Chapter 20 Claire
CLAIRE
Driving home from our weekly visit to Mom, Cassidy casually says, “You’re still free tonight, right?”
I glance in the rearview mirror at Tommy, who’s happily coloring in a picture book. Rather than scribble inside the lines, Tommy appears to be drawing soccer balls. Since he played with Otto, Tommy’s interest in soccer has grown even more.
It was a collision of worlds I was wholly unprepared for.
It was one thing for Otto to invade work.
Soccer has reminded me of him plenty of times.
But my nephew asking me to set up the cones “like Otto did”?
That was an unwelcome adjustment. Nearly as hard as watching Otto patiently play with my nephew was.
Does he want kids? The closest we came to discussing the topic was a responsible conversation on preventing pregnancy.
“Claire?” Cassidy prompts, and I realize I zoned out.
“Sorry,” I say, eyes returning to the road. “Tonight. Yeah. I’m free.”
Cassidy’s Saturday nights with Josh have become a standing date at this point.
Yesterday’s game was away, against New Jersey, and a much-needed win, so I have tonight and tomorrow off. Icing the ankle I tweaked during a tackle while watching cartoons and eating mac and cheese is my plan for the evening.
None of my childhood friends live in Boston.
We’ll get together around the holidays when they come back to visit family, but that’s it.
I needed to be home with Mom, so I turned down most invitations from my Siege teammates, until they stopped coming.
Now that Mom’s at Echo Glen, I could go out more, but I haven’t.
“Great,” Cassidy replies brightly. “I asked Lydia to watch Tommy.”
“Wait. What?” I glance at her. “Why did you do that? I told you I’d watch him.”
“Josh has a college friend visiting this weekend.”
It takes me a second, and then the pieces click together.
I groan, “No.”
“And we thought it’d be fun to—”
“No,” I repeat more forcefully.
My sister continues like I said nothing, “He’s nice, and you could use a fun night out. All I’ve seen you do is work, exercise, and sleep. And worry about Mom. You’re coming out with us.”
“I hate double dates.”
“When have you ever been on one?”
Never, but an outing with my sister, her high school sweetheart, and a guy I’ve never met before sounds like a bad attempt.
Not that I doubt Josh has decent taste in friends.
And Cassidy and I have been getting along surprisingly well, settling into a new routine centered around taking care of Tommy and visiting Mom.
But I’m very much not in the first-date headspace.
I’ll spend the evening comparing myself to Cassidy, who’s always been effortlessly popular with guys.
Who knew what to say and what to wear while I never did.
Also, I had a dream about Paris last night. I woke up disoriented, wondering why the Eiffel Tower wasn’t in view past my curtains. And wet.
Warmth creeps across my skin as I recall it.
Steve and I broke up over a year ago. I’m not going to hook up with Josh’s friend, but I should at least consider dating again.
“It’ll be fun, Clairey. A chance for you to catch up with Josh. And we live together, but I hardly see you.”
I sigh, knowing I’ll agree. Maybe this will be a good transition into dating. Maybe I’ll really like the guy. At minimum, it’ll make my sister happy.
“I’ll go on one condition,” I say.
Cassidy sighs. “What?”
“That you pick out an outfit for me. I never know what to wear on first dates.”
My sister’s laugh is startled. Pleased. “Deal.”
We meet Josh and his friend outside a new seafood restaurant that recently opened in Seaport. Walker—I don’t know his last name—and I smile politely at each other while Josh and Cassidy share a lengthy hello kiss.
“Nice to meet you, Claire,” Walker says, holding a hand out.
I shake it, relieved he seems friendly and normal. “Nice to meet you too. Welcome to Boston.”
He smiles. “Thanks.”
Walker is a couple of inches taller than me—five-ten or five-eleven.
Clean-shaven and wearing a button-down without a single wrinkle in the fabric.
He absolutely does not look the type to offer a stranger a ride outside a Paris nightclub or to have a glitzy dinner with a model in Manhattan.
The tops of his ears turn red after he looks at my chest—cleavage displayed in a low-cut black top borrowed from Cassidy—which I find endearing.
“It’s so good to see you, Claire,” Josh greets, giving me a warm hug.
“You too,” I reply, smiling when we separate and he immediately reaches for Cassidy’s hand again.
Walker works in medical sales, same as Josh. Talking about their respective jobs and the recent conference in San Diego fills the lags in conversation between us being seated and ordering drinks and appetizers.
I’m bored by the topic, but nod along at what I think are the appropriate parts between bites of focaccia dunked in olive oil.
Cassidy mostly beams at Josh.
Her lovestruck expression is a little nauseating to witness, but it’s also nice to see my sister look so happy.
I’m not sure how serious she and Josh are, if it’s just a rekindled flame or a new progression, but after witnessing this, I’m leaning toward the latter.
Josh hasn’t been introduced to Tommy yet, which is why we met the guys here, but he’s looking at Cassidy the same way he did in high school.
The waiter delivers our entrées, which all look and smell amazing. I’m relaxing in my seat, picking up my fork and thinking how tonight is going better than I expected, when I see him.
I recognize Will Aster first because he was—is—rather infamous in the soccer world.
He’s from Dorchester originally, which is why his career in Seattle was sometimes covered by local papers.
Will no longer plays for Seattle. He plays for FC Kluvberg—a detail that stuck in my head only because of who I associate with that club.
I start searching as soon as I spot Will, my brain already connecting the dots.
A beautiful blonde woman is holding hands with Will.
A man in a wheelchair, who closely resembles Will, is with them.
Behind the three of them is Otto. He’s nodding in response to something the hostess is saying.
She’s leaning over the stand, as close as possible to him, and I frown right as Otto looks this way.
A low buzz hums in my ears, drowning out all the sounds surrounding me, as we look at each other.
My appetite vanishes, my stomach more preoccupied with an acrobatic routine than eating.
It’s the first day he showed up at the Siege facility all over again.
His presence at practice and games is one thing. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
I look away first, reaching for my full wine glass and swallowing half in one sip. Josh ordered a bottle, and I wasn’t planning on drinking any. But I need something to do with my hands. Some distraction from—
“Hello, Claire.”
I glance up into Otto’s smooth expression. “Hi, Coach Berger.”
There’s a chuckle from Will—who’s behind Otto—that he quickly covers with a cough. It’s enough to tell me he’s familiar with the Otto I remember meeting, the guy who would have also laughed about being addressed as an authority figure.
The hostess is past our table, holding a stack of menus. Will, the woman, and the man in the wheelchair are all following Otto. He’s holding them up, deliberately stopping to talk to me, and everyone at my table is glancing curiously between us.
My cheeks feel like they’re radiating heat, and I hope it’s not obvious.
This is another collision, with my sister, with the guy I’m on a date with, and all I can think about is last night’s dream.
His eyes flick down from my face, so quick that I nearly miss it.
His expression doesn’t change. I feel like I was just lit on fire.
My boobs are nothing special, perky but small, and he’s seen them before.
But this is the first time I’ve worn something other than athletic attire around him, and he looked.
“You’re one of Claire’s coaches?” Cassidy asks, surprise and appreciation evident in her voice.
As separate as I’d like to keep the past and present, it’s strange to realize my sister has never met Otto.
“I am. Otto Berger.” He reaches out a hand to shake my sister’s hand. “You must be Cassidy.”
I go completely still. I mentioned my sister’s name to him once. Years ago. There’s no way he remembered that, right?
“I met Tommy the other day, after Siege practice,” Otto continues. “Good kid.”
“Yeah, I like him,” Cassidy says affectionately. She glances at me. “He loves going to visit Claire.”
Everyone’s looking at me. I force a smile, reaching for my wine glass again.
“When did you start coaching?” Cassidy asks Otto. “You weren’t at the first game.”
“I am subbing in for part of the season,” he replies. “I missed the match against Chicago because of… I had a family matter.”
I suppress a snort. The photos of him with Juliette Dubois last weekend were posted all over the place, and that’s still the story he’s sticking with?
“Enjoy the rest of your dinner,” Otto continues. “See you tomorrow at ten, Caldwell.”
My head snaps toward him, no longer feigning nonchalance. For a second, I think I’ve lost my mind, but today is definitely Saturday. Tomorrow, Sunday, is a day off.
Otto’s already walking away, continuing after the hostess. The rest of his party follows, headed toward another four-person table closer to the wall of windows that overlooks the water. A waiter is whisking one chair away to accommodate the wheelchair.
I stand, the legs of my chair scraping the mosaic tiled floor that ties in with the restaurant’s Mediterranean theme. “I’ll be right back,” is the only explanation I offer before hurrying after the group.
“Ot—” I catch myself just in time. “Coach Berger, can I talk to you for a minute?”
I’m not sure how he hears me over the overlapping conversations and the music playing, but Otto pauses, saying something to Will before turning and walking back this way.
We meet beside a row of ropes that hang from the ceiling and tie to the floor, serving as a nautical divider between the bar section and the rest of the restaurant.
He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks, the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down showing off the raised veins and defined muscles of his forearms. I’m not sure what limitations are still on one shoulder, but his right arm looks no different from his left.
I swallow hard, mouth dry. “I just wanted to clarify, we don’t have practice tomorrow?” I’m certain of that, but it comes out like a question.
“The team is not training tomorrow. We are.”
“We?”
“You and me.”
I shake my head, dislodging some of the strands Cassidy carefully styled earlier. “You’re—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Otto untucks one hand, and there’s a moment when I think he might reach out to brush the hair out of my face. Instead, he runs his thumb along the line of his jaw.
My exhale is dizzying. I’m a little disappointed, which is ridiculous.
“Coach Taylor asked me to do an individual session with you,” he tells me.
“Why?” I demand, refocusing on the topic at hand.
“You allowed six turnovers against Chicago.”
“I allowed none yesterday.”
“She asked me to work with you, Caldwell. I am doing my job. Would you rather tell Eliza why you do not want to train with me?”
No, I really wouldn’t. Everyone on the Siege—players, staff, Coach Taylor—adores Otto. Media coverage has increased this season. Same with ticket sales. No way am I complaining to my head coach that I can’t take criticism from my ex, and Otto knows it.
“You’re a goalie,” I state. “Not a defender.”
“Eliza knows that.” A pause. “A few people have also called me one of the best footballers in the world.”
Lots of people have called him that. Including me. Still, his arrogance is irritating. Enticing too. Confidence is contagious.
I take a deep breath. Unfortunately, it smells like him. “Does it have to be tomorrow?”
“Do you have a conflict?” The question sounds like a challenge. His gaze flicks to a spot behind me. To the table I left, maybe.
“It’s late notice. What if we hadn’t run into each other tonight?”
“We did,” he counters. “Is ten too early?”
Another challenge.
I cross my arms. His eyes dip a second time, and I’m awash with heat all over again.
“I—that’s—ten is fine.”
I’m flustered and frazzled and it’s entirely his fault. Or mine, for allowing him to have such an effect on me. Problem is, that effect has never felt like a choice.
“See you then.” Otto turns and strides toward his table, leaving me staring after him.
Confused.
Annoyed.
And…excited.