CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Whitney
W hat the hell?
I stand at the edge of the complex and feel like a foreigner in my own land.
It’s exactly the same but it feels like everything—and I mean everything —has changed.
The entire complex has been repainted. Goodbye, gray cinderblock walls. Hello pristine-white walls and the club’s logo painted on the center of the main wall. The bleachers have been replaced with new ones that match the color scheme, and I swear there are three times the amount of them lining the pitch. And talk about lining, the entire exterior fence has been replaced with black-coated chain-link and proper, working gates which actually shut and most likely lock.
Then there’s the pitch itself. It’s ... turf. Brand new turf. Like jaw-dropping gorgeous with beautifully straight painted lines and the club logo at the midline.
And not only is the pitch turf, but the goals are brand-new with crisp, white nets. There are corner flags. We’ve never had those before.
It’s then I notice the new sheds. There are several of them painted to match the new theme. They’ve been erected in a row at the side of me, so I move toward them and peek inside. Disbelief is what I feel as I open one door after the next. Each shed is like a mini warehouse. The first one holds gear—cones, balls, agility sticks, and the like. The second houses shelves with new uniforms, sealed in cellophane bags and arranged by size. The third holds what looks like a thrift shop of other people’s gently used gear. There are shoe racks of cleats and hanging racks of shorts and old jerseys. A sign on the wall says, “Take what you need, and leave what no longer fits.”
I stare in absolute awe at how this place has been transformed in such a short time.
It’s my vision come to life. I’ve never told anyone about my vision because who talks about all the things they can’t afford? It only serves to make you look out of touch with reality.
But this ... this is just ... I turn around and take it all in again. Tears spring to my eyes, and a lump forms in my throat.
“What did you do?” I murmur to no one, fully aware that this is one hundred percent Alexander Hardy.
Talk about conflicting my emotions even further.
“Normally the sheds are all locked, but I got here early and opened them.”
“Martin!” I turn to find him standing there with a sheepish look on his face, and without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tight. “You’ve been lying to me.” I laugh as I lean back and swat at his arm.
His cheeks are beet red with surprise from my affection. “I had to swear on my soul to Hardy that I wouldn’t tell you.” He bristles with pride.
“This is ...” I throw my hands up and look all around again as if I’m in a dream. “ Insanity .”
“You’re telling me.” He chuckles. “Because he’s Hardy, he sweet-talked the high school in to letting us use their fields while we made the improvements.”
“There’s no way there was enough time to do all this,” I say more to myself than him.
“No shit. I thought he was crazy when he told me the plan. It’s like that old show, Extreme Home Makeover, but for the soccer academy. So many people here all at once working together. Like teams of people moved in and worked together to get this done.”
“I’m at a loss for words. I sound like a broken record, but I am.”
“Just wait till you see the locker rooms. The game room. Your office. Every single place has been updated.”
“What do you mean?”
“The locker room was overhauled. It looks like the Mayhem’s ... or I can assume what the Mayhem one looks like. New lockers. Updated bathrooms and showers. It doesn’t even look the same.”
“You said my office?” I don’t know why the idea induces fear in me. But it does and I’m on the move as Martin follows close behind.
“Check out the game room first.”
I look in the bay window and...a new foosball table? A new couch? A vending machine? But it’s the décor that has me smiling. Hardy has placed the deck of my old foosball table on the wall. And somehow, some way, he found a picture of my championship-winning team. It’s been blown up and placed in the center of the old foosball table, which acts almost like a frame. I smile at the thoughtfulness of it. At the meaning held in it.
“The TV is to review film and stuff like that. Or have movie nights for those who don’t want to go home. Oh, and look at this,” Martin says. He flips a switch and a neon sign flickers to life on the far wall.
The words make me catch my breath.
Dreams change. Dreams shift. Find a new one and chase it .
“Pretty cool, huh?” Martin asks.
I nod, my fingers playing with the charm on my necklace as words escape me. Those are the same words Hardy said to me. The same ones that have slowly embedded their way into my psyche and made me wonder if I could possibly want more.
“Very cool.” I almost can’t get the words out.
He provided them with a new safe spot. One where kids can hang out after practice rather than be out in the streets. He made it seem more like a clubhouse than a daycare.
Hardy gets it. He just does, and I don’t know how that’s even possible.
I draw in a deep breath as Martin ushers me to my office. I move with trepidation.
This is my spot, my sanctuary, where a lot of my core memories were had.
I freeze when I hit the threshold and suck in a breath. It’s still my office—same size, same shape—but it has been completely overhauled. A new desk with built-ins, complete with a picture of Patrick and me framed amid all of the organized binders. A bookshelf with all of my soccer books and some new ones. A brand-new desktop computer with a massive screen.
But it’s what’s on the wall behind the desk that has the tears welling up finally spill over.
Hardy had the side of my old desk, the one my whole team had etched their initials in, hung on the wall just as is. He left the crooked foot and the smear of Sharpie across its top and hung it just as it was.
“Uh-oh. Whitney? Are you okay?” Martin asks as the tears keep coming.
“Yes. I’m...” I turn to look at him as I shove the tears from my cheeks. “I just can’t believe you guys did all this.”
“Hardy did it. I helped, but this was all Hardy.”
I nod and wipe away more tears.
“The kids are ecstatic. They came back for the first time yesterday to see it all and it was nonstop chatter and giggles. It’s like they’ve never had anything new and so they want to keep it this way. The new coaches are the same way.”
“ New coaches ?” What the hell ...
“Yes, we picked up a few volunteers to help with the onslaught of new players. All very reputable. Ones that intimidate me with their credentials.”
“Know your worth, Martin. You could run this place with your eyes closed.” New coaches? Whew. “But we can’t afford—”
“You don’t have to. Hardy gave them season tickets to the Mayhem games next year as a salary. They give their time and in turn get to watch professional soccer.”
My head spins.
He did all this.
He did all this and spared nothing.
The old me, who didn’t know him, would question if this was a publicity stunt. A way to cement his reputation as a do-gooder. The new me, the one who knows him knows differently, knows this is who he is. A good man with a big heart.
“I’m overwhelmed, Martin.” I turn and link my arm through his. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Hardy.”
“I will when he gets here.”
“His month was over while you were in the hospital, but he’s still here most days. You’ll probably see him later.”
His month was over . . .
I don’t know why those four words hit me so damn hard, but they do.
Because they’re a precursor to what I know is coming. Him leaving. Him going back home. Me being left once again.
I’ve one hundred percent completely fallen head over heels for you.
My stomach twists, and the tears that well in my eyes this time aren’t from the academy’s overhaul. They’re from feeling so damn unsettled.
But I don’t have time to think about any of this at all because laughter rings out at our backs.
“You’re about to see how absolutely crazy the kids are when they get here. Excitement is off the charts. And the sheer number of kids we have is insane.”
I turn just in time to get caught up in a swarm of hugs and love. In a torrent of laughter and being told how much I’ve been missed. In a tornado of chatter about how cool the academy looks now.
Yet when I keep looking in the parking lot, the one person I’m expecting to see isn’t there.