Page 38 of Old Fashioned
“Like what never happened?”
Her jaw dropped a little, but then she let out a relieved sigh on a smile when she realized what I’d done. “Exactly.”
I faked my best smile in return while my stomach continued to tie itself into knots. But, the longer I watched her, the more I knew I had to say. “Sydney… I really am sorry.”
She held up her hand quickly. “Please, don’t. You don’t need to apologize. It never happened. Okay?”
I frowned, but nodded, nonetheless.
“Does this mean…” I started, but then paused, reframing what I wanted to ask. “I was hoping… just because I know she was excited about it, and I don’t want her to think I bailed on her or anything… would it be okay if I still worked with Paige from time to time?” I held up my hands. “Not all the time,” I clarified quickly. “Just… you know, whenever it works out. I just would love to keep working with her and help her get ready for camp next summer.”
Sydney smiled, letting out a long exhale that was calmer than any breath had been in that room since she walked into it. “Of course,” she said. “You’re always welcome.”
I returned her smile, and though there was still something new and uncomfortable that existed between us now, at least the conversation was had, and we could begin to put it all behind us.
My chest tightened again, as if it was protesting that I had just agreed to forget what was honestly the best kiss of my life, but I ignored it, standing instead.
“Welp, I’m going to go get these boys fired up for another week of practice.”
Sydney stood abruptly, too. “Yep, I’m going to go get my tables set up and ready. I’ve got a few injuries to follow up with today and I’ll give you a report of who we need to keep an eye on by the end of practice.”
“Sounds good,” I said with my eyes on my clipboard as we made our way out of my office. “Oh, and can you do some soft tissue work on Martinez’s right shoulder?” I added. “He’s been rubbing it after almost every throw, and the last thing I need is a second-string quarterback who can’t perform if he’s subbed in.”
“I’m on it,” she assured me, already heading down the hall toward her office.
And just like that, it was back to work.
Like nothing ever happened.
And so the week went.
Everything was back to normal, in the sense that they werefarfrom normal, but at least we were pretending. My days passed with teaching my P.E. classes and weightlifting, evenings passed at practice with me and Sydney dutifully dancing around each other, all the while being “normal,” and at night, I fell back into my routine, meal prepping and running and working through entries in Dad’s journal.
Part of me wondered if it really was only me who felt like we were pretending. Sydney seemed fine, as far as I could tell. She was focused on the field and in her office, not skipping so much as one beat after our conversation on Monday.
I wondered if anyone could tell that I was on the opposite end of that spectrum.
It drove me mad that I couldn’t drop it, but I tried my best, reminding myself of our conversation.
It was a mistake.
We were tired and tipsy.
It’s not a big deal.
It never happened.
On Thursday night, I was successfully distracted, my nose buried in my playbook as I mapped out my strategy to take on the Conway Chargers. It would be another away game for us, and though the team was on a high from the win the week before, I knew it would be important to keep them focused and run the plays that we were nailing over and over in practice.
I wanted to play this game safe and bring home another win without any fanfare. That was my goal.
My eyes were starting to blur with all the x’s and o’s when my phone buzzed on the coffee table where my feet were propped. I scrubbed my hands down my face, moving my playbook to the side and smiling when I saw my baby brother’s face on the screen.
“Well, if it isn’t the city slicker,” I answered, kicking back on the couch again.
“Hey, old man,” Mikey teased back. “I was worried I might not get an answer, what with it being eight o’clock and all. I know that’s past your bedtime.”
I smiled, though my chest ached a bit, too. Mikey was the first of us to move away from Stratford — likely, theonlyone who ever would — and the Becker clan felt a little unsteady without him here.
