Chapter 4
Chapter Four
NASH
Back in town only a few days and I already find myself at a flag football game.
Wyatt and I stand on the grassy sidelines, huffing and puffing, as we watch his teammates in their first rec game of the off season.
They mixed up the teams this time and had offense play with their friends or girlfriends, and defense play with theirs.
This will be my last pickup game of any kind before the official start of volleyball season.
“What did you think of your first team meeting?” Wyatt asks me as we watch Jaden attempt to play quarterback.
“It was great. The coach is amazing, and the girls are fun. It’s going to be an interesting season, though.
I can’t imagine there aren’t kinks to work out in a brand-new league.
” Despite the fact that Italy has had a professional women’s volleyball league since right after World War II, there hasn’t been one in the States since the eighties. And that one only lasted two years.
Five years I’ve been gone. Years that I’ve loved—don’t get me wrong.
I just missed so much. I only got to see Wyatt play as a Butcher once in his four years there.
I wish I had been able to swing it more, but the distance and our schedules made it so hard.
I don’t mention it, though. I can’t turn back time, and I don’t want to poke at anything sensitive when we’re supposed to be having fun.
When he told me he was leaving to be a Hurricane, I made sure to come home to support him.
“I’m sure a group of pros like y’all can handle it.” He waves his hand affably, throwing around the Texan slang I know he just picked up recently.
I cross my arms as I take in the wide Texas sky. “It’s sure good to be back. Although, I already tried the gelato they carry at H-E-B, and it was trash compared to the real thing.” Wyatt chuckles. “I’m serious,” I say, indignant. He, of all people, should know. He is very serious about sweets.
“Oh, I know you are.” He pauses, looking at his cleats digging into the short grass. I can feel the shift in the mood, the moment feels like the second before a balloon pops. The tightness of the anticipation. “Now that you’re back, I thought maybe we could–”
“That’s game! Everyone bring it in for a team photo.” If Colin had a whistle, I know he’d be blowing it obnoxiously.
I look back at Wyatt. “We could what?”
His face shutters. Something in his eyes closes off and I can no longer read his thoughts. “Nothing.” He guides me toward the field. “Let’s go get in this team photo.”
I trail him onto the field where Noah, Audrey, Colin, Chrissy, Jaden, Mack, plus some people I just met before the game—and immediately forgot all their names—are standing, waiting to take a pic.
I only met Audrey recently when I came back to see Wyatt play at the same time she started dating Noah and began coming around to Hurricane games.
Chrissy and Colin strike me as a variant of Barbie and Ken.
And it appears that Jaden and Mack are in a fight for the label of class clown.
Chrissy sets her phone up on the tripod, starts the timer, and prances back to the group.
I squeeze in close to Wyatt, the stench of the other men threatening to knock me over.
The phone’s camera flashes a couple times in quick succession, and Chrissy runs over to check it.
“Let’s take another.” There’s a chorus of groans.
“Just one more,” she cries as she starts the timer and runs back.
I look at Wyatt and we make pointed eye contact.
Someone’s going to have to stop her or we’re going to be here all night.
When Chrissy tries to make everyone do a third attempt, it’s Noah who speaks up.
“I’m sure that one was fine.” Out of the side of his mouth where he thinks only Audrey can hear, he says, “I’m sure the first ten were fine.
” I chuckle under my breath. Those two are so funny.
Their relationship started out funny, too.
Audrey is his social media manager turned girlfriend—which was a whole thing last season.
“Okay, okay,” Chrissy huffs. “I’ll send the best of the batch to the group chat.” No doubt tweaked, filtered, and edited to high heaven. She turns to Noah and Audrey, mentioning their plans for tomorrow as they wander off. Everyone else moves to gather their bags.
Noah calls after Wyatt. “See you later this week for weights?”
“Yeah, man,” he calls back as we both head to the car to go back home.
We turn onto Wyatt’s street that’s filled to the brim with charming townhouses piled on top of each other, and I think I might like to get my own apartment in this neighborhood once I’m settled.
It could be a real possibility if the Moons win, and I get my share of the million-dollar prize money.
There’s not much of Houston that’s walkable, but this little area off to the side of downtown is.
There’s a bar that has trivia every Tuesday night, a huge H-E-B, and a cute little coffee shop all within walking distance from Wyatt’s front door.
I have to find some time while I’m here to go to trivia night, if even by myself, instead of having no fun for the entire season like when I was in Italy.
When we get inside, we dump our gym bags by the front door and head up the stairs, making a beeline to the fridge.
It’s then that I realize that the door of his fridge, much like his walls, is empty of any personal items, and for some reason, that bothers me so much.
It’s not until Wyatt hands me the Italian dressing for our premade salad that it hits me.
“Where’s the postcard I sent you from Rome?” I ask, pointing to the empty real estate on the door of the fridge. Maybe he put it away somewhere for safekeeping? But I think a postcard from a different country is definitely something most people would save to look at each day.
“What are you talking about?”
I huff. “I went to the touristy part of Rome where they have tiny shops that sell notebooks, magnets, and postcards, and I mailed you one.”
“Well, I never got it. Where did you mail it from?”
“The store had a little outgoing mailbox right outside. The man gave me a pen to use, and I bought a stamp from him. I wrote it up against the brick wall outside the store and put it in the little–” A grin breaks across Wyatt’s face, followed by a quiet laugh.
“What,” I ask. “What’s funny about a tiny mailbox?
“There’s no way that was legit. That was one-hundred percent a tourist trap.”
“Then why bother selling me a stamp?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Explain that.”
“To make it look real, obviously.” My mouth hangs open like a fish.
He’s totally right. The worst part is, I had been in Rome over a year at that point.
You’d think I would have known something like that with months of being there, but apparently not.
Must have caught me at a bad time. Maybe I was tipsy?
I don’t remember. All I remember was walking along the street, finding that little place, and dragging Temi in behind me.
Clocking the realization in my eyes, Wyatt catches my hand and gently pats the back of it.
“Don’t worry. There are worse scams to fall for than that one. ”
“Yeah,” I nod, but my heart sinks a little in my chest. He never got the postcard that I signed with all my love.
I would have written more, but spilling my guts on a tiny piece of paper where everyone who handles it will read my thoughts didn’t feel right.
Even that one small admission never made it here.
Wyatt never got it out of the mailbox, held it in his hands, and knew that I loved every second of our kiss at my going away party.
He was unaffected by it anyway, so maybe it’s for the best.
“You’re right. Well, I’m going to get cleaned up for bed. Have a good night, Wyatt.”
“You too, Nash.”
That night I lay in my bed, doomscrolling per usual, when a text from Chrissy pings my phone.
I open it and find the photo we took earlier.
I pinch the screen to zoom in on myself.
I’m a sweaty mess, but that’s a regular day for me.
And for the guys. It’s nice to look at a picture of myself surrounded by people who don’t make me look like a freak.
I’m a staggering six-foot-one, but that’s nothing compared to Wyatt’s six-foot-five frame.
I move the screen to look at him closer. His blonde hair is floppy on top, and a couple days of scruff adorns his jawline.
And he’s looking right at me.
He’s completely ignoring the camera, looking down at me while I smile into the flash. His blue eyes look… full of adoration? That can’t be right. We’re just friends. So what’s up with this? Is this actually the best picture we took, or did Chrissy send just this one to me on purpose?
Five years ago, he kissed me the night of my going away party.
The next day, I got on a plane, and we never really talked about it.
I thought about it the entire flight. Replaying his lips on mine over and over again.
Studying the look in his eyes after, trying to figure out what was going on behind them.
When I landed in Rome, I turned my phone off airplane mode, expecting it to blow up with messages from Wyatt either explaining or apologizing, but there was nothing.
After twelve hours straight of traveling to a new country, then getting right into the groove of practice while fighting jet lag, I had to pack that memory away and move on.
By the time I realized I never said anything either, it felt like too much time had passed.
I chalked it up to him being overwhelmed by emotions before his best friend left the country.
Since he also never brought it up, he must have thought the same.
Something propelled by knowing we would be apart, and that for the next however many years our friendship would be harder than it had been while living two blocks from each other in a small college town in the middle of Wisconsin.
This photo makes me realize just how strong my feelings still are for him. Time and distance have done nothing for my poor heart.