16. Bex
SIXTEEN
Bex
T he cool autumn air nips at my cheeks as we walk down the quiet street, the faint scent of wood smoke drifting on the breeze. Our first official dinner date was cozy, the kind where the conversation flows easily and the food is almost as good as the company. Austin had showed up right on time, looking effortlessly handsome, and picked me up with that easygoing smile that always makes me feel special. He even brought me a single white rose—simple, sweet, and unexpectedly romantic. So far, so good: the evening has been beyond what I would define as perfect. It’s the kind of night that makes you want to hold on to every moment.
I pull my coat a little tighter, savoring the crispness of the evening, when my hand accidentally brushes against Austin’s. The touch is brief, almost imperceptible, but it sends a little jolt through me.
Before I can pull away, his hand finds mine, warm and sure, his fingers threading through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My breath catches, and I glance his way, feeling a rush of something—excitement, maybe, or anticipation. It’s such a simple gesture, but it feels like so much more.
His grip is firm but gentle, and I can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. This thing between us, in this quiet moment, feels like we’re finally starting to understand one another.
The evening is calm, with only the sound of our footsteps on the pavement and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. I’m acutely aware of his presence beside me, of the warmth of his hand and the way it makes everything else seem a little less cold, a little less uncertain.
I squeeze his hand, just a bit, testing the waters, and when he squeezes back, it’s like a silent promise. We walk on, the world around us fading into the background, and for the first time in a long while, I’m content just to be here, next to him, our hands clasped together in the autumn chill.
Austin’s gait slows as he indicates a park bench nearby. “Want to sit?”
“Sure,” I say, following where he leads.
As we approach the bench, a couple walking past slows. The man sidesteps and plants himself in front of Austin.
“Austin Porter?” he inquires as Austin nods. “Thought so. I’m Thomas Landon, Tommy Landon’s father.”
A look of recognition floods Austin’s features as he stands up and shakes Thomas’s outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Tommy is a good kid. He playing tonight?”
“Sure is, that’s where we’re headed now,” he says, his eyes bright as he peers over Austin’s shoulder to talk to me. “Sorry. He’s been coaching my boy for months now and tonight he goes on the field for the first time. Ever.”
“That’s exciting,” I say, making sure to give his wife, who stands nearby beaming as well, a quick wave.
“You guys headed over to watch the game?” she asks, her voice hopeful.
Austin looks my way. “Well, we hadn’t planned on it…”
“But we can,” I say, looking at Austin with my eyebrows raised in question.
“Well, hope we see you there,” Thomas says as he grabs Austin’s hand and pumps it once more. “And thank you for giving Tommy the self-assurance he needed to get out there again. We’re forever grateful.”
As they head off, I turn and look at Austin, who stands in front of me wearing a sheepish expression.
“If I’m not mistaken, that guy seems to think you’ve been helping his son out?”
Austin holds up a finger. “Okay. Give me a second, and I’ll explain.”
“First things first,” I say, already getting the hint without him having to come out and say it. “Do you want to go to the game?”
He shrugs. “Yes, but I really want to spend time with you, too.”
“You can do both,” I say with a giggle.
He looks around, almost twitchy. I can sense something is up. “Did you have something you wanted to tell me?”
His eyes grow wide. “How did you know?”
“Ahh,” I say as I rub my temples. “I’m woman. Me psychic.”
Austin bursts into laughter. “Intuition?”
I point to his foot, which is tapping. “You’re really fidgety all of a sudden. You can’t hide anxiety from someone like me, remember? My energy feeds off of someone else’s anxiety.”
“Good point.” He wraps his arm around me. “I was in Florida this week.”
“You...what?”
“The other day when I had to leave town suddenly. I was in Tampa Bay. Coach Donovan wanted to see me in person to discuss getting into practice as soon as I can now that I’ve been cleared by all the doctors.”
Every emotion inside of me twists. We’re not together, so I can’t expect anything, at least this is what I tell myself. Austin had his own life before I moved to the end of his lane, and now that life wants him back. I met him when he was playing football; I know how happy it makes him.
“So,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my tone, “you’d go back to Florida?”
He nods, slowly. “You know, if you really were a psychic, you would have seen this coming.”
“Har, har,” I say, smacking his chest. I want to turn my attitude about this around, because it's not about me. It’s about him and what he’s accomplished. This man didn’t think he’d get on the field again. Ever. And now here he is, ready to play, and his old team wants him back. That’s pretty exciting. “Well, congratulations, Austin. This is kind of a big deal, huh?”
“It is. I can’t lie, I am really happy,” he says, his arm tightening around my waist as he pulls me closer. “The whole time I’ve been recuperating, I wanted to have this happen. To be asked to come back to my team, to play more. I wasn’t ready to retire. I’m not ready for that. Not now.” He pulls away, one hand cupping the side of my face. “But I don’t like the idea of not being here.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m feeling like myself again. I want to show up for my family, I’ve got amends to make. And now there’s you.”
He kisses my forehead.
“Oh, stop it,” I tease. “Now you’re just being flirty.”
“Nope, it’s the truth. Now that there is a you and you are here, I don’t like the idea of being in Florida as much as I’ll need to be.”
“Well, considering where we were when I first moved in and how far you’ve come,” I say with a wink, eliciting a chuckle from my reformed neighbor, “it won’t be easy, but I know going to Tampa Bay may be the thing that makes you happiest. And I want you to be happy.”
“Where does it leave us?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say as honestly as I can. “We’re figuring things out, right? So we can’t rush it.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t like it.”
“What part don’t you like? If it’s the part about me, well, you need to get over that.”
“I can’t just ‘get over that’—don’t you get it? It’s like you’re a ball of light. A sunbeam I needed, and when you turned your illumination my way, I felt warm. For the first time in a very long time. Invincible. Like I can do anything.”
“And you did,” I exclaim, clapping my hands together and stepping away from him. Am I feigning happiness while Adele’s “Someone Like You” plays on repeat in my mind? There’s a song that’s about to live rent-free for a few weeks. “Look at you. You’re back, Austin Porter!”
“You make me better. You make me want to be better, so I am.”
“I want you to feel that for yourself, and not just for me.”
His head cocks to the side. “How do you mean?”
“I love the idea of making someone better, but it is a lot of pressure.” I chuckle. “Although, diamonds are made under pressure, aren’t they?”
“In sports, we say ‘pressure is a privilege.’” Austin looks around, nodding his head as if he’s made up his mind about something before he tugs on my arm. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”
The stadium lights blaze against the inky night sky, casting a golden glow over the football field below. The freshly painted white lines gleam, cutting through the deep green turf like crisp, precise markers of the battles yet to be fought. The air hums with energy, filled with the distant roar of the crowd and the rhythmic thud of drums from the marching band.
From our vantage point on a hill behind it, the field stretches out like a grand stage, the end zones promising victory or defeat, while the bleachers on either side are packed with cheering fans, their faces blurred but their excitement palpable. The smells of popcorn and autumn leaves mingle in the cool night air, completing the perfect picture of a Friday night high school game.
“Those are my guys,” Austin murmurs, his eyes landing on the team as they huddle around a single man, who I assume is their coach.
“So this is one of those errands you’ve been running, huh? Yeah, you are such a recluse.” I roll my eyes as his fingers dig into my side, tickling me. “Stop it!”
“I’ll tickle more if you keep that up.” He stands up a little taller as he watches them. “They helped me get out of my own way.”
A silent understanding lands between us, settling into the comfortable space. Austin’s eyes sparkle as they flit around the field, taking in the energy, the chaotic sounds, and the bright lights.
“Friday night, baby,” I joke.
“It’s nostalgic,” he whispers. “They remind me of why I started. Their energy,” he says as he waves a hand at the team, “got me back on track for performance. It was one aspect of my recovery I was obviously focusing on.”
“What were the others?”
“Mindset and longevity. Longevity because I wanted to come back to the game, so I knew I needed to be persistent and also patient with myself. That’s another reason this part was so important, working with the kids.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone?”
He shakes his head. “I told Levi when he needed to know.”
“Mrs. Rosenblatt has seen you.”
“She has?” His eyes widen with surprise.
I bob my head up and down. “Mentioned it to me, but I never asked.”
“Why?”
“I figured if you wanted anyone to know what you were up to, you’d tell them.” I nudge him with my elbow. “I’m not going to out your secret. No way, man.”
“Thanks.” He chuckles.
“And the mindset part?”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth before I hear someone scream Austin’s name. Both of our heads spin as we look around and another voice joins the chorus. Then another. Within a few seconds, it becomes loudly obvious that the whole team has spotted us and is chanting for Austin to come to the field.
“Be right there!” he calls out, laughing as he turns to me. “You were asking about mindset? That”—he points to the teens—“has also helped. All for one and one for all. I’ve been a jerk, but I have been working on myself in the background. I pushed as many people away as I could, but I’m a lucky man because they all stayed by my side. They didn’t give up even when I wanted to.”
A feeling of warmth floods my veins. “That is a mindset all its own, isn’t it?”
“To show up when you don’t know what you’re going to get? You bet it is. For me and those around me.” He shakes his head. “But these boys reminded me to be resilient. They were losing last year, and this year, they’re on the track to play in the state championships. Visualization, meditation, working out together. I was here with them as their coach instilled that routine and wow…I got to see them fly.”
“Sounds like you did the mindset part of this to me,” I say as he wraps his hand around mine and we start to walk down the hill.
“Yes, somewhat. But it’s more than all of that.” He stops short, whipping me into his chest as he wraps his arms around my waist. “You, Bex. You’re fire. Your snappy comebacks, and the way you put me in my place. Those were the moments that I look at and can point to and say, ‘I think I started to wake up then.’ Because I was kind of on pause. I was going through the motions, but nothing had clicked. The day you showed up, my stakes got higher.”
“Hopefully your standards, too?” I tease, resting my forehead against his.
“Definitely,” he says as he smiles softly at my teasing, the warmth in his eyes making my heart flutter. Before I can say anything else, he closes the small space between us, his lips brushing against mine in a quick, tender kiss. It’s brief but full of meaning—like a promise wrapped in softness. His lips are warm and inviting, and I can feel the sincerity behind them, like he’s pouring all his unspoken feelings into this single fleeting moment. When he pulls back, his eyes lock onto mine, and I know without a doubt that something between us has just shifted, deepened.
He pulls back, his eyes still locked on mine, and without a word, takes my hand. There’s something unspoken between us as he gently leads me toward the football field. The cool night air wraps around us, and the distant hum of the crowd and the sight of the field feels almost surreal.
We reach the edge of the field, and I let my gaze drift across the turf, the place where so many games have been won and lost, where so much emotion has been poured out under the bright lights. It’s strange, really, how much this field means to him—and now, somehow, it means something to me, too.
As we walk along the sideline, hand in hand, I can’t help but think about how falling in love feels like… well, like getting Graves’ disease if I’m going to be honest.
It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, slowly taking over until you can’t remember what it was like to be without it. It makes you feel things you never imagined, makes your heart race, makes you question everything—and yet, here I am, standing on the edge of something terrifying and beautiful, and I realize I’m completely okay with it, and no matter what, everything will be fine.
Austin squeezes my hand, and I glance over at him, his strong profile backlit by the blazing lights around us. This is one moment I wouldn’t trade for anything. Because it’s not just about falling in love with him—which I no doubt am beginning to—but it’s about waking up, about finally feeling alive in a way I didn’t know I was missing. The stakes are higher, just like he said, and even though that should scare me, it doesn’t. Instead, it makes me want to dive in headfirst, consequences be damned.
I smile to myself, leaning into him as we continue to walk. If falling in love with Austin is a disease, then he’s the only cure I want.