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“Can I come?”
I blink at him. “You want to come to my practice?”
Beck nods.
“They’ll, uh, they’ll recognize you.”
We’ve had spectators at practice before: parents, friends, siblings. A few high school teams. Never any world-famous soccer phenoms.
“Are you embarrassed by me?” I think he’s teasing, but again, I’m not really sure.
He’s the one who’s going to leave this time, because he lives on a different continent and the entire country would notice his absence. And I’ll be the one stuck answering questions about him, because my teammates will all be curious about my fling with a hot celebrity and won’t even consider Beck meant anything more to me.
Rather than tell him any of that I just say, “No.”
“Then let’s go.”
I grab my keys and my gear, then lead the way outside. Beck leaves his bag in the entryway. I haven’t asked any of the important questions, like how long he’s staying, yet.
He climbs into the passenger seat without comment. I twist the key in the ignition, and the engine flares to life. Loud pop music blares through the speakers. Beck smiles a little as I turn the volume down and reverse out of the driveway.
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls,” I say, breaking the silence between us.
It’s the truth, and not only because it’s landed me in the predicament of showing up at practice with Adler Beck in tow. His presence will overtake the Trey Johnson incident to claim the number one spot involving gossip about me, I’m sure.
“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”
“I do mean it. I just felt…silly for calling you. It was nice hearing your voice, but it also…it hurt. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I was missing you, but it felt like I just made everything worse. So I’ve been avoiding you since, trying to take that back, and I am sorry about that.”
A long pause follows. “I need to know if you’re letting me in or shutting me out, Saylor. Because the back and forth…I can’t keep doing it.”
I’ve been waiting for him to say some version of that. For a while, I was hoping to hear it. If he’d ended things before we went hiking, before I met his family, before I left…that would have been a clean break. I would have healed. Would have been fine.
Instead, there’s this searing agony in my chest fueled by panic. Time apart hasn’t weakened my feelings toward Beck. It’s strengthened them.
“Now you only want me if it’s convenient?” I snap.
I’m hurt, and I hate that I’m hurt. He’s given me so many chances, and I’ve blown every single one of them. Of course he’d reach a breaking point eventually. We all have one.
“I will want you, regardless. But I can’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t answer my calls for two weeks.”
Him dropping the r-word startles me into silence. The way he drops it so casually, the way he implies we’re already in one. I focus on driving, turning into the soccer field’s parking lot a few seconds later.
I toss Beck my car keys, then grab my bag from the back, ignoring the feel of his eyes on me the entire time. “Lock up if you go anywhere.”
I climb out of my car and jog toward the field. My teammates are all clustered in by one of the benches, meaning I missed warm-ups. My pace quickens to a flat run as I head for the huddle.
Coach Taylor glances my way as I approach, everyone else following her attention. “Scott! So generous of you to grace us with your presence.”
“Sorry, Coach,” I clip, dropping my bag by the bench. I’m angry at myself for being tardy. And I’m more than a little distracted by the lingering emotions following the conversation I just had with Beck.
“Ten laps,” she tells me.
I nod, then start running again. Warm-ups are usually only eight, but I don’t have to ask why two more got added. I’ve never been late for practice before—not this late, at least.
By the time I finish my laps, the rest of the team has moved on to drills.
“Everything okay, Scott?” Coach asks, coming up beside me.
