Page 40 of A Shot at Love
I’m surprised at what I see when I open the second. Daniel is leaning against one of the washing machines, taking deep, measured breaths. He looks upset, hands pressed over his eyes. I hurry inside, closing the door behind me.
“Daniel.” I cross the room to be at his side. My body feels like it's vibrating, trying to say what I really mean. “I’m so sorry about that. I shouldn’t have talked about the Olympics. Your track career.” I reach a hand to comfort him but drop it when he abruptly lowers his hands and looks at me fully. He hasn’t been crying, but his eyes look a little glassy. His face is pale in the fluorescent light. His curls are in disarray from running his hands through them.
“How can you say those things?” His voice is a little hoarse, his expression intense.
I stutter again, apologetic and rushed. “I know. I know it probably hurts—”
He laughs in disbelief. I freeze, watching him. “No.” He looks at me with affection. “It doesn’t hurt when you believe in me, Annie. It doesn’t hurt when you still remember all my dreams and say that I can achieve them. It doesn’t hurt when you smile, and it’s not on some screen. You’re right next to me.” His smile fades a little. “But it shouldhurtyou. That’s all I’ve ever done. Hurt you, abandoned you, hid the truth from you.” Shame bleeds into the words, mingled with his disbelief. “Why should you care whether I ever go to the Olympics? Why should you care whether I’m lying somewhere in a ditch?” He looks at me beseechingly, as though he really needs an answer.
My mouth trembles a little, but I try to smile kindly. “Daniel, if I’ve learned anything during our little scheme, it’s that you’ve changed. That man who left me, who hurt me, who blew up my life,” he winces at the assessment, “isn’t the man you are now. You may have been broken by the accident, but you still have a real chance to achieve your dreams.” The words spill out of me, bold and unyielding. “I know you’ll go to the Olympics one day. I know you’ll keep fighting your PTSD and win most of the time. Maybe you’ll even share your story with the world. I hope you will. I hope you’ll keep dreaming and not regret what could have been.”
The fluorescent light flickers above us, as if sensing the tension. Daniel steps a half step closer to me. We’re only a breath apart. The laundry room, which isnormally warm, suddenly feels hot. “Annie,” he whispers. I tilt my chin up defiantly, looking into those starry eyes.
“Yes?” I whisper back, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.
His words are a tender murmur. “I do have some regrets.”
And then we’re crashing into each other. His lips are on mine, hard and soft at the same time. My hands crush into his shoulders, reaching up his neck and sighing when I find his decadent curls. His hands roam up and down my sides, and I find I don’t even care that I’m still wearing my sweaty practice clothes. Daniel is backing me up, both of us trying to find some solace as we press closer and closer.
The back of my legs hit the dryer behind me, and in one quick, exhilarating movement, Daniel hoists me so I’m sitting on top of it. I hum a sound of pleasure as I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to me, lifting his chin. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.
“Annie,” Daniel says again, but this time it almost sounds like a groan.
My skin feels like it’s on fire with him, and I break off our frantic kiss to rip off my practice jersey. I’m wearing an entirely too no-nonsense sports bra underneath, but it’s heaven to feel my skin against him. He begins kissing down my neck, tickling a sensitive spot below my ear, and I can feel his smile against my likely splotchy andflushed skin. His hands, which have been firmly on my hips, begin to inch up my body.
They feel wonderful, scalding to the touch and almost electric on my skin, but then his thumb just grazes my breast. The pleasure that shoots through me is more than I’m prepared for. Everything is tingling, from between my legs to the ends of my eyelashes.
“Daniel,” I gasp out, pulling back to look at him. “Wait—we need to—” He looks at me for a moment, eyes huge and lips swollen. It’s almost enough to stall my racing brain and instead go back to our frenetic kissing. But I know we really need to talk. We’ve danced around it. We’ve alluded to it. But if we’re going to be together, reallytogether, I have to trust him. That mental block won’t go away with just hormones, at least for me.
I take too long gathering my thoughts. Daniel’s face falls a fraction, and he takes a few steps away from me and the dryer. The air between us feels suddenly cold. “Annie,” he’s stumbling over his words, avoiding my gaze altogether, “I’m sorry. I got carried away. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Daniel, no—” But my words betray me again. They always do. I can’t make myself ask him to stay and talk about why he left and how it made me feel, and yet I also can’t stop remembering his scalding hands on my hips, his tongue in my mouth.
He backs out of the room. “I’m happy with your friendship, Annie. Your belief in me.” He smiles, even as he’s looking past me, notatme. “I won’t ask for more.”
And then he practically runs out of the room.
Somehow, I’m the one being left again.
*
The next day’s away game is a disaster. Despite our miraculous comeback in the last game, we’re still working through some kinks. Teams have been reading our plays more and more. Jadea is being double-teamed any time she has the ball, which leads to her racking up unnecessary fouls trying to get free. Lynn makes a run towards the basket but is slammed by a Dallas Wings’ defender. She practically topples into the base of the basket, leaving her with an aching head and a probable concussion. I can see her wife and new baby in the crowd, watching nervously as she’s led off the court. I play okay, with nine points and six assists. Not an atrocious game, but a quiet one. We ended up losing by eleven points. It felt like sand running through our fingers. We almost had it but couldn’t grasp the elusive victory.
Daniel and his crew were absent as well. They’re pretty much finished with any game or practice footage. Besides their interviews, Daniel is just working on his own narration. I find myself imagining him on the sideline, wearing the Larger Than Life t-shirt. I fantasize about his hands raking down my sides, his body between my legs. In general, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about a man so much.
And despite the obsessive nature of my thoughts, I don’t hear from Daniel until we’re on the plane ride home later that night.
Daniel: Sorry about the loss, Annie.
I look at it, strangely disappointed that’s all it says.
Then, another ding.
Daniel: And sorry again about the laundry room.
Daniel: Friends?
Jadea leans to look at my phone from her seat next to me, but I quickly tuck it back into my sweatshirt pocket without responding. “Is that Daniel?” she asks, once again suspicious.
