Page 19 of The Hearts We Fumble
Don’t get me wrong—I love our small town. I love my mom. I wouldn’t trade the world for everything she’s done for us.
But this wasn’t the plan—not mine, anyway. Sports were never my thing. At least, not when it came to playing them.
I was the kind of kid who tripped over my own feet and swung a bat like I had a personal vendetta against physics. One humiliating afternoon in T-ball sealed my fate when I lost my grip mid-swing, sending the bat flying dangerously close to the dugout.
The entire field went still.
And then came the tirade—from some furious parent in the stands, shouting about safety risks and how I had no business being anywhere near a baseball diamond.
That should have been the moment I brushed it off, laughed along with everyone else, and moved on. But I didn’t. I felt like a failure.
So I did what I always do best. I studied.
If I couldn’t play the game, I would learn everything about it.
It started with football. Tracking my brother’s stats, memorizing his game highlights, diving into every rule, strategy, and playbook I could get my hands on.
The more I learned, the more I fell in love with it—the rush, the anticipation, the way a single play could change everything.
Before long, it wasn’t just football. I found myself watching basketball, hockey, anything with competition and heart. Those three, in particular, became my favorites.
Maybe it was inevitable. Living next door to the Kinnicks, I had no choice but to care.
James Kinnick—Zane’s father—was practically sports royalty. A Braysen University legend, he was one of the best basketball players in school history. Then he went pro, playing for the Hornets in Charlotte, carving his name into the league like he was always meant to be there.
And Zane?
Well, Zane was a force all on his own.
I told myself my obsession with sports was about my brother, my research, and my love of the game.
But sometimes, I wondered if it had a little more to do with him.
After James left the league, he and Zane’s mom, Maggie, moved back to Braysen, but retirement didn’t pull him away from the game. Instead, he took over partial ownership of the Hornets and stepped into a front-office role, now serving as head of operations.
These days, he splits his time between Charlotte and Braysen, constantly on the move during the season. But no matter how busy he gets, he never misses a home game for Zane.
Or for Myla, his youngest, who’s already making a name for herself on the Braysen University basketball team.
It was impossible not to admire that—his unwavering commitment to his family and the way he made sure his kids knew they came first. And maybe that’s why, despite everything, I could never quite shake the way my focus always seemed to drift back to Zane.
Because as much as I loved the game, as much as I loved analyzing plays and studying stats, part of me knew the truth. I’d spent years watching him.
But the real question was, had he ever been watching me?
“You okay?” Tatum’s voice pulls me back, her brows furrowing as she watches me a little too closely.
I shake off the feeling, forcing a small smirk. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
She studies me for a second longer, like she knows there’s more I’m not saying, then rolls her eyes. “Well, stop that. We’ve got a dinner to get ready for, and I refuse to let you mope your way through it.”
I huff out a soft laugh, nudging her with my elbow. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
And as much as I hate to admit it…she’s not wrong.
I move carefully up the stairs, balancing the box in my arms as I make my way toward my bedroom. The door swings open, and for a moment, I pause in the doorway, taking in the space that still feels frozen in time.
