CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Kate
To be completely honest, it’s not that I’m scared of attention. I’m just… wary of the wrong kind. The kind that turns you into a meme. Or a headline. Or worse—someone people on the internet have strong, unsolicited opinions about.
What if people hate me?
What if they say he’s too good for me?
Because, objectively speaking… he kind of is.
He’s famous. He’s talented. He’s unfairly attractive even when he looks like he hasn’t slept in three days and his hair is doing gravity-defying things.
And now, he’s doing this brave, terrifying thing of unraveling himself in public. Being honest. Raw. Real.
Meanwhile, I’m over here thinking maybe I should’ve worn different shoes.
My fingers twist the edge of my sleeve as I stand there, still reeling from everything he said. From everything Heather said.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“Yeah,” I say, because I am the proud queen of Deflection Land. Long may I awkwardly reign.
“No you’re not,” he says, and of course he sees through it.
Chris and Vince say their goodbyes with a mix of handshakes, back pats, and something I think might’ve been a wink. Then it’s just the two of us.
“Katie,” he says, voice soft now. It’s the same tone he used when he kissed me in the blackout.
(Which, for the record, he hasn’t done again. So that means he’s either regretting it, or regretting me altogether. Or maybe he just forgot it happened? Is that worse? I don’t know. My brain is eating itself.)
“Don’t listen to Heather,” he says, stepping closer. “You don’t have to have that kind of life if you don’t want to. I won’t force you into that.”
“But she’s still right, isn’t she?” I say quickly. “People are still gonna wonder who I am, and they’re going to be so disappointed that I’m not some hot model or an A-list actress. Which, by the way, are probably better fits for you.”
I’m spiraling. I know I am. But stopping feels impossible.
“Not that I’m saying we fit,” I continue, hands flailing slightly.
“I mean, we didn’t really talk about it.
Us. This. Whatever this is. And also you haven’t kissed me again, which, I’m not saying you should, obviously.
I mean, unless you want to, which is not—uh—not the point, but also not not the point—”
“Kate.”
“Also, a part of me thinks I can handle this, but that’s the same part of me who thought it was a good idea to put cinnamon in my cookies once, and they tasted terrible.
So. You know. Maybe I’m not the best decision-maker.
” I wave my arms again. “You’re allowed to change your mind, Michael.
You can go back to your city life. And I’ll be fine.
Like, aggressively fine. So fine I’ll even go to your games and pull out a giant foam finger. And start a fanclub.”
“Katherine,” he says.
I freeze. His voice is barely above a whisper, and when I look at him, he’s got that half-smile again. The one that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
And then the tears come. Because they always do.
I cry when I’m sad, when I’m overwhelmed, when I’m watching animated cat videos. I just… cry. I’m a person who cries.
“I’m sorry,” I sniff, blinking rapidly. “Ignore me. I’m fine.”
Michael sighs and takes a step closer. He cups my face in his gigantic hands and puts a strand of hair behind my ear.
“First of all, I already have a fanclub. It’s called Leenatics.” He chuckles. And it’s funny, but I can’t bring myself to laugh for some reason.
“Second of all, please don’t convince me not to fall for you,” he says gently. “I kind of already have.”
My breath catches. “But I’m… me.”
“Exactly,” he says. “You’re you. You love florals and giant teddy bears. And you talk to plants and name inanimate objects. You’re the only person who’s ever made me want to stay still long enough to care about anything outside basketball.”
I stare up at him, heart thudding, as the silence settles between us. “I didn’t kiss you again,” he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from my cheek, “because I was trying to be careful. With you.”
I blink, trying to process. “Careful?”
“I know how you are about these things,” he says, voice warm but unshakably steady. “So I’ve been letting you dictate the pace. Letting you decide when it’s okay. Because I didn’t want to rush you. Or scare you off. Or make you think I only wanted one thing.”
My throat tightens.
“So you don’t…” I whisper. “You don’t regret it?”
He shakes his head once. Firm. Certain.
“No, Katie,” he says. “I haven’t regretted a single second with you. Not one.”
And just like that, I start crying again. Because this is it. I think I love him.
Which is ridiculous. I’ve known him for months. Months. People will say it’s too soon, that I’m infatuated, that I’ve just inhaled too much of his stupid heartthrob fumes. People will think I’m stupid.
But it doesn’t feel too soon. I feel like I’ve been navigating my life with the volume turned down, and suddenly he just… turns it up.
And, God help me, I’m already picturing things.
I’m picturing him at Sunday markets holding a basket of vegetables.
I’m picturing him reading a book next to me on a rainy afternoon.
I’m picturing his hand on my back in a crowd, his hoodie on my chair, his toothbrush in my bathroom. All of that boring stuff.
And yeah, I know how this goes. People leave. Things change. The whole team moves on to another city and I’m left clutching a hoodie that smells like him until it doesn’t.
But the horrifying, wonderful truth is… I’d still risk it.
So maybe I am being stupid.
“We don’t have to figure it out right now,” I say with a smile. “But,” I continue, dreading the next words. “Your training will start soon. And you’re moving out of Magnolia Heights soon.”
He looks down at his feet. “Yeah,” he says. “Heather even said they’re scheduling a friendly comeback match for me since I missed the final parts of the season.”
And even though my chest tightens at the reminder, I know I wouldn’t stop him for the world.
I will not be the one to hold him back. So even when I picture him in my kitchen, or on my couch, or next to me in an imaginary altar, the scene shifts…
and he’s under the stadium lights, in his element. Where he belongs.
When we arrive back in his house, the sun is setting. I don’t know why I go inside with him. Maybe because I don’t want the day to end. Maybe because I don’t want us to.
His living room still smells a little like clean laundry, and he sets his keys down on the table near the door. “Come back out with me?” he asks.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want this day to end yet,” he says, echoing my thoughts.
Michael Lee is on an honesty roll today. I don’t know if I like it. No, I do, but every single thing he says makes my chest ache a little.
The screen door squeaks as we step out. It’s cooler now, the sky tinged pink and deepening blue.
Crickets chirp in the bushes. His backyard is mostly grass, but the half-court he had installed gleams under the overhead lights.
It looks like something from a commercial—sleek, polished, regulation lines—but also a little ridiculous against the sleepy small-town backdrop.
He rolls the basketball toward me.
“You’ve spent months with me during Little League. Do you still not know how I am with sports?” I ask, bewildered.
Michael chuckles. “Just wanna spend more time with you, Katie.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s play then.” If he’s gonna be honest, so will I.
He raises his eyebrows as if to question my sanity. “Basketball?”
“Kinda.”
He spins the ball slowly in his hands, then walks to the free-throw line and shoots—of course, it swishes in, perfect arc, perfect form. He doesn’t even look surprised.
“Show off,” I say.
He grins, jogging after the rebound.
“But no,” I say, “not just basketball.”
He tilts his head. “Go on.”
“Every time you miss a shot,” I explain, “you have to say something real. Something true. But not just any truth—not like ‘I like peanut butter.’ I mean something honest that you don’t usually say out loud.”
Michael pauses, spinning the ball slowly between his fingers. “And if I make it?”
“Then you don’t have to say anything.”
His eyes gleam in the light. “And you?”
“Same rules. We both play.”
There’s a beat of silence where he just watches me. “I never miss,” he whispers to me.
“Then I guess I’ll be doing all the confessing.” I can’t think of another way to tell him everything I’ve been bottling. And somehow, in the guise of a silly game, I feel like I can.
But something flickers across his face, then he shrugs. “You first.” He bounces the ball, and I manage to catch it. I walk to the line and square up, trying to remember the tips he gives the kids—elbows in, follow through, breathe. I shoot. The ball bounces off the rim.
I wait for him to mock me, but when I glance at him, his face is serious and he’s just… waiting.
I laugh under my breath. “Okay. Um…” My fingers knot together in front of me. “I think I’m quitting cigarettes.”
“You think?” Michael asks.
“Well, I used to think I needed them to make myself feel in control, but ever since I met you, I realized all I needed was courage. I survived the Little League, I said no when Manang Linda asked me to bake extra batches. I wore something different. To school.”
He smiles. “That’s not because of me, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, but still. You brought it out in me.”
He nods. Michael steps to the line, spins the ball in his hands. Then shoots. It’s perfect. “Go again,” he says. His face is still serious, and I don’t know why.
I square up, breathe, shoot.
Another miss.
“Um,” I say, taking an extra breath. “I used to think I was inferior to my friends. Everyone always preferred them more than me. I always used to be in the background. Quiet. Fading.”
“That, I never understood,” Michael says as he takes the ball. “You’ve always been front and center to me.”
Michael takes the ball, dribbles. Shoots. He doesn’t even look this time, but it still perfectly goes through the net.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just gets the ball and hands it to me.
I attempt another shot, and I miss again.
I let the ball roll away as I say, “I’m kinda scared,” and then more slowly, “of having to accept that whatever we have right now has an expiration date. Because you gave me so much strength and so much courage, and I don’t know what will happen when you’re not around anymore… ” I trail off.
It feels weird admitting this weakness. This… dependency. Of course, I’m not strong like Haley, but I’m not dependent either. I try so hard to be independent because I can’t bring myself to ask favors from anyone.
His face is unreadable, but something in his eyes is molten. He doesn’t go to the line this time. He just picks up the ball, stands a few feet away, and with absolutely no effort... misses.
Deliberately.
“Michael—”
He steps closer.
“My truth?” he says.
“I like you, Katie.” His voice is soft. “Not casual. Not fleeting.” The lights buzz softly overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. But here, in this half-court under the stars, I feel like I’ve stepped into the kind of stillness that only happens once or twice in a lifetime.
“I wish I could tell you I had it all figured out—how this works, what happens next, how we make it work with our lives in two different worlds. But I don’t. I just know that being with you feels like the most right thing in my life.”
I sigh, taking the ball from him. “I’m not done yet,” he says with a chuckle.
“That’s not how the game works. It’s one truth at a time.” I take the ball from his hand but it won’t budge. “You’re cheating,” I say, trying to make it lighter.
“I’m not playing to win,” he says as he looks at me.
I drop my hands to my sides and wait for him to continue.
“I don’t want to leave, Katie,” he says.
“God, I don’t. You make everything better.
You calm me down. You challenge me. You make me laugh in ways I didn’t know I still could.
And yeah, part of me wants to be selfish and ask you to come with me.
But I won’t. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not the kind of person I want to be for you. ”
He swallows again. “I’ve got a lot in my life that still doesn’t make sense. Still feels broken or unresolved or like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. But through all of it, there’s one thing that feels simple. Certain. Clear.”
He presses the basketball into my hands. His voice drops to a whisper.
“You.”
I hold the ball in my hand, unsure of what to do with it. Do I hug it? Throw it? Use it as a shield from all these emotions suddenly charging at me?
I sigh, because I am also very, very unsure of what to do with my heart. Stupid little thing.