Chapter 21 #3
She sees me.
Then her father.
Then me again.
Her mouth falls open.
“Haverhill?”
I smile.
“Merry Christmas, Bookworm.”
Her eyes narrow.
Not the response I hoped for.
She marches toward me.
I open my arms.
She ignores them.
“You betrayed me.”
Coach Goodwin coughs.
“I invited him.”
She whips toward him.
“You what?”
“After he showed up at my camp unregistered.”
Her head snaps back to me.
“You went to his gym?”
“Technically.”
“Kane.”
“I paid the sixty-five dollars.”
“That is not the problem.”
“I know.”
She's pissed.
Actually pissed.
Her cheeks are bright.
Eyes flashing behind those glasses.
Still the prettiest thing I've seen since I left California.
“Babe.”
“No.”
“Can I explain?”
“You flew to Chicago after I specifically told you—”
“I know.”
“Then you went to my father's gym.”
“I know.”
“Behind my back.”
“I know that part sounds bad.”
“It is bad.”
Her father backs toward the kitchen.
“I'm going to help your mother.”
“Coward,” Hannah says.
“Correct.”
He disappears.
Now it's just us.
Hannah folds her arms.
I take off my beanie.
“It's really cold here.”
Her expression doesn't move.
“Not helping.”
“Worth trying.”
“Kane.”
I stop.
No jokes.
She deserves that.
“I didn't come because I thought you were wrong.”
Her face stays tight.
“I came because you were right.”
That gets through.
Barely.
“I knew exactly what would happen if I just showed up at your house.”
I glance toward the hallway of family pictures.
“Your dad would want to talk basketball.”
“He always does.”
“So I went to him first.”
Her arms loosen slightly.
“I told him.”
“What?”
“Everything.”
Alarm flashes.
“Everything?”
“Not everything.”
Her cheeks turn red.
Despite herself.
I almost smile.
Don't.
“I told him how we met.”
I step closer.
“That you gave me a fake name. That I liked you before I knew who your dad was. Before I knew you could see my game better than most coaches.”
She watches me.
“I told him I love you.”
Silence.
Her anger falters.
“You did?”
“Yeah.”
My chest tightens.
“And I told him that if I stayed for Christmas, basketball was off-limits.”
Her lips part.
“What?”
“No film.”
I tick them off.
“No draft projections. No Stanford offense. No asking about my left hand while we're eating pie.”
Her eyes start shining.
“I told him I didn't want to be his Christmas present.”
“Kane.”
“I want you to be.”
The anger is almost gone now.
Not completely.
Fair.
“I told him I want to play Uno with you.”
She blinks.
“Uno?”
“And checkers.”
“You hate board games.”
“I don't know if I hate checkers. I haven't played since I was eight.”
Her mouth starts twitching.
“And Hallmark movies.”
That does it.
A laugh escapes her.
Small.
Wet.
I step closer.
“He knows who I am.”
I touch one finger beneath her chin.
“But I made sure he knows why I'm here.”
Her eyes search mine.
“Why?”
“Because I miss my girlfriend.”
Her breath catches.
“Because she's spent enough of her life choosing between basketball and everything else.”
I brush the flour from her cheek with my thumb.
“And I don't want her choosing between me and her family too.”
Hannah looks down.
Then back at me.
“You still betrayed me.”
“Yeah.”
“I'm still pissed.”
“Understandable.”
“You should have told me.”
“Probably.”
“Definitely.”
“Definitely.”
Her hands come up.
For one second I think she's pushing me away.
Instead, they grip the front of my coat.
“You're an idiot.”
“Frequently.”
“You flew across the country.”
“Yeah.”
“In a snowstorm.”
“I deeply regret the weather portion.”
She laughs through whatever is building in her eyes.
“And you went to Dad.”
“Man to man.”
Her expression shifts.
“My father loves that phrase.”
“So does mine.”
“You told him not to talk basketball?”
“I threatened to leave if he did.”
Her mouth falls open.
“You did not.”
“I was respectful.”
“How respectful?”
“I may have called him old man.”
“Kane.”
“And suggested future father-in-law.”
She jerks backward.
“You WHAT?”
I finally grin.
“He took it well.”
“He did not.”
“He sent me to his office.”
She covers her face.
I wrap my arms around her.
This time she lets me.
Her forehead hits my chest.
“You're insane.”
“Yeah.”
“You cannot say future father-in-law to my father.”
“Already did.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
Her arms slide beneath my coat and around my waist.
There she is.
I lower my mouth to her hair.
“I missed you.”
Her grip tightens.
“I missed you too.”
“So can I stay?”
She pulls back enough to look up at me.
“How long?”
“Christmas.”
“Christmas Day?”
“If you'll have me.”
Her expression softens completely.
Then she rises onto her toes.
I meet her halfway.
The kiss is warm.
Familiar.
Home before I have any right to think the word.
When she pulls away, she stays inside my arms.
“You're still in trouble.”
“I can live with that.”
“No basketball.”
“Your father agreed.”
“He'll break in two hours.”
“Then we enforce boundaries.”
She smiles.
“Together?”
“Together.”
A voice comes from the kitchen.
Coach Goodwin.
“Haverhill, I have one question about your pick-and-roll—”
Hannah tears out of my arms.
“DAD.”
He starts laughing.
I do too.
Hannah points toward the kitchen.
“No. He is my boyfriend for Christmas. Not your point guard.”
Coach Goodwin appears around the corner holding a cookie.
“Worth testing.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I. His reads—”
“Dad.”
He holds up both hands.
“Fine.”
I look at Hannah.
Her hair is falling from the messy knot.
Glasses sliding down her nose.
Flour still dusted across her red sweater.
Her mother is watching us from the kitchen with tears already forming.
Coach Goodwin is trying desperately not to ask me basketball questions.
Snow falls outside.
A Christmas tree glows in the living room.
And Hannah is holding my hand.
Maybe my parents were right.
Maybe I didn't need to choose between respecting her boundary and fighting for us.
Maybe sometimes loving someone means finding the bridge they were too tired to build alone.
Hannah squeezes my fingers.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Cookies.”
“Then Uno?”
Her smile turns dangerous.
“You're going down, Haverhill.”
I follow her toward the kitchen.
“Highly unlikely.”
Behind us, Coach Goodwin mutters, “She cheats.”
“I heard that,” Hannah calls.
I grin.
Yeah.
I'm staying.