by Angel Lawson
“You’re getting married?”
“Yes!” I heard her smile through the phone. “Will you be my maid-of-honor?”
“Yes! Of course!”
“Awesome! I can’t do this without you, you know that, right?”
“I know that I need every single detail!”
“No, you need to go to the bar and play nice so I don’t have to have the most awkward wedding in the history of weddings, okay?”
I nodded. “I can do this. For you.”
“Don’t just do it for me, Heaven, do it for yourself so you can move on, okay?”
“Holy shit. I can’t believe you’re getting married.”
“I know! But go! We’ll talk later.” I walked to the closet to dig for an appropriate outfit. A just-friends outfit. “Oh, and girl, do me a favor.”
“Sure, what?”
“Don’t tell them about the wedding yet. We’re going to officially announce it, but…well, you caught me off guard.”
I held up the jersey for Hayden’s team to my chest. “I’m so excited for you, Amber. Both of you.”
“Thanks. And I’m excited for you, too. Go to the game. Give them both a big kiss—wait no, don’t do that. Tell them I said hi. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can promise two of those things. Nothing more.”
Her laughter sounded like a song, and I felt a million times better after hanging up. Amber was getting married and I was growing up—having guy friends. Or at least, that was what I told myself.
9
Heaven
Parkside Tavern wasn’t unfamiliar to me. I just hadn’t been in a long time, knowing it was the boys’ haunt for watching soccer games on the dozens of screens hanging from the ceiling. The bar specialized in major league games, showing every big event across the country and overseas, something almost impossible to find on regular TV. Hayden’s team, Atlanta United, was one of the fastest-growing teams in the league.
The strong scent of beer and fried food hit me when I entered the bar and I cast my eyes toward the table in the back corner. They’d claimed it long ago, when we first graduated and moved here. Sure enough, I spotted the two with drinks and food in front of them, eyes glued to the pre-game commentary on the screen. As with many things about the Allendale Four, they were creatures of habit, and I found the familiarities both comforting and unnerving.
I tugged at the snug-fitting jersey Hayden had sent me when he made the team, his name and number, 05, emblazoned on the back. In the past it would have implied him marking his territory—now, I’m just another fangirl in a world of fangirls—rooting for Hayden Pierce, the hottest goalie in the States.
“Heaven!” Jackson shouted, waving me over. I smiled and took a deep, steadying breath. I could do this.
“Nice shirt,” Oliver said, eyes skimming the way it tapered over my hips. He pointed to his own, the male version of mine. “I assume you got that in the mail, too?”
“Priority,” I laughed, sitting in the seat Jax offered me. His blond hair dipped in front of his eyes and I fought the urge to push it back. “He was so proud.”
“He should be,” Oliver said. “AU is killing it this season. I read the other night they had the biggest crowd for a soccer game, ever.”
“All time,” Jackson added. “There’s no doubt Hayden’s some of the appeal. His game has reached new levels.” He pointed around the room and sure enough there were lots of number 05 jerseys. “And damn he’s popular.”
More than a fair share of the jerseys were on women and I had zero doubt why. Hayden was still heartbreakingly handsome and physically imposing—more so than before. Women watched as much for a peek at his rock-solid abs as they did for his gravity-defying saves.
“You know Hayden’s always had that elusive, quiet thing going on,” I said. The waitress came over to the table and asked for my order. I wanted nothing more than to say Diet Coke, but I remembered what Amber told me and played up the friend role and ordered beer.
I could do this.
If either Oliver or Jackson noted my actions they said nothing, and it dawned on me that maybe they’d already made this move—into the friend zone. Maybe I was the only one still hung up. The thought left me conflicted, but the game started and it was easy to focus on that instead of everything else; like the way Oliver’s jaw tensed when the other team had the ball or how Jackson licked his fingertips after inhaling a plate of wings. I ignored the women that glanced at our table and gave a high five to the man at the table next to ours when AU scored. I kept my breathing steady when the ball careened toward Hayden and he made save after save, some alarmingly dangerous.
“One of these days he’s going to hurt himself,” I muttered into my second beer, watching him pick himself off the ground and walk with a cocky swagger to the goal line.
“He takes a lot of precautions in his training and equipment,” Oliver said, “but I agree. He’s getting risky.”
Jackson shook his head. “Fucking show off.”
More than once, after a particularly impressive save, the camera would pan to the sidelines to a pretty blonde. She paced the sidelines with a worried expression on her face. After the third time I asked, “Who is that?”
Oliver and Jackson exchanged a look. The former cleared his throat and said, “That’s Sabine Rakestraw. His physical therapist.”
“His what?”
“You know he had a concussion last fall, right?” Jackson asked.
No, I didn’t. I shook my head, concerned I’d missed it.
“Well he did—it was at the end of the season, which is why it wasn’t well known. He spent the winter in therapy and got the clear to play this season. Sabine has been working with him for months.”
“Why…” I started to ask, why didn’t anyone tell me, but why would they? We made rules and if I’d been paying attention to Hayden’s career, I would have known. “So he’s better?”
“Yes,” Oliver said.
“And his therapist?” I asked, knowing already. Just a feeling. A tug at my chest.
“He hasn’t told us anything, Heaven, but the newspapers say they’re dating. They’ve kind of become a couple to watch or something.”
I arranged my face into the calmest expression I could muster and ignored the weight of the two men watching me closely. I hoped my voice was steady when I said, “I get not telling me, I mean when would he? We haven’t spoken in ages, but why hasn’t he said anything to you?”
Jackson shrugged and took a sip of his beer. Oliver said, “Maybe it’s not a big deal. You know the tabloids want to make everything into something bigger than it is.”
Or maybe it’s the exact opposite. Maybe it’s real and he’s scared to tell them—us.
The crowd around us started shouting at the TV screens; the opposing team’s forward barreling down the field, Hayden crouched, ready to spring into action. The striker took the shot and Hayden jumped, but the ball hit the cross bar, bouncing back into the field. This time, instead of only one forward on a breakaway, three others were there, along with a handful of AU defenders. Play got messy, and Hayden desperately tried to keep his eye on the ball, to anticipate the next move of the other team. The shot took off, arcing off the foot of the forward at the same time another player slammed hard into Hayden, knocking him off kilter, head bouncing off the goal post.
“Oh my god,” I mumbled into my fist, heart leaping up my throat. Jackson’s hand slipped over my knee, squeezing. The entire tavern fell silent as the goal box cleared and AU players fell to their knees around the mass of body lying there. Unmoving.
“Shit,” Oliver said. “Shit. Shit.”
He stood, pushing his hand through his hair.
I glanced next to me, feeling the burning in my eyes. “Jax?”
He looked as worried as I felt. “He’ll be okay,” he said, but his tone felt wrong. I felt wrong. Like a part of my body fell limp.
Oliver grabbed his coat and my hand. “Let’s ge
t out of here.”
“But,” I looked at the screen. Medics ran on the field, including the blonde, Sabine, from the sidelines. My eyes trained on her as she knelt next to Hayden, touching his face.
“We can get better info at the gym. I promise.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling the contacts.
My stomach lurched and Jackson wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
They led me away from the table, but the screens mounted through the bar followed me out the door. I couldn’t help but take one last look at the TV. To my relief, I saw Hayden’s eyes opening, blinking, but that relief twisted into something different as he reached his hand to graze Sabine’s cheek, as he looked into the eyes of a woman by his side—a woman that wasn’t me.
10
Heaven
“Lea, I need a favor.”
“Sure, what’s up?” She had me on speakerphone. She must be driving.
I stuffed a sweater and then another short-sleeved shirt in the bag. I had no idea what the weather was like in Atlanta right now. It was early April and although it was cold here, it may be a lot warmer there. “I’m leaving town and I need you to cover for me at work.”
“What? Leaving town? For where? For how long.”
I glanced at my computer screen. Hayden’s story was all over the sports pages; Atlanta United’s star goalie was critically injured in the game the night before. He was stable but had serious injuries the team had not released to the press. The only thing I knew was that he was hurt and I needed to see him.
“Someone I know is in the hospital and I’ve got to go…I just have to go. And I don’t know when I’ll be back. Hopefully in a few days.” God willing.
I went to the bathroom and collected my toiletries. Hairbrush, makeup bag, and the two pill bottles sitting on the counter. One of those pills kept me from spiraling into depression. The other kept my moods from shifting like a boomerang.
“Holy shit, Heaven, are you okay? Do you need someone with you?”
“No,” I replied at the same time as a bang at the door. I checked my watch. Did Uber drivers walk to the door? “I’m okay. If you can cover for me for a few days, that would be great. I’ll get in touch with Derek and let him know, okay?”
I’d already texted our boss, Derek, but it was early and he probably hadn’t seen it yet. Whatever. The person at the door banged again.
“I’m coming!” I shouted and then said, “Gotta go, but I’ll be in touch, okay?”
“Definitely call me.”
“I will,” I said, grabbing all my things. “And sorry this is such short notice…”
“No, honey, it’s fine. Go do what you need to. We’ll be here when you get back.”
I flung open the door, expecting the Uber driver, but I stopped short. Jackson stood in the doorway. He frowned at the bags. “Where are you going?”
“Atlanta. Where do you think I’m going?”
“Heaven,” he said, following me down the hall. “Listen, Oliver talked to Sabine this morning.” I cut my eyes at him. Really? Sabine? He ignored the glare. “They’re not talking because of the press, but she sounded hopeful. He’s awake. Probably had another concussion and maybe some internal injuries.”
“That’s pretty vague, Jax.”
“I know, but you can’t just race out there.”
I stopped at the front door and faced him. “Yes I can. I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because he came for me every time I needed him. Just like you did. And Oliver. And Anderson. Every hospital trip. Every counseling session. Every breakdown. You guys were there and I’m going to be there for him.”
Understanding spread across his features, his blue eyes flashing at the memories. “Things are different now.”
I shook my head. “Not at times like this, they aren’t.”
“He has other people in his life. People that are there for this sort of thing.”
Ouch.
I pushed him aside but he grabbed my arm, pulling me uncomfortably close. I smelled his familiar scent, the tang of his shaving cream. His eyes bore into mine. “Promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“That if you go out there and things don’t go as planned, you can’t run away again.” His hand was warm around my wrist. “We just got you back.”
I nodded, unable to speak, and the words that floated to my mind weren’t the right ones to speak anyway. It wasn’t until I was in the car on the way to the airport that I allowed myself to think on that moment and what he meant.
Did Hayden really not want to see me?
And who was he to say I ran away? That wasn’t how it happened. But is that how they think of me?
I hadn’t been at the hospital since I was a patient myself. I don’t even remember coming in the two times I was admitted. Once I’d had a panic attack at the library and Jackson brought me in. The other—I shook the memory from my head. I didn’t want to think about it.
The woman at the desk pointed me in the right direction and I found myself searching the hallway for his room. Turns out, Hayden was in a small private section of the hospital with a doorway blocking the rooms. A small waiting room filled the outer space. I didn’t recognize anyone in the room until the door opened and I saw the shock of blonde hair and the clothes from the sidelines on the TV the night before. A handsome man about a decade older than me spoke on a cell phone in the corner. He glanced at me absently and continued to talk.
“Hi,” I said, approaching Sabine. “I’m looking for Hayden Pierce. You’re friends with him, right?”
She looked me up and down and I had the distinct feeling she recognized me. “Hayden’s not allowed to see visitors right now.”
“You were just in there.”
“I’m his physical therapist and...” I raised my eyebrows, daring her to say more. “And the doctors have insisted he needs rest right now.”
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Hayden’s. An old friend. I came when I heard he was here.”
She eyed my suitcase and my wrinkled travel clothes. She opened her mouth to speak but the man walked over and cut her off. “Did you say you were a friend of Hayden’s?”
“Yes. I’m Heaven. A friend of his from back home.”
He offered me his hand. “I’m Bryant Gibson, Hayden’s agent.”
“Oh, hi, nice to meet you,” I said, taking in the expensive suit and watch. His hair was perfectly done, his face smooth without a single wrinkle or mar. I glanced at the door. “How is he? Any news?”
“I’m sorry you traveled all this way,” Sabine said coldly, “but news about Hayden’s condition is private and we can’t share that with anyone outside his family or medical team.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, trying not to misinterpret the vibe.
Before I could add anything, she said, “And you definitely can’t see him tonight.”
I was about to argue when another voice interrupted us from the doorway leading to the private room.
“Let her in.”
A voice that sounded like a salve to every frayed and exposed wound that I had. I swallowed and turned, knees quaking.
“I really don’t think that’s appropriate and I don’t think you have the authority to make that decision—” Sabine argued.
I stared into those green eyes. Eyes I hadn’t seen up close in so long that I thought maybe I’d imagined their intensity. Nope, real.
“She’s family,” Anderson declared, extending a long arm.
“Family?” Sabine swallowed back a cough and I walked forward, taking care not to touch him as I passed.
“Yes. Family.” He looked at me expectantly.
“It’s fine, Sabine,” Bryant said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whispered, walking away from both of these people that seemed to know more about Hayden than I did. I da
red a look back at the cold anger on Sabine’s face. I had no doubt she knew exactly who I was.
11
Heaven
I wasn’t ready.
For his voice.
For his emerald green eyes.
For his overwhelming presence.
I only glimpsed his face for a moment before he quickly turned away, placing his broad back between us. It wasn’t before I saw ringed, dark shadows under his eyes. A million memories flashed through my mind. Anderson at eighteen, nervous the first time we’d made love. Later, older, lithe and sweaty as he hovered over my body. Then something darker; Anderson wet and cold, dragging me out of the water. Anderson the last time I saw him, jaw clenched tight. Tears threatening to spill, getting in a cab for the airport.
No, I wasn’t ready for the wound in my heart to split back open, ripping out the sloppy stitches that barely held.
Now he stood before me in jeans and a hoodie, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His jaw was covered in heavy scruff, something I’d never seen before.
“Thank you,” I forced out, following him down the hall.
His eyes were cast forward—as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. One of the two.
“Like I said, you’re family. Hayden added you to the list.”
I stopped. “When? Now?”
“No, when he signed with the team. He filled out medical forms, including next-of-kin.” He placed his hand on the wooden door and glanced at me. God, it was like looking into the sun. “You made the cut.”
The news startled me, but not enough to keep me from asking, “And Sabine?”
He shook his head. “No, but that guy Bryant is, and he talked the nurse into allowing her in as a representative of the team and as his therapist. I don’t think either of them are happy we’re here.”
Was he happy I was here? I wanted to ask. I tried my hardest not to show any emotion, just in case he dared look at me for more than a second. But he didn’t.