Page 104 of Only and Forever

“We’ll be okay,” she reassures me, hands on hips. “We just need to keep moving.”

I feel the familiar shame and frustration of losing track of my schedule, of time, that’s plagued me for as long as I can remember. “I know, but it’s my fault we’re rushed now.”

“Hey.” Her voice makes me pick up my head and glance her way. Tallulah strolls into my room, ignoring my odd piles of stuff that are tidy enough but bizarrely organized. She clasps my hand. “Take it easy on yourself. It’s our first nine a.m. game. You’ve been incredibly busy lately; it’s easy to lose track of changes like that when you’ve got so much going on. Plus, I threw off our schedule this morning.”

“Lula, no—”

She sets a finger against my mouth. “I did. I’m not judging it. Just pointing out a fact. You...” She searches my eyes. “You very sweetly took care of me last night. And then we both slept in. That threw us off our typical early morning routine of coffee and sorting out the day.”

I stare down at her, my chest tight, my hands aching to touch her, draw her close, kiss her deeply.

“Thank you again,” she says. “For taking care of me last night.”

I smile softly against her finger. “Thank you for trusting me to take care of you.”

As her finger falls away, our eyes hold the way they did this morning, when I blinked awake and saw her doing the same, dark lashes fluttering, amber eyes lit up by the morning sun. We lay there for silent seconds, just staring at each other, until Tallulah slowly sat up, squeezed my hand, whispering, “Thank you,” then slipped out of bed toward the bathroom before I could even answer.

“You’re a good one, Viggo Bergman.” She cups my cheek, her thumb sweeping along the line of my beard. “Even if you don’t know how to use a razor.”

I laugh quietly, staring down at her. “Back off the beard.”

“Never.” She smiles, sweet and feisty, a coy glint in her eyes. “Now, let’s go. We’ve got a game to win.”

—

We won last week’s game, which we madejuston time. And we’re about to win this one, too, I can feel it.

“Let’s go!” Tallulah yells inside her cupped hands before she claps them together. “Two more minutes, yellow. Leave it all on the field!”

I bite my lip, smiling down at her.

Messy blue bun, aviator sunglasses, whistle around her neck. Bright yellow shirt that makes her look like a ray of sunshine.

She’s perfect. Here, in this moment. In every part of my life.

My smile slips. Because this is it. Charlie’s wedding weekend. The end of our agreement. And still, she’s said nothing.

I’m about to implode from the waiting, the not knowing, the fucking agony of wanting this woman, knowing she means so muchto me, that I want to mean that much to her, and not knowing where she stands.

Even if so many things make me hope.

Quiet nights, toes tucked under my thigh while she scowls at her laptop, revising and revising. Smiles over coffee cups and swift kisses to my cheek when she leaves early in the morning for therapy. Promises ofagain and again, for my niece,fall sessionfor our little soccer team,next monthfor the romance book club she hovers on the edges of.

I hold tight to that hope, but it feels like such a small, delicate thing to keep me afloat in the sky-high swells of all this unknown.

“Coach Viggo,” Joaquin says beside me on the sideline, winded from his stint out on the field.

I peer down at him. “What’s up, Joaquin?”

“Thanks for bringing Coach Tallulah. We needed her.”

I smile. “Coach Tallulah brought herself; I can’t take the credit. But I agree, we needed her.”

“That’s it!” Tallulah yells, walking past me down the sideline as Cooper dribbles the ball up the field. “Pass it,” she mutters, eyes on the field, tracking Maddison, who runs into open space like we taught her, careful to stay onside, not running past the last defender. “Pass it to her.”

Cooper and I have had words about his reluctance to pass. He was not swayed by my talking-to. Tallulah stepped in later that practice, crouched to his level, and said something that had him wide-eyed, nodding vigorously, then sprinting off. I think she got through to him. I hope so. Because the other team knows Cooper likes to hog the ball and shoot, so they’re marking him. And Maddison iswideopen.

“Pass it,” Tallulah grits out, hands clenched by her sides.

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