Chapter Eight
My heart pounds as I sprint toward the goal, but it’s the good kind of pounding that comes from pushing myself, not the scary racing that had me convinced something was seriously wrong.
The ball comes my way. I time my jump, connect with my forehead, and watch the ball sail past our backup goalkeeper into the upper right corner of the net.
“That’s what I’m talking about, Kline!” Coach Martinez’s voice carries across the field, and I can hear the relief in it.
I jog back toward the center circle, wiping sweat from my forehead with the hem of my jersey.
My chest feels tight, but it’s the good kind of tight that comes from exertion, not the scary kind that had me convinced I was dying.
“You look happy,” Derek calls from the sideline where he’s waiting for his own practice to start. He’s leaning against the fence in his goalkeeper gear, gloves hanging from his belt, dark hair damp with sweat from whatever drills his team just finished.
“All right, ladies!” Coach Martinez blows her whistle. “Cool down and stretch. Good practice today.”
As I walk toward the bench to grab my water bottle, I catch Derek’s eye again. He jerks his head toward the bleachers, eyebrows raised. The space under the bleachers is dim and cool.
It smells like old paint and teenage secrets, the kind of place where couples have been sneaking away for decades. Derek’s already there when I arrive, sitting on the concrete step with his goalkeeper gloves beside him.
“Hey,” he says, standing as I approach. “How was practice?”
“Good. Really good, actually. I scored during corner kick drills, and Coach seems less worried about me collapsing on the field.”
“That’s amazing.” He pulls me closer, his hands settling on my waist. “How are you feeling? About everything?”
“Better than I expected. Scared sometimes, but also… relieved? Like, now I know what I’m dealing with instead of imagining all the worst-case scenarios.”
He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the same gesture that made my heart skip the first time he did it. But now it feels familiar, comfortable in the best way.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” he says, his hand still lingering near my face.
“What?”
“This weekend. I was thinking we could do something fun. Something that has nothing to do with family drama or heart conditions or any of the heavy stuff we’ve been dealing with.”
“I’m listening.”
“The pier. Saturday night. There’s a sunset that’s worth seeing, and I thought we could get dinner at that fish place you like, maybe walk on the beach after.”
“That sounds perfect,” I say, and mean it.
“Yeah?” His smile is like a sunrise, warm and bright.
“Yeah. I can’t remember the last time I did something just because it sounded fun.”
His expression grows serious. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something else too.”
“What?”
“I think I’m falling for you. Like, really falling for you.”
“Derek…”
“I know it’s probably too soon to say stuff like that,” he says quickly. “I just wanted you to know.”
Instead of answering with words, I kiss him. His lips are warm and soft, and when his arms come around me, I feel safe. We’re hidden here under the bleachers, away from the chaos of school and family and all the complicated things waiting for us in the real world.
When we break apart, both of us are breathing harder.
“Saturday can’t come soon enough,”
“Tell me about it.” His thumb traces along my jawline, sending shivers down my spine despite the warm afternoon.
The bell rings in the distance, signaling the end of free period. We separate reluctantly, and he grabs his gloves from the concrete step.
“I should get to practice,” he says. “Coach gets cranky when we’re late.”
I watch him jog toward the field where his teammates are already gathering, then head toward the cafeteria.
The cafeteria is its usual chaos of competing conversations, clattering trays, and the indefinable smell of institutional food trying to masquerade as something edible.
Maya and I claim our usual table by the windows, where we can watch the senior parking lot and judge people’s questionable vehicle choices.
“So,” she says, unwrapping a sandwich that looks suspiciously healthy, “you look happy. Good talk with Derek?”
“The best,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face. “He asked me out for Saturday night. A real date.”
“Finally! Where’s he taking you?”
“The pier for dinner and sunset watching.”
Maya claps her hands together. “That’s so romantic! I’m so happy for you two.”
“Thanks. It feels good to have something normal to look forward to.” I stab my salad, “Something that’s not about family drama or medical appointments.”
“Speaking of family drama,” Maya says carefully, “how does it feel to have answers? About your heart, I mean.”
“Weird,” I admit. “Good weird, but still weird. Like, for eighteen years I’ve been this girl who doesn’t know anything about half her genetics, and now I know I have the same heart condition as my biological father.”
“That’s actually kind of amazing, though. In a twisted way.” Maya tears her sandwich into smaller pieces, a nervous habit she’s had since middle school. “Like, you have this concrete connection to him now.”
“I guess.”
“Have you thought about reaching out to him? Or Emma?”
“I don’t know. My mom would probably have a breakdown if I contacted them directly.”
“Okay, but what do you want? Forget about your mom’s feelings for a second. What does Olivia want?”
I push lettuce around my plate. “I want to know what Emma’s like. I want to know if she plays soccer too, or if she’s good at math, or if she inherited Dad’s—Jeremy’s—eyes like I did.” I pause. “I want to know if she knows about me.”
“So why don’t you find out?”
“Because what if she doesn’t want to know me? What if Jeremy built this perfect little family and I’m just a reminder of his mistakes?”
Maya reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Or what if she’s been wondering about you too? What if they’ve both been wondering?”
I’ve spent so long assuming I was unwanted, unloved by my father’s side, that the idea of being wanted feels almost too dangerous to consider.
“Besides,” she continues, “you deserve to know where you come from. Both sides of where you come from.”
“Maybe.”
At home my mom’s made her famous chicken parmesan, the kind that requires three different coatings and way too much cheese but tastes like comfort food should.
Robert’s telling us about his latest project at work, something involving municipal water systems that’s probably fascinating if you’re into civil engineering.
“How was soccer practice?” she asks, passing me the salad bowl.
“Good. I scored during corner kick drills, and Coach seems less worried about me collapsing on the field.”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”
“Any word on when your next cardiology appointment is?” Robert asks.
“Dr. Kasey wants to see me in six months for a follow-up. Just to make sure everything’s stable.”
“That’s good. Routine monitoring is always reassuring.”
I stand up, wiping my mouth and placing my dishes in the sink. “I’m going up to shower,” I announce after helping clear the dishes. “Got a bunch of homework to tackle.”
“Don’t stay up too late,”
“I won’t.”
My room smells like the lavender fabric spray she uses on my bedding, and there’s a stack of clean laundry folded neatly on my desk chair.
I grab my favorite pajamas and a towel from the closet, already looking forward to a hot shower.
My phone sits on my nightstand, face down where I left it before dinner.
As I reach for my shower caddy, it lights up with a notification.
Instagram message.
Probably Maya sending me something funny, or maybe Derek sharing a post about this weekend’s plans. I almost ignore it, focused on getting to the shower while there’s still hot water left.
But something makes me pick up the phone.
The notification preview makes my heart stop.
Message from emmakline.17: Hi, I guess we are sisters.
My hands shake as I stare at the screen. Emma Kline. My half sister. How did she find me? She knows about me?
I sink onto my bed, phone clutched in my trembling hands. The towel and pajamas fall forgotten to the floor as I process what just happened. Emma knows about me. She knows we’re sisters. And she took the initiative to contact me directly.
My mind races with questions. How long has she known about me? What did Jeremy tell her? Does she hate me for being the product of his betrayal, or is she curious like I am? What does she want from this conversation?
I stare at her profile picture, the same face I’ve been studying on Jeremy’s website, but closer now, more real. She has his eyes, our eyes, and something in her expression reminds me of my own reflection.
My sister. My actual sister.
I set my phone back down and take a deep breath, letting it go and heading to my shower.