Page 137 of Sweat

“Um…” He sends me a perfunctory glance before answering her. “I think we’re gonna go out for dinner.” Looking at me again, he asks, “You wanna go out?”

“For sure. I should probably change then.”

“You look fine.” He runs his palms along my shoulders and down my arms, pulsing my biceps. “Let’s talk first, yeah?”

Talk?

“Sure.” I grab my coat off the chair and slip it on as I leave the house the way I came, Tommy in my wake.

It’s already dark out, but the motion sensors trigger the backyard lights to flicker on, illuminating the yard and half the driveway. My soccer ball is still chilling in the grass from Thanksgiving, and Tommy heads for it like a moth to the LEDs. He dribbles it a little between his Vans and shoots it into the kiddie goal.

“Nothing but net,” he exclaims, swinging his arms up toward the sky in triumph.

Hands in my coat pockets, I cross the grass but stop short of arm’s reach. “What did you wanna talk about?”

He does a slow one-eighty, showing me a smile that emotes the antithesis of what all I’ve been feeling the past few days. Soft and serene, not wide enough to make his babyface dimple, but enough for me to feel warm, even out here.

“I’ve been thinking a lot since the draft,” he says, not one hint of waver in his deep tenor, “and I wanted to tell you in person I’m passing on Toronto.”

It’s crazy how he can say the exact words I need him to, but hearing them aloud evokes only indignation. “Tommy, don’t—”

“Hey.” Long legs cross the boundary I left between us, and Tommy’s powerful hands clasp around my arms. “It’s done. I made the call today.”

My body wants to crash into Tommy, but my fucked up mind forces me in the opposite direction. Pulling away from him, I ask, “Why would you do that? Call them back. I’m serious. I’m not letting you quit because of me.”

“I’m not quitting. I’m making a choice, and I choose to go to San Jose with you.”

“Well, I won’t let you.”

“Then I’ll stay here, but I’m not going to Toronto. It’s done.”

Heart knuckle-punching my chest, I pace just to keep from jumping out of my skin. “This is a dream come true opportunity, and you’re throwing it away for what? Some guy you’ve been dating for a few months?”

“You sound like my mom.”

“Maybe your mom is right this time.”

“Or maybe you’re projecting.” He lurches forward, capturing my arm and holding it firm enough that I can’t just shrughim off. Keeping me still, he halves the gap between us, close enough that the scent of his body wash alone is overwhelming. “I love soccer,” he says, “but it’s your dream, not mine. It was always just a placeholder for me. Something to keep me distracted from what was going on inside me and the things I thought I had to hide from everyone, but it was never my dream.”

Flushed with the heat Tommy radiates, I tilt my gaze and allow myself to see the resolve in his eyes. The stubborn sincerity.

“You’re my dream, Rowan,” he murmurs. “It’s always been you, and I will never give up on you. Ever. Not for anything.”

The heat is overwhelming. It makes my face crumple and my eyes sweat. Tommy grabs me and hugs me to his chest before the rest of me crumbles, and I sob against his shoulder without rhyme or reason.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he soothes, cradling the back of my head with his other arm slung around my back.

“Thank you.” I choke on the words, turning my face into his neck and nuzzling my weeping eyes against his pulse.

“I love you, Rowan,” he speaks, rocking me in his arms as if we’re floating in the center of the sea.

“Thank you,” I breathe from my heart.

Laying his cheek on mine, he hums, “Can we be happy now?”

I pick my face out of his neck and blink until the tears on my eyelashes fall. My arms stay cinched around him, hands locked behind his back to make sure we can’t part. “It’s hard for me sometimes,” I croak, hardly any air left in my lungs.

“I know.” A warm palm cradles my jaw, a coarse thumb dragging across my wet cheek. “That’s why I’m here. For you. I’ll always be here, soIcan take care ofyou.”

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