Page 22 of A Game Plan for Love

“I need to get to work.” He frowns, “But I’ll come back later when I finish food prep for the week.”

The next few hours drag on, as the music from the field filters into the nutrition room while I wash and cut fruit. Excitement grows as the tasks on my to-do list begin to dwindle, and I’m wiping down the counters and grabbing my bag.

I wave to Ben, who barely lifts his head from his computer, and dart to the practice field. When I slip into the massive room, Declan is standing at the front, surrounded by his teammates, friends, and all of the people in attendance.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says into a microphone, his deep voice carrying to the corner I’ve chosen to hide. I drop to the ground and pull out the small notebook in my bag. “EndZone was founded to help give kids in the foster care system opportunities and support that may seem out of reach. With that, I’d like to announce the first recipient of the Dreamer Scholarship—a full tuition and housing scholarship to attend university.” He gestures, and a teenage girl steps forward. “Hailey was accepted to the University of Washington on a pre-med track.”

He speaks the words with such pride for Hailey, and when she smiles softly, he squeezes her shoulder. My fingers itch, and I pull out a pen and begin to sketch.

I’ve always loved drawing, and art class was one of my favorites as a child, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had the overwhelming need to draw—to capture the moment through my own eyes.

Declan thanks everyone for coming, and reminds the kids to take home a duffel, but before the crowd can disperse, Jack takes the microphone. Henry, Deon, and his other teammates surround Jack, forming a small half circle.

“We have one more announcement,” Jack says. “As many of you know, Declan is one of the most caring, selfless, and generous people we know.”

Declan’s face morphs into surprise, and I scramble to sketch the features, loosely drawing his friends beside him. I snap a photo of them as a reference, then focus on Declan, who looks around with confusion. Henry grabs him on the shoulder.

“As his teammates, we’ve had the privilege to get to know him, and we couldn’t be prouder of him for starting EndZone.” Jack pauses to smile at Declan. “To show our support to you and your foundation, we’ve all agreed to sponsor a full-ride scholarship.”

The crowd gasps, including me.

Holy shit.

And if I couldn’t be any more shocked, Declan begins to cry. Big, fat tears in front of the entire room as Jack explains that there will be an additional twenty scholarships for high-school-aged kids to attend college or trade school, and that they’ve each donated to support the search for a permanent facility for the foundation.

Warmth blooms in my chest as Declan hugs his friends, clutching them tightly and freely expressing his emotions.

He’s making it incredibly difficult to keep my emotions in check.

The crowd breaks, and I pull up the photo on my phone, using it as a reference for my sketch. I’m lost in the drawing, hand flying over the small page of the notebook. The lines are raw and rough, but I do my best to add shading and convey the emotion I witnessed into the drawing.

I’ve missed this feeling—the way my mind shuts off when I draw, and I can escape into the art. I rarely have the time anymore to draw or paint, and when I do, it’s often just coloring with crayons with Nora.

She’s a stickler for staying within the lines.

“Oh, wow.” The words pull me out of my trance, and I jerk, surprised by Declan’s proximity, but he’s looking down at my notebook and my drawing of him.

This is so creepy. Nothing screamscrazy ladythan drawing photos of someone in a notebook.

Declan reaches out and plucks the drawing from my hand, studying it with a curious expression.

“You did this?” he asks. I nod. “This is breathtaking.”

I survey the lines with new eyes, trying to see the scene of him and his friends like he does, but it’s only a rough sketch. I did nail his biceps, but I’ve spent so much time staring at them, I could probably pick them out of a lineup by feeling alone.

“It’s rough.”

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” he says, dropping down onto the turf beside me. I pull my knees to my chest.

“I’m not.”

He holds up my notebook. “This says otherwise.”

My heart thuds behind my ribcage. No one has seen any of my work in a long time, and his praise of it seems to do some odd things to my chest, causing it to flutter like a swarm of honey bees.

“Can I have it?” I nod, turning my head to hide my blush, and rip out the sheet and hand it to him. He slides it into his pocket, then hands me a plate I didn’t notice he had. “I brought you this, in case you were hungry.”

A perfect cheeseburger sits surrounded by a sea of French fries.

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