Chapter 3
BECCA
I can blame the billboard for making me think of Theo a little more than normal.
But seeing him right in front of me feels like fate playing a practical joke.
I am not prepared for this.
For him. Here. In front of me after all this time.
“Breathe,” Mia repeats from beside me, and I take a deep breath. The rush of oxygen feels good enough that I must not have been breathing, so I force myself to focus on the rhythm of it, air in through my nose, out through my mouth.
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Mia whispers. “I can. I might be little, but I’m scrappy.”
The thought of Mia, who’s barely five feet tall, trying to take down an enormous professional hockey player is enough to make me chuckle and break out of the paralyzed stupor Theo’s presence has put me in, and I give my head a little shake.
“I can handle him,” I say, holding her gaze. “But stay close, yeah?”
She nods, her dark brown eyes earnest as she says, “You know I’ve got you.”
She stays back as I slowly move toward my car. Theo is watching me closely, his expression clearly hopeful, but there’s also a wariness there, like he’s not quite sure how I’m going to respond.
That makes two of us. I’m not sure how I’m going to respond either.
Theo stands fully upright as I approach.
Even though I technically saw him when he was in for surgery and I just watched him in a video not fifteen minutes ago, seeing him in person, healthy and whole, is a different matter entirely.
He seems so much bigger than he did in high school, more than I realized when he was strapped to a gurney.
But his eyes are the same piercing blue, his hair the same sandy brown, though it’s longer now than it was in the video, messy waves falling onto his forehead just like they did in high school.
I’m suddenly struck by the memory of giving him a haircut—or at least attempting to give him one.
He wouldn’t stop flirting with me, his hands sneaking up to wrap round my waist or tickle my sides.
At one point, he made me jump so badly I ended up cutting one section of hair in the front clear down to the scalp.
Theo couldn’t stop laughing—he knew he was to blame—and I threatened to buzz his whole head just to spite him.
Luckily, his mom managed to fix it—no buzz cut required—but I mourned the loss of those curls for weeks. The thought triggers a wave of something like nostalgia but tinged with a drop of sadness that makes my heart ache the slightest bit.
“Theo,” I manage to say, but there’s barely any volume to my voice, and the word seems lost in the vastness of the parking garage.
He must hear me anyway, because he takes a step forward, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Hey, Becca.”
I lick my lips. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts his shoulders in a simple shrug. “Waiting for you.”
He’s waiting for me.
He said that so easily. Like it’s perfectly normal for him to show up outside my work after eight years.
“Clearly,” I say to Theo. “But … how?” I only work three shifts a week. How did he know I would be here? Or when my shift would end?
“One of the Jaguars’ trainers has a sister who works at the hospital,” Theo explains.
“She found out when you were working and passed along the info. I was going to wait by the elevator, but then I recognized your car and thought it might be better to…” His words trail off, and he runs a hand through his hair.
“You know what? I’m suddenly realizing how creepy all of this sounds. I promise my intentions are good.”
There’s something endearing about his sudden sheepishness. The Theo Williamson I used to know was all swagger and charm and effusive confidence. It makes me wonder how else he’s changed. If this is the way he is all the time, or if it’s only because he’s interacting with me.
“Waiting at the car was a better choice,” I say. “You might have gotten in trouble with security for skulking around the elevator.”
Behind me, Mia lets out a little snort of laughter.
I’d already forgotten she was there, but I did tell her to stay close, so I shouldn’t be surprised she’s listening, and I can’t fault her for laughing.
The security guard who patrols the parking garage is hulking, definitely big enough to intimidate Theo.
But he’s a huge Jaguars fan. He’d probably pass out if he ran into Theo in the parking garage.
“Dean?” Theo asks. “Nice guy. I signed his hat for him.”
I let out a little laugh, wishing I could have witnessed the interaction. “I bet he loved that.”
“I also promised to get tickets to a game for him and his kid once the season starts.”
Something twinges behind my ribs at the thought of Theo doing something nice for Dean and his son.
“You probably made his whole year,” I say.
“And his son is the sweetest. He has cerebral palsy, so I’ve met him a few times when he’s been here for physical therapy.
He loves the Jaguars—definitely your biggest fan. ”
Theo nods. “Good. That’s great. Maybe I could get him into the locker room to meet the team.”
Oh geez. Is he for real right now? He has to stop talking about all these nice things he’s doing, or I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be over him. “That would be really nice of you. No one’s more deserving.”
Theo shifts his weight from one foot to the other. As he moves, my eye catches on the bumper sticker affixed to my car, just to the right of him.
The sticker reads I walk for my mom, a souvenir from the MS Awareness 5k Theo and I did the spring of our junior year. My mom’s multiple sclerosis diagnosis had been fairly recent at the time, and my entire family was still grappling with how to best support her.
It was Theo who did the research about the fundraiser and suggested we put together a team.
He took charge of the whole thing. Made us team t-shirts.
Convinced half of his junior hockey team to volunteer.
He even made a special shirt for my mom and promised he’d stay beside her the entire three miles.
Theo tilts his head toward the bumper sticker. “That’s how I knew the car was yours.” His eyes soften before he adds, “That was a good day.”
His words send an ache right to the center of my heart.
He made it a good day. After my family drove home, Theo walked me to my car, and we added the bumper sticker to the back before he lifted me onto the trunk and stepped close, my knees bracketing his hips.
He kissed me long and hard before breaking the kiss and telling me he loved me for the first time.
I kissed him back, nipping his bottom lip with my teeth before saying, “Took you long enough to say it. I’ve felt that way for months already.”
His strong hands gripped my hips as his blue eyes darkened. “Don’t think I didn’t feel it just because I didn’t say it. I didn’t want to scare you away.”
Our lips met one more time. “You never could.”
“How’s your mom?” Theo asks now. “Are your parents still in Frisco?”
“They are,” I say. “And she’s good. She still has bad days, but for the most part, she feels great. She just started playing pickleball.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Theo says.
I glance at my watch. “So … you’ve just been waiting? My shift ended over an hour ago. You didn’t want to just text me?”
His lips tilt into a small smile. “I tried that, actually. You didn’t get them? I thought maybe you’d changed your number.”
“No, it’s the same…” My words trail off, and I press my lips together.
If I didn’t get his texts, it can only be because I still have him blocked.
“Ah,” Theo says, and an awkward silence falls between us. He’s not an idiot. He knows how cell phones work as well as I do. But what am I supposed to say? When I blocked him, it was a matter of survival. I had to stop waiting to hear from him. I had to move forward on my own terms.
Theo clears his throat. “Carter told me he saw you when I was in surgery. I’ve been meaning to reach out, but then…” He pushes his hands into his pockets, rocking on his feet like he’s nervous. Or just really uncomfortable.
“I totally get it,” I say. “I’m sure you’ve been focused on your recovery. I promise I didn’t have any expectations that you would reach out or—”
“But I wanted to,” he says, cutting me off, then he lifts a placating hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. What I’m trying to say is that I wanted to see you.”
His words send a tiny thrill racing through me, but that’s ridiculous. The video I watched today was a keen reminder that Theo Williamson is not just the boy from Texas I used to know.
He’s grown into an elite athlete. A star on a team that’s among the best in the league. He signs autographs. Gets recognized in public. He has over four hundred thousand followers on his Instagram account.
He’s a star, and I’m still just a girl from Frisco, Texas, living a very ordinary adult life.
“I wanted to,” Theo repeats. “There was just some stuff I had to work through first.”
I study his expression, trying to make sense of what he means.
Stuff could just be his recovery. I’m sure it’s been a long and arduous road. With the nerve damage he likely suffered, he’s probably still recovering. But the weight in Theo’s words makes me think that’s not what he means.
My gut tightens at the possibility, and I suddenly feel the urge to flee.
In the weeks right after Theo’s surgery, I imagined a dozen different ways a potential meeting between us might go. Would he want to apologize? Would I let him? Does it even matter anymore?
When he didn’t reach out, a small part of me was disappointed, but a bigger part was relieved. Some things really are best left in the past. Why talk about it now? Why wade back into all those feelings when we can’t do anything to change what happened?
Theo clears his throat. “So, now that I’m here, I was hoping we could—”
“How’s your hand?” I say, a little too loudly, interrupting him. I can only cross my fingers he’ll allow the subject change. Whatever he’s hoping we can do, I’m already positive I’d rather not.
His eyebrows lift, then he looks down at his open palm.