26
Kennedy
Cory and I worked ten-hour days, including weekends. It had been two weeks since the first commercials had appeared on TVs and billboards around the city, and they’d been a huge success.
The first official event with the Los Angeles inner-city kids was set for this weekend.
Six different fields across the city had been booked, each dedicated to a sport—football, baseball/softball, soccer, basketball, lacrosse, and a cheerleading/dance combo.
Transportation had been arranged and paid for entirely through donations.
The plan was to have the children rotate through all six sites over the next six weeks, spending a day at each location.
Local high school students had volunteered as chaperones on the buses and would get the kids situated and organized into groups according to age.
At the end of the rotation, the kids would pick the sport they liked best and spend another six weeks focusing on that.
Coaches from local schools and clubs had volunteered their time, along with cheerleaders and dancers. Even the LA basketball team had sent a representative to their site.
Restaurants and supermarkets had stepped up to provide water, sports drinks, and snacks to keep everyone hydrated and fed. And just this past week, we’d managed to secure donations of shoes for kids who didn’t have any.
Several other California cities had taken notice of what we were doing and reached out with an interest in launching similar programs in their cities.
Lance had volunteered me to act as the representative.
I would meet with city officials and the professional teams in their areas to discuss potential projects.
My first stop was San Francisco, where I sat down with members of the city board and representatives from their baseball team.
They were very impressed with what we’d managed to do in Los Angeles and immediately asked for a contract.
They’d give us free rein under one condition: everything had to be up and running within three months.
It was a very aggressive plan, but I believed it would be doable.
I texted the details to Lance from the gates at the San Francisco airport, pacing near the windows overlooking the runway. When my phone buzzed, I expected it to be him, but it wasn’t.
Josh
So . . . how many cities have you conquered this week?
I smiled as I responded.
Kennedy
Just one, but it’s a big one.
Josh
Knew you’d do it. When are you back in LA?
Kennedy
Boarding now.
There was a brief pause before the dots appeared again.
Josh
Okay. Have a safe flight.
Kennedy
Thanks.
The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. I grabbed my carry-on and headed toward the gate.
I had just landed back at LAX when my phone buzzed with a call from Chuck, my boss in New York.
“You’re doing really good work, Kennedy,” he said. “Very impressive. I just spoke with the attorneys, and they’ll have the contract to the San Francisco board by the beginning of next week.”
“Great. I’ll let them know.”
I hailed a cab while Chuck kept talking about the technical side of the project. By the time I slid into the sticky back seat, he dropped the real bomb.
“If you pull all of this off, you’re looking at a big promotion. The owners have noticed the work you’ve done, and I know there are already discussions about both a promotion and a substantial bonus.”
It was everything I’d been working toward: the recognition, the trust, and the payoff for all the long hours.
“Thank you, Chuck. I really appreciate that.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He chuckled. “But you deserve it.”
As the cab pulled into traffic, my mind started spinning. A bigger office. More money. Things I could actually buy instead of just dreaming about. Maybe even my own place . . . or moving in with Nash.
But I worried about the other shoe dropping. Would that promotion bring me back home to New York, or would it tie me to California for good?
Chuck went quiet for a few seconds when I asked, and I dreaded the answer before it even came.
He cleared his throat. “We’d need you on-site in LA, at least to start. Until the other cities are on board. So . . . another three months or so, then we could reevaluate.”
His words hit like a gut punch. The kind of promotion he was hinting at was practically unheard-of at my age, but another three months away from Nash?
That wasn’t what I wanted. Still, leaving in the middle of a project wouldn’t look good either.
It’d make me seem like a quitter, and I could definitely kiss any shot at a promotion goodbye.
I missed Manhattan, and I missed Nash. Texts weren’t enough, not even close.
The only time we’d managed to see each other since I left was when I’d gone back to Manhattan over Christmas.
And as much as I’d looked forward to it, the reality had been . . . harder.
My parents had arrived at Nash’s apartment shortly before his parents.
“Oh, Cindy and Rob!” Liz had shouted the moment she spotted them on the couch. What followed was pure chaos, the laughter, tears, and hugs that came from not having seen each other for a few years.
Jackson and Isaac had barreled in behind them, bumping shoulders and laughing the way they used to in high school. Isaac’s fiancé, Melinda, followed with a hesitant smile. For a moment, it almost felt like being sixteen again, Jackson trying to embarrass me any chance he got.
Except this time, Nash wasn’t just my best friend.
His hand lingered on my hip, almost possessively, like he was afraid I’d disappear.
He studied my face, searching for something, like he needed reassurance I didn’t know how to give in a crowded room.
“You two look good together,” my mom said brightly, handing us each a glass of wine like it was her place instead of Nash’s.
Dinner was loud. Too loud.
Our parents laughed at stories from when we were kids—ice rinks and scraped knees and a winter where Nash had “accidentally” launched a snowball through our kitchen window. Jackson rolled his eyes, and Isaac chimed in with jokes. Everyone laughed.
Everyone but Nash.
He was much more serious than normal and kept touching me—my hand, my thigh, the back of my neck. He added food to my plate and watched as I ate. I tried to reassure him that I was okay, leaning into him, giving him small smiles, trying to bridge whatever invisible space had come between us.
But it was there.
I felt it. And he did too.
When the door closed behind our families and we were finally alone, he pulled me into his arms like he was afraid I’d vanish again.
And I kissed him like I was afraid we wouldn’t survive the distance.
He loved me over and over during those two nights—like if our bodies spoke loudly enough, it would fix everything else. And it had been easy to let go in his arms, but the strain between us wasn’t quite as easy to ignore.
Distance was definitely not our friend.