by your second set,” she chuckles. “I had to know his name, so I introduced myself. I see why you’re so?—”
“Don’t you dare say smitten,” I interject.
My heart flutters. Because I am.
My mom’s smile perks up on one side.
“I see why you like him so much.”
I blink a few times and meet her gaze.
“I kicked him out.” My heart squeezes and everything I said rushes through my mind.
I hold my phone in my palm and click the screen on. My father’s message lights up first. Cutter must have seen it. He knew I’d be disappointed, so he came. She showed up instead.
“Mom, I messed up.” I let the tears fill my eyes this time. I don’t even bother to wipe them away. These tears deserve to drip and fall into my hands, on my lap.
“Laney, I’m sure you didn’t mess up as bad as you think,” she says, turning the car on and pulling us out of the lot. I take in a deep breath and give her a hard look. She pulls to a stop before entering the roadway and meets my gaze.
“Uh oh,” she utters.
“I’m too much like him,” I say.
“Like Cutter?” She lifts a brow.
I shake my head and wipe my tears away as I sniffle.
