Page 105 of Only and Forever

“Coop,” I yell, hands cupped around my mouth. “Be a team player, buddy!”

He picks up his head, having heard me, gets one look at Tallulah staring at him across the field, then goes wide-eyed again, takes a touch on the ball, and kicks it toward Maddison.

I clutch Tallulah’s arm, shocked that it worked, riveted by how this is unfolding.

Maddison gets a great first touch on the ball, passing it to herself a few feet ahead, then running on to it.

“Low and in the corner,” Tallulah mutters, grabbing the hem of my shirt, staring at Maddison. “Shoot low and in the corner.” She chants it again and again as Maddison draws close to the goal, then kicks it past the defender who’s coming toward her.

“Prep touch, plant your foot, power through,” I whisper, the three steps I’ve taught them over and over for a clean strike on the ball.

Tallulah’s grip slips to my hand, curls around it, and squeezes tight.

Maddison takes a touch, plants her right foot, and strikes with her left, low and into the corner. It rolls over the line, past the goalie.

“YES!” Tallulah screams, jumping up, dragging my hand with her.

The whistle blows from the ref. Time done. Game over. We won.

“Yes!” Tallulah yells again, running out onto the field toward the kids, who swarm around her, jumping up and down, shrieking, hands high, smiles as wide as the field.

I don’t normally support excessive celebration. Mom ingrained it in us to be calm, cool winners, but this team we were up against has played a dirty game of late hits, trips, and shirt tugging, and their coach is a jerkface. I don’t feel too bad about celebrating.

I rush out onto the field and join them. A cluster of kids screaming happily between us, I smile at Tallulah. She beams at me, flushed, happy, the sun shining in her eyes. I want to kiss her so badly.

The high of our victory lasts while we do our postgame roundup, praising the kids for their hard work, their sportsmanship, thenthrow hands in for a final time, chanting our team name. I watch the kids disperse with their parents and caregivers, pack up our gear into my coach book bag—tiny goalie gloves, onetime-use ice packs, first aid kit, pinnies for warm-up, a few extra water bottles.

When I stand straight, Tallulah’s watching me, eyes shielded against the sun.

“What’s up, Lu? We on time to catch our flight?”

She smiles. “Yeah, we’re fine on time.”

I smile back. These moments, they’re the ones that fill me up and keep me going. Shared plans, rides home, a flight together to the wedding. It feels so good. So right.

Even if it doesn’t have a name to it yet.

“Let’s get going, though,” she says. “I want to make a quick stop on our way to the airport.”

“You want to head there now? I don’t mind, if that’s easier.”

“No!” she blurts, before smoothing her expression.

I frown, confused.

She smiles again, slipping her water bottle into the holder on the side of my bag, pulling out her keys from its front pocket. “First, I want to go home.”

I stare after her as she starts walking toward the Vespa, the word ringing in the air, warming my heart.

Home.

TWENTY-NINE

Tallulah

Playlist: “Without You,” Lana Del Rey

Here we are, back at the A-frame, full circle.

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