Chapter 12 – Brianna
“Coach said I’m not starting on Saturday.” Sawyer slams the door of my SUV shut with a little more force than necessary, her pout already firmly in place as she slides into the passenger seat and buckles up.
I glance at her as I back out of the middle school parking lot.
Her arms are crossed over her chest like armor and eyes focused firmly on the dashboard like staring at that will change her circumstances.
The push of her bottom lip and the heavy sigh that follows send me straight back to a younger version of myself.
I remember this exact feeling, the sting of being overlooked, of feeling like I’d done everything right with my training only to be passed over for someone better.
The last time I remember feeling this way, I was in physical therapy school.
I’d had my sights set on a coveted rotation working with the number one quarterback in the NFL.
I had straight As, perfect attendance, glowing reviews from all my instructors, but none of it mattered when they chose someone else despite my qualifications and skills. It had felt like a punch to the gut.
But instead of wallowing, I kept pushing and recognized there must have been a reason I didn’t get the job that I couldn’t see.
Eventually my hard work and tenacity ended up paying off.
In my next clinical rotation, I landed a spot working with the number one baseball team in the league in Wisconsin which allowed me to be closer to my mom during her last years of life.
That’s when I fell in love with baseball.
It’s funny how things end up working out.
I reach over and give Sawyer’s arm a gentle reassuring squeeze.
“It’s just the first game. You’ve been working hard. You’ll get your shot. Just because you’re not starting now doesn’t mean you won’t play on Friday.”
She exhales, her arms still folded as her bottom lip wobbles slightly.
She’s quiet, and I try to think of what my mom would’ve said to me in this moment—something warm, something encouraging.
She probably would have held me in her arms and stroked my hair, too.
All the soft words die in my throat as my mind drifts to how badly I miss her.
Ever since she passed away, it’s like all those little encouraging sayings and bits of advice she would give me have slipped further out of reach.
I’ve tried to hold on to them, tried to keep her memory alive by carrying her words, traditions, positivity and rituals, but sometimes just thinking about her hurts too much.
I rub at the hollow spot in my chest, a familiar pang of guilt tugging at me. I don’t mean that I want to stop thinking about her. I could never forget her. I will never forget her.
“How about this?” I force a smile, desperate to lighten the mood. “We go home, I spike some volleyballs at you so you can practice your digs in the backyard, then we eat a ridiculous amount of pizza and pass out while watching a movie?”
Her lip twitches. The pout lifts just a little as her brown eyes peek toward me. “Pizza?”
“Pizza,” I confirm with a grin.
“And another rom com?”
I smile. “As long as it’s age appropriate, yes.”
“That sounds good.”
She finally uncrosses her arms and reaches for the radio, turning it to her favorite station.
Some nasal voice croons about broken trust and heartache—pop music that would’ve been on repeat in my own life when I was her age.
It’s catchy and predictable, and I’m certain it’ll be stuck in my head the rest of the night.
I sing along with her, matching her energy as she belts the lyrics at the top of her lungs.
I get it. Predictability is comforting. It’s why we rewatch the same set of movies, binge our favorite shows on repeat, and reread the same books repeatedly.
In a world that’s constantly shifting, predictability feels safe.
***
When we get home, we order pizza, and Sawyer and I head to the backyard to practice. Her knee pads are stained green from diving around in the grass, but she’s getting better. A lot better, actually. Her reaction time still needs work, but that’s something I can help with.
“Keep your eye on the ball,” I remind her as she misses one of my softer hits and brushes grass off her knees. “Don’t look down before you dive. You have to trust that the floor will still be there.”
She nods, determination etched into her expression as she resets her defensive stance, ready for another go. I’m proud of her tenacity. This time she gets my spike—popping the ball back to me perfectly.
“Good job!” I cheer, her brown eyes lighting up as she stands with a proud smile.
“I feel like I’m getting better.”
“You are.” I grin, knowing she’s closer to being ready now if they sub her in on Friday. “If they put you in, just remember to trust the floor.”
Her smile falters just a bit as she wipes her palms on her shorts. “Do you think my dad’s disappointed he can’t come to the game?”
That question hits me square in the chest. Seth and I haven’t actually talked about her game, but we don’t need to.
I already know he’s disappointed. Any parent would be.
Her first game with the new team is an away game in Boston, and Seth has a home game in New York that same night.
Bad timing in the cruelest way. I feel guilty about it too.
I’ll be working the Mayhem’s home game, taking care of the players, which means I can’t travel to Boston to watch her play either.
For a kid like Sawyer, firsts matter. First teams. First games. First moments where she’ll glance into the crowd hoping to find the people she loves looking back at her. And neither of us will be there. I step toward her, tucking the volleyball under my arm as I wipe the sweat off my face.
“I’m sure he’s disappointed.” My voice is softer now. “It’s not fair that your first game’s the same time as his, but I’ll keep him updated on your stats.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Plus, I’ll be at your home game next week, and so will your dad.”
She bites her lip and nods. “Thanks, Bri. Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course. Anything.”
Her gaze drops, her fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt “Do you read?”
“Yeah, sometimes. Why?”
“Would you… buy me a book for the trip tomorrow?” Her voice is small, almost hesitant. “I hate flying. It gives me so much anxiety and I need something to distract me so that I don’t look like the weird new girl freaking out on the plane with my teammates. I feel weird asking my dad to buy it.”
“Of course. You’ll need something to keep you busy on that flight. What kind of book?”
Her eyes dart away, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s a fantasy book.”
I raise a brow, remembering what Natasha had shared about Sawyer’s reading interests.
“Oh… is it young adult?”
Her blush deepens, but she nods, her smile softening. “Yeah.”
And just like that, something in my chest feels a little lighter.
I don’t have all the answers, and half the time I’m not even sure I’m saying the right thing, but my mom was always so good at this.
Not just supporting every random, temporary obsession I had, but stepping into it with me.
Participating. Letting herself delight in the things that made me happy simply because they made me happy.
I think that mattered more than I ever realized growing up.
And maybe that’s why this moment feels so important to me now. Because Sawyer trusts me enough to come to me and ask.
“Alright, fantasy book it is.”
Her face lights up, and for a moment, everything feels a little less heavy.
“Faeries, vampires… it’s that kind of stuff.” Sawyer’s voice is eager as she explains the novel, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “All the girls in my class are reading it right now.”
I bite back a smile because I remember my high school vampire phase right when the Twilight series was released. I was team Edward all the way but now that I’m older, I realize the real crime was ignoring how hot Charlie Swan was. Single dad. Owned his own home. A little grumpy. Stable career.
Now wait a minute… that sounds a lot like Sawyer’s dad.
“Text me the name and I’ll look into it.
” I keep my tone casual, but I’m already mentally preparing for a deep dive into my childhood tonight to be sure this book is age appropriate.
“If it looks good, I’ll grab it for you.
But…” I pause, giving her a gentle but pointed look.
“I’m going to tell your dad that I’m doing this.
I don’t want to keep anything from him.”
She nods quickly, her brown eyes serious. “Okay. Thank you.”
The doorbell rings interrupting our conversation.
“How about you hop in the shower while I get the pizza set up?” I suggest. “Your dad should be home soon.”
Her smile brightens, and she’s off like a shot, her footsteps echoing on the staircase as she dashes up to her room.
I move to the front door, feeling the weight of the day finally settle into my bones.
It’s been nonstop. I’d had a full shift with the Mayhem this morning working with the players and prepping them for their game, followed by a mad dash to make it back to Brookhaven in time for Sawyer’s practice pick up.
Seth had to stay back in NYC for some press work which means our paths didn’t cross during my PT hours.
Not that I would have minded. But something tells me after the massage I gave him a few days ago, he’s back to avoiding me.
I hurry to the door, pulling it open, fully expecting to find the delivery driver on the other side. Instead, I find someone else entirely. A man. Tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to properly look at him.
And holy shit. He looks way too much like Seth.
“Hello?” I blink, taking in the broad shoulders, messy, dark brown hair, and cocky grin that’s stretched across his handsome face.
His smile widens as he shoves a hand toward me. “Hi there. I’m Levi. And you are…?”
Levi... Levi Tremblay.