9. Eden
EDEN
We make our way out of the wine cellar, and I’m pretty sure Connor doesn’t walk as quickly as he would otherwise so that I can keep up in my heels.
We don’t talk, though, now that we’re in public. He seems anxious, probably to get to where his family needs him.
Once we’re at the door to the ballroom, he opens it for me.
“Thank you.” I smile at him, trying to recover our connection before we have to break apart inside.
He relaxes once our eyes link, and grins back. “Anytime.”
I remember the time he used that word last year, and blush.
In the minutes since I put two and two together, I haven’t completely processed what Connor and I living in Orlando at the same time could involve.
Do I want to hang out with him? That seems to be an easy yes based on my excitement at his question in the wine cellar.
Do I want anything else? A hookup? A real date? Assuming that’s even what he’s looking for.
I need time to think, and this isn’t the place or moment.
“I’m going to find my sister before I get in trouble,” he says. “But tomorrow—”
“Connor,” a male voice calls. “Oh, and Eden Larsson.” His voice sounds surprised when he says my name.
A thirty-something man in an olive suit steps closer. “Hi Eden, I’m Milo Granzatto. I don’t think we’ve met.”
Connor’s new boss.
I offer my hand. “Hi, great to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I watched you during the College Cup last year in Indianapolis.” The College Cup is another name for the NCAA soccer championships. We made it to the semis but lost 3–2. “You’re still at Tolliver for one more season, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve decided to stay and graduate from school.” Unlike most of my peers, who are in the pros now—the unspoken context of his question.
He raises his brow, but his tone is kind. “I read that somewhere. A degree is important, good for you.”
He pivots his gaze to Connor and then back to me. “I didn’t expect you to be here, but of course that makes sense with your dad. How do you and Connor know each other?”
Connor is the one who answers. “Mutual friends.”
“Great.” He then shifts to Connor. “I’m glad I ran into you. I know you’re supposed to start in two days, and I had a thought on my way here. How do you feel about coming to LA with me for your first eight weeks?”
Connor looks surprised. “Well—”
“My main partner there, Sheila, has to fly to London to work with our Premier League clients, and our junior partner had to take an early maternity leave two days ago. So I’m going to need to cover the office for a bit.”
“LA?” Connor looks at a loss for words for the first time since our first meeting three years ago.
“Everything would be paid for by the firm. We’d fly out tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?...Okay. Okay.”
He probably doesn’t feel like he has an option to say anything else. So much for hanging out soon.
“Perfect. I’ll call you in the morning to sort out the details. Normally, you could stay here and work with Grace, but of course she’s about to go on her honeymoon. Our team out there is much bigger, and it’ll be nice for you to meet them so early in your position.”
Milo takes his leave, and I start to regroup with Connor on our now-thwarted plans to see each other.
“I guess—”
“CONNOR BATTLE, GET YOUR BUTT OVER TO THE CAKE.” We both swivel to the DJ booth about twenty feet away, where the voice is coming from, and Rawley is holding the mic, staring at his brother. “YES. YOU. TO THE CAKE.”
“Okay, okay!” Connor shouts in his direction as the cluster of people around us laugh.
He glances at me quickly before leaving to do his duty. “I’ll DM you.”
As his tall blond head walks across the ballroom, I return to our table, which is much closer. Dad is sitting with another coach, but it’s otherwise empty.
I take my original seat next to him. He and the coach seem to wrap up their conversation.
“How’s Bree?”
Oh shoot, I forgot that whole cover story. “She’s fine. Where are Tina and Nat?”
“Off to watch the cake cutting, and then grab a piece. Nat was very excited by both, as you can imagine.” He chuckles.
“I bet.”
“I didn’t realize you knew Connor that well?” Oh, he must have seen us talking together earlier.
“He’s come to Bree’s Fourth of July parties the last two years.” Those are all the details Dad’s getting, needless to say.
“That’s nice. He’s a good kid. A great kicker.”
Wait, really? Dad wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true, and he would know.
“He is?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, he’s been automatic for Princeton the last two years. A natural physically, and he’s unflappable on the field. That’s why I kept working with him.”
I’m confused. “Why wouldn’t he be invited to an NFL training camp or tryout then?” I’m pretty sure Connor would’ve mentioned it if he had.
“Placekicking’s different from other positions. There aren’t a lot of invites for kickers. I lucked into starting early on, and made sure I didn’t lose my place. But there are so few spots overall, and enough guys are solid in the league already. It’s not easy to break in.”
“That makes sense.”
“It doesn’t help that he’s so tall. Teams always have an ‘ideal’ profile, and for a kicker, it’s definitely not that height.”
Not much Connor can do about that.
“I’d love to give him a shot if we have a need. We don’t right now, though. I was going to see if he wanted me to make some calls to other teams, though.”
Huh. Connor didn’t say anything about football at all?
“It sounds like his internship is going to take him to LA for a while. He was talking to his boss while I was standing with them.”
Dad nods. “Well, I guess that’s that, then. Maybe I’ll reach out when he’s back.”
I don’t respond, happy to let the topic drop.
“So you start your captain practices tomorrow?” Dad asks.
“Yeah, I get to run the team ragged.” There’s a little glee in my voice, but it’s more at the thought of being with everyone again for the first part of our preseason than at being tough on them.
“Love it. God, I’m going to miss things like that on the coach’s side of the world.”
“Don’t you get to boss everyone around even more?”
He laughs. “I guess, but it’s different. Not the same vibe.”
“I get it.” Dad’s always had tons of friends on the team. I’m sure it’s going to be weird coaching them.
“What’s next on your med school apps? Sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk more since you came back.” He’s been spending long hours at the Waves facility as the coaches prep for preseason.
“If schools are interested, I get invited to submit secondary applications. Like personal essays and stuff.” I’m starting to pre-write some of them, based on the recommendations of my Tolliver adviser.
“Soon?”
“Yeah, I should hear back before classes start.”
“Well, I know it’s a heavy load of work with everything else, but I agree with your mom. Play both angles, soccer and med school, until you have to choose.”
I hadn’t gotten into the weeds with Connor in the wine cellar, but this had been an ongoing topic of conversation in my time in California, again.
Mom’s strong opinion was to work both tracks for my immediate future post-college.
Pro teams aren’t allowed to approach me until my final NCAA game, so I don’t lose my eligibility.
You “just never know” what’s going to happen in sports, in her words.
I ultimately relented because, like I told Connor, Mom’s passion for her patients reminded me of the appeal of starting my journey to be a doctor.
But if I’m being honest, I also hate making tough decisions like this. Ultimately, I know my parents will support me either way. I’m just not ready to decide, and I’m scared to make the wrong choice.
The price of my indecisiveness is that my to-do list is over the top, overwhelming me heading into the fall.
Before I can respond to Dad, there are sounds of feet shuffling and a familiar whine behind us.
“We should go soon. Nat’s getting tired,” Tina says to Dad when she and Nat reach the table.
“Yeah, let’s start saying our farewells. I know the younger crowd will be dancing all night. I’m sorry, Eden.”
The plan was always that I’d leave with them on the early side. “It’s okay. I don’t know anyone that well either.” Except Connor, who’ll be pulled in different directions.
“Okay then, let’s make the rounds.”
The “rounds” include farewells to a bunch of the Waves team and staff, and Dad manages to catch Johnson before he’s grabbed by someone else.
“Congrats, Samuels. You’ll love married life.”
“I already do, Coach,” Johnson retorts with a wink.
“We’re good to leave now,” Dad finally says to us after a few more conversations.
Our foursome heads to the exit, but I turn back just as we’re about to pass through the ballroom door.
Somehow I already know what I’m going to see before I do—and yep, Connor’s watching me from across the room. He’s with a bunch of his family, seemingly too trapped to come say goodbye.
There’s a look of apology in his expression as we lock eyes.
Anytime. But not this time.