Page 121 of Between Love and War
“And then you met her,” she finishes for me.
I nod, throat tight. “Kate.”
Trish gives me a half-smile, soft and knowing. “You softened, Mike.”
I look down at my hands. “She made me feel like I could want things again. Not awards. Not headlines. Just... dinner with someone who listens. A warm kitchen. Mornings where I’m not sprinting toward something just to feel worthy.”
“Did you tell her that?”
I shake my head. “No. Not that, exactly. I told her I like her, though.”
“Michael.”
“I know.”
She exhales, like she’s disappointed but chooses not to talk about it.
“I wanted to tell her more,” I continue. “But then I saw how much she’s always bent herself to make room for other people, and I don’t want to be that guy for her. If I tell her I love her, she’s gonna double that love, and I’m going to be unworthy of it.
“I kept telling myself I was protecting her by maintaining a distance,” I say. “That she deserved better than a guy still rebuilding his life. And now she’s going to my game with someone else.”
“Did she say it was a date?”
“No,” I admit. “She said it was just a friend. Said she was proud of me, and she wished me luck.”
Trish lets out a soft breath. “And how did that feel?”
“Like a door closing. Slowly. Kindly. But still closing.”
I force a laugh, dry and sharp at the edges. “She’s gentle in ways I didn’t think existed anymore. But she’s not just soft—she bites when she has to. I was probably the only person she was ever mean to. And I think it’s because she trusted me with her sharp edges.”
I blink hard. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to filter herself around me. She deserves to be all of who she is—soft, stubborn, scared, strong. If I can’t hold that without asking her to shrink, then I don’t deserve her.”
I try to smile, but it cracks at the edges. “I guess I’ll just… be happy for her. If someday I see her with someone who treats her well, then that should be enough for me.”
Trish slides off her stool and walks over to me. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds on like she’s still my big sister and I’m still that quiet, serious boy with the weight of the world in his backpack.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says. “Even when this is the first time you’ve ever loved someone, you already know something people spend years trying to learn: that love isn’t transactional. It’s not a deal or a prize or a return on investment. It’s just… love. And the fact that you can hold that feeling—fully, honestly—without expecting anything in return? That means it’s real. That means you’re loving her the right way.”
I nod, pressing my forehead to her shoulder.She pulls back, just enough to meet my eyes. “But Mike,” she says, her voice steady as she puts her wineglass in the sink. “It’s not too late to tell her again.”
The apartment goes quiet once Trish heads to the room with Polly and Peter. I’m left with the hum of the fridge and the sound of my own heart, loud in my chest.
I sit back on the couch, lights dimmed, the skyline blinking outside my window. From here, I can see the city I’ve tried to conquer for so long. Now all I want is something smaller. Softer.
Soon, she’ll be in the stands. And I’ll be on the court. And I have no idea what I’ll do when I see her.
Will I freeze?
Will I fall apart?
Will I finally find the courage to say what I’ve been holding inside me for weeks now—that I love her?
I don’t know.
I’ve faced sold-out stadiums. Reporters. Coaches. Every kind of pressure. But none of it has ever scared me the way she does. Not because she might hurt me—but because she might not. Because she might believe me. Because if I say it and she says it back, then that means I have to live up to it. I have to be the person she sees in me.
I’ll walk into that arena like I’ve done a hundred times before. Maybe I’ll give the crowd the performance they’re hoping for. But this time, I won’t be playing for them.
