Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
LUCAS
When I arrive at Anabelle’s house for Nolan’s birthday party, his gift tucked under my arm, kids are running everywhere, a Darth Vader pinata dangles from a tree, and Anabelle’s dad is manning the grill with an apron that says, “Kiss the Cook,” something he probably grabbed from her kitchen.
A flash of my hands buried in her hair and her sweet lips on mine goes through me.
Anabelle’s mom and Mrs. Wheaton are sitting in patio chairs, probably gossiping, and Anabelle is in a mouthwatering blue sundress, darting back and forth with trays of food.
She notices me as I come in, and she nods her welcome, but something about her demeanor is closed off, something that squeezes my heart painfully.
I ache for her. I’ve dreamed of our kiss too many times to count, tossing and turning in bed, losing more than one night of sleep over the emptiness of my arms. She’s becoming my home.
Making Maple Creek feel warmer, more welcoming.
Nolan is standing by the back fence, by himself, kicking a soccer ball around and frowning. But then he looks up and runs toward me, abandoning the ball.
“Lucas!” He wraps his arms around me. “I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I’d been able to talk Anabelle into letting me show up last night. “Your party is important to me, and so are you.”
“Are you going to be with my mom?” His eyes are so hopeful, and they mirror the hope in my heart I feel every time I look at his mom. Hope that’s usually followed by a tortured emptiness as I realize I can’t have her.
“I care a lot about you and your mom, but it’s complicated and I could mess things up for you. I never expected any of this—not the mentorship, meeting you—or your mom.” My heart aches at my words. But the best way I can show up for Nolan is to give him space.
“You’re not going to mess it up,” Nolan argues. “You’re doing great.”
I shake my head. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” But it’s his birthday, and I don’t want to ruin it. I hand him his gift. “I got you something.”
“Shouldn’t I wait to unwrap it with all the others?”
“I think we can break the rules just this once,” I whisper. He could use some immediate cheering up after our heavy conversation.
He grins and rips off the paper. “Stuff for RC cars?”
“It’s a kit to upgrade your crawler some more.”
“Awesome!”
Not that I’ll be around enough to help him upgrade it. A heaviness settles over me because I might have given him a gift he can’t figure out how to use, and I’ll end up following in my dad’s footsteps as a man who disappoints people who count on him.
“Pinata time!” Anabelle calls.
Nolan runs to a group of his friends as they prepare to hit the swinging dark lord.
I want this with him—the backyard party, the chaotic joy, this family that would fit so well with mine. Anabelle in that blue sundress in my arms, laughing with me. The more this dream is pulled from me, the more I crave it. The more I envision it, the more it feels . . . right.
Anabelle ties a scarf around Nolan’s eyes to blindfold him and hands him a broom to swing at the pinata. She looks up and gives me a guarded smile as the crowd cheers around Nolan.
“You got this, Nolan,” I call.
He gets into position and swings at Darth Vader.
One of the kids shrieks in horror, and we all turn to see what the deal is.
“What in the small-town crazy is that?” I say.
An ostrich charges straight for the pinata with a bloodcurdling screech, and the crowd scatters.
Nolan is still blindfolded and keeps swinging cluelessly.
The bird pecks at the pinata and creates two holes over Darth Vader’s eyes.
Anabelle grabs Nolan, and he pulls down the blindfold as the ostrich full-on attacks the Dark Lord like a Jedi Master.
“He needs a lightsaber!” Nolan calls.
“I think he’s holding his own without one,” Anabelle says.
Candy rains down on the crowd, and kids swarm the area.
“Someone call nine-one-one!” one of the parents yells. She looks like the type to ask to speak to the manager.
“The police chief is already here,” Anabelle says, nodding toward a guy with his arms crossed like he’s in no mood to be bothered.
Next to him is Anabelle’s friend, Layla, the flower shop owner.
Oh, yeah. I recognize that guy. He pulled me over last month for speeding through town.
Figures he’d be friends with Anabelle. She seems to know the entire town.
“Cuddles!” Mrs. Wheaton calls, her voice cutting through all the chaos. “You silly bird. What are you doing here?”
Cuddles runs up to her and greets her with a screech.
“That’s his name?” I ask incredulously. “He sent that pinata to his death, and we’re supposed to call him that?”
“Once you get to know him, you’ll learn he’s the biggest softie.” She says this to me, but she’s facing the bird and patting his head like he’s a dog. It’s a wonder he’s not ripping her fingers off.
“Is he yours?” I ask.
“Oh, heavens no! He belongs to Mr. Maverick, who has a bit of land about a block away,” Mrs. Wheaton explains.
The cop steps forward. “I’ve already put out a call to the animal’s owner, and he should be on his way shortly. It’s not the first time this has happened, so I’ve learned to keep him in my phone.” He waves his device at us as Anabelle approaches.
“Cuddles is always getting out and taking himself on walks around town, so everyone knows him. He’s kind of hard to miss,” Anabelle leans in and tells me. Her hair brushes against my bare arm, and goosebumps raise up. I don’t move away, and the air hangs thick between us.
The chaos, Nolan laughing, and Anabelle by my side warms my heart. What if there is a way I could help her land that antique mall after all? If I pitch the idea to her just right, would she actually accept it?
“Mom! Lucas! Look how much candy I got,” Nolan calls, running up to us, candy spilling from his arms.
Being close to her without having her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m finished with avoiding her.
If only she felt the same way.
The evening after the party, at sunset, I check my phone as I head into the locker room.
Tommy: Don’t blow it tonight. Word is Atlanta will have a recruiter at the game.
I grip my phone tighter, the sounds of the crowd in the distance. Even they’re amped up for this game. I open the door and head toward my locker. Jace is already there, tying his cleats.
“You ready to rock and roll?” He stands and stretches his back before moving his neck from side to side. “I heard you got the green light in physical therapy.”
I nod. “This morning.” It’s everything I wanted a month ago. I rotate my knee, and it mostly feels fine. Just a whisper of resistance—but I’ve been ignoring that for weeks.
“And that means no excuses,” Coach says, coming up behind me, slapping my back. “I need you to give it your all tonight.”
If we win this game, we go on to the Atlantic Cup Championship, and after that, it’s nationals.
Once I’m dressed and taping my knee, Jace sits beside me again, Coach nowhere in sight. “You okay? You seem off.” He keeps his voice low.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” What an understatement.
“Have you given the antique mall idea any more thought?”
I grunt.
“So you have! Does this mean you’re thinking of giving up pro soccer for Anabelle?”
“It might,” I admit.
“Bro, this is huge. Tell me I didn’t see this coming.”
I scowl and pull my gloves on. “Don’t get too excited because she may want nothing to do with me.”
“I hope she does, because despite all your grunting and scowling, you seem happier when you talk about Maple Creek, more so than when you talk about soccer.”
It was never the plan to pursue a life in a small town, to find love here. Yes, love. I’ve fallen for this woman, heart and soul. Maybe I’m already sabotaging my return to Atlanta because part of me wants this life with Anabelle and Nolan.
As I step out onto the field, the crowd goes wild, but my mind is still in Maple Creek, with burgers on the grill and Darth Vader swinging in pieces from Cuddle’s vicious attack, as we celebrate the eleventh birthday of the most amazing kid I’ve ever met.
With a minute left in the game, the crowd roars as I block another goal. The game is tied and in overtime, and we need this game to reach the championship. We’ve done well so far this season, despite my inability to perform at my best.
Despite how well I’ve played this game so far today, my mind is still at that birthday party, watching Nolan and Anabelle together, Nolan hugging me and treating me like I belong. The image of Nolan wrapping his arms around me hits harder than any tackle ever could.
For the first time in my life, I want it more than winning this game. But I can’t have it, and that hurts worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Because wanting something doesn’t mean you get to keep it.
The opposing team rushes toward the goal, and I snap into action. There’s a clean pass, and the striker takes a shot. This is my moment—or it would be—to impress Atlanta.
I lunge toward the ball, full extension with all I have inside me.
I miss—and with a pop, I land hard on the ground, a sharp pain in my knee. The screaming crowd fades to nothing.
Everything is gone. Anabelle, Nolan, and now my career.