Chapter 27
STRETCH PASS: A LONG PASS TO SPRING A TEAMMATE BEHIND DEFENDERS
Iwake up with my body hugging a throw pillow. My cheek is pressed against the leather of my couch so hard, I feel the edges of the stitching imprinted on my cheek. But the part that isn’t unsettling is the blanket tucked carefully around me.
I can’t help but recall the last time someone took such care when leaving me.
Amy slipped out of my bed for an early exam. I grumble, “Of course on one of the rare mornings I don’t have morning practice.”
Instead of reacting to my grumbling, she merely tucked the covers beneath my chin before pressing a kiss to my forehead and murmuring, “Sleep well. You deserve it.”
Sitting up slowly, the room doesn’t tilt from my mishap yesterday. I lift a hand to my head to realize it doesn’t hurt quite as much as yesterday.
That’s because of the way Amy cared for me.
I spy a folded note beneath a sealed bottle of water on my coffee table. I reach for both before warmth spreads through me.
I hope you slept well. Call me when you’re awake so I know you’re okay. —Amy
Just a few lines and I can feel a seismic shift between us.
She cares.
I blink rapidly to avoid tearing up. I revisit the moments of last night before I fell asleep. Dinner. Conversation. I hadn’t expected half of what happened. Hadn’t dared to wish for it. Still, I’m holding tangible evidence the night was real and not a dream.
Things are changing between us.
After my meeting with the athletic director, I head toward Amy’s classroom. I stop at the door and just watch her. She’s concentrating at the board, writing a complex math equation that might take me a century to solve.
She acknowledges my presence without stopping. “You’re staring.”
Just hearing her voice causes a need for her unlike any I’ve ever had. “How can you tell what I’m doing?”
“Because I can feel you.” She turns, offering me a quick smile. Then her eyes flick over me—quick, assessing. The same way she used to check me out before I devoted myself to a game. “Did you drink the water?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Shocking. You didn’t used to be so good at following instructions.”
I step into the room fully. “I’m sorry for falling asleep on the couch. For making you… deal with me.”
Amy’s gaze narrows. “You weren’t making me deal with you. You needed sleep.”
“Still—”
“Brennan, it was basic kindness.”
“I know.”
Then the words that fall from her lips make my heart lighten. “Besides, it’s not the only meal we’ll ever share together.”
“You think not?”
“I know it.” Her expression shifts as she studies me contemplatively. Satisfied with whatever she sees, she declares, “It wasn’t like this when we first started dating.”
“No, it wasn’t.” It’s better. So much better.
Amy sets the marker down to lean against the edge of her desk. “You used to hide all your pain. All your worries.”
“I guess…I thought…”
“Yes.” She steps forward. “What?”
“I thought if I showed weakness, I wouldn’t be accepted.”
“Last night, when you were sitting across from me, you showed me your pain.” Her voice catches. “You’ve changed.”
“I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to do anything with it,” she says. “When I got home, I realized I haven’t said something to you.”
“What’s that?”
“I forgive you. I need you to know that for us to move forward.”
I gape at her, undone. Forgiveness. A word I never thought she’d ever say to me. My heart shatters. “Amy—”
She raises a hand. “But don’t mistake my forgiveness for excusing the past like it didn’t happen.”
“I know.” Boy, do I know.
“I also need you to understand, this—whatever we’re becoming—still needs work.”
“I understand,” I say, and mean it. “No shortcuts.”
“So, we’re on the same page?”
“Absolutely.” For a charged moment, neither of us says anything until she breaks the silence.
“So, what brings you by? Looking to solve this?” She gestures to the board.
My lips curve. “You’re lucky I recognize that as quadratics.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I’ve always been impressed by you,” I counter.
“You’re going to make me blush.”
“It would look good on you.”
“Brennan…” Her voice is exasperated.
“I had a meeting with the athletic director. He wants me to talk to the Willow Creek athletes.”
“That’s right,” she says.
“You knew?”
“It was mentioned in the staff meeting.”
“Then, I wanted to see you because I woke up and I saw your note.”
There’s a pause where I do nothing but map her face with my eyes. She blushes before glancing away. “Have any idea what you’re going to say to them?”
“To the students?” I ask.
She nods, eyes returning to my face.
“Building your whole identity around sports is a surefire way of losing it. That our bodies are not invincible,” I continue. “That the brain isn’t either.”
“And?” she prompts.
“And I’m going to tell them the part people don’t put in the tabloids. That arenas can still be lonely. That applause can feel empty if no one knows who you really are.”
Her eyes hold mine. “That’s…good.”
“It’s honest,” I say.
The silence that follows is different. It’s intimate—charged with everything we’re not saying out loud.
Her next question comes from deep inside. “What do you want from this? Us?”
“Truth?”
“Always.”
I swallow. “To be with you. To not ruin it.”
“What makes you think you could?” Amy’s gaze flicks down to my mouth and back up again, turning the air in the room static.
“Because I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want you getting scared. I want you to be comfortable. ”
Her eyes bore into mine when she says, “I can’t promise you I won’t get scared.”
“I’m scared too,” I admit.
“Of what?”
“That I’ll look at you and feel everything I lost. That I’ll try to grab on too fast.”
Amy’s eyes soften. “I won’t let you.”
“Good,” I whisper. “I need your strength.”
Amy shifts closer. “Brennan, you don’t need me to know who you are.”
I start to protest, but she lifts a hand, stopping me before the words can form. “Who you were? The boy I loved? The man I…care for? You won’t let them disappear again.” Her hand lingers between us after stopping me from speaking. Then it shifts—her fingers drifting toward my face.
I don’t lean in. I don’t force it.
Then her fingers brush my jaw lightly.
My breath catches.
“Amy,” I whisper.
Her eyes flick to my mouth. “I’m just ending our date properly.”
My lips part in anticipation. Her hands slide down my chest until they link with my own. Her lips touch mine with a controlled tenderness that’s different from the passion in her apartment.
She’s letting herself test her boundaries without either of us falling apart.
My hands remain tangled with hers. Steadying her while her lips trace mine with soft nibbles before she drags her tongue over my lower lip.
The shudder that runs through me causes my mouth to open.
She grazes her tongue on the inside of my lip.
I dart mine out to let her know I’m receptive to whatever she wants.
Whatever she needs.
When we break apart, her forehead rests against mine. For long moments, we stay just like that. Our breath is intermingled when she whispers, “So, just to be certain, we’re exclusive?”
“Does this mean we’re dating?” I ask, trying to hold back the excitement in my voice.
“Dating,” she confirms.
“Exclusively.” I recall my irrational jealousy seeing another man with her at the grocery store the day she was doing her fundraiser.
“That’s what I need.”
I reply immediately. “That’s what I want.”
Her gaze holds mine. “And if there are problems—”
“We talk it out,” I say. “And I’ll keep doing the work.”
She studies me like she’s searching for the old me. The one who chose hockey. The one who abandoned her when she needed him most. I don’t flinch under the scrutiny.
Finally, the smile I’ve longed for too long breaks free. “Okay. Now, go away. I still have work to do.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I step back, my hands still gripping hers. Our arms stretch between us. “I’ll call you later?”
Her mouth curves—small, but real. “I’ll answer.”
As I walk down the halls, I realize something that hits me so hard I almost stop in my tracks.
Last night she took care of me. Today she let me in.
The combination has me punching the air in celebration. I feel better than I did when I scored my first goal.
No, I correct myself. Nothing’s ever felt like this.