Page 111 of High Hopes

“It is big,” she replies, smiling. “But so are you.”

I snort and waggle my brows. “I know what you mean, but I’m trying really hard not to make a dirty joke right now.”

She smirks, giving my hand a squeeze. “I think you can keep it tucked up in your noggin’. Just this once.” She tugs me toward the doors, the green of her coat standing out against the muted tones around us. “You’ve worked for this your whole life, Liam. You’re ready.”

I want to believe her, and maybe a part of me does. But as the doors slide open and we step into the lobby, the sheer size of it all threatens to knock the air out of me. The space is sprawling, filled with banners, booths, media stations, and clusters of people talking in hushed but excited tones.

Birdie stays close, her hand warm in mine as we check in and head toward the main ballroom where the draft is taking place. My agent, Ben, is already inside, texting updates and telling me to “stay loose.”

“Stay loose,” I mutter under my breath, my lips twitching. “Right. Sure.”

Birdie glances up at me, her eyes shining with quiet amusement. “You’re already killing it at pretending to be calm. Very convincing.”

“Thanks.”

She digs into her pocket and pulls out something small and bright yellow. “Here. I thought this might help.”

It’s a lemon.

The tightness in my chest eases as soon as I see it. I take it from her, bringing it to my nose and inhaling the sharp, citrusy scent. The absurdity of the gesture—of us—makes me grin.

“Thanks, baby. But sniffing lemons at the MLS Draft isn’t exactly gonna help my street cred.”

“Right. Because you’re always so worried about your reputation.”

“Exactly. I’m a pillar of seriousness and dignity.”

“You’re lucky,” she says. “I almost brought our Jellycat bunnies for emotional support, but then I was worried they’d get lost in transit.”

I laugh, leaning down to kiss her, and it’s enough to make the nerves quiet for just a second. She smells like coffee and something sweet, and it’s the only thing that feels real in this huge, overwhelming space.

We find our seats near the middle of the room, surrounded by other prospects, their families, and agents. The stage is front and center, decked out with MLS logos and a massive screen cycling through highlights of the top-ranked players.

“You were right,” Birdie says after a moment, her voice quieter now. “This is ... a lot.”

I nod, my gaze fixed on the stage. “Yeah.”

“But it’s also kind of amazing.”

I glance at her, my lips quirking. “You just like the banners, don’t you?”

“They’re very well designed,” she admits, grinning. “Someone here has artistic vision.”

The first round starts, and the tension in the room is electric. Names are called, players walk to the stage, and applause fills the air. Each announcement feels like it stretches forever, but also like it’s over too quickly.

Birdie stays close, her hand resting on my leg, her thumb brushing soothing circles against my knee. Every time the commissioner steps up to the podium, I hold my breath.

“With the fourteenth pick in the 2025 MLS SuperDraft,” the commissioner announces, his voice echoing through the room, “FC Cincinnati selects Liam Donovan, winger, Dayton University.”

For a second, the words don’t register. Then Birdie’s hand tightens on my leg, and her voice cuts through the haze. “Liam.”

I turn to her, and she’s grinning, her eyes bright with pride and something softer, something steady.

“That’s you,” she says, her voice cracking just a little.

I stand, my chair scraping against the floor as applause rises around me. Ben claps me on the back, and I manage to give him a quick nod before heading toward the stage.

The lights are blinding, and the cameras feel like they’re aimed straight at my chest, but the moment I shake hands with the coach and hold up the FC Cincinnati scarf, it hits me.

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