Page 62 of The Transfer
I am wiping stray tears from my cheeks. I’ve done everything I can to stay away, give Riggs the space he needs, but I know it’s wrong.
“What do I do, Coach?” I choke out. “All I want is to be here for him.”
“I know, Rea. I know. Listen, do you trust me?”
Instantly, I nod, but something stirs in my gut at his words.
“I’ll be right back. Just trust me, okay?” he says as he turns and quickly walks back into the locker room, leaving me alone in the hallway.
A moment later, I see Riggs coming out, wearing a royal-blue away game uniform with a bright orange 15. It doesn’t matter how many times I lay eyes on this man, I fall for him all over again. His green eyes meet mine, and I see a look of shock and surprise on his face. Jake clearly didn’t tell him I was out here.
“Reagan.” He says my name, and I melt a little, missing the sound of his voice. But he called me Reagan, not Sunshine, and I hate that.
I don’t say anything because I don’t want to mess it up. This is only the time we’ve been near each other since the day ofhis dad’s funeral.
“What are you doing here?” My trust in Coach wavers at this moment. I don’t think this will help anything.
“Jake, I mean, Coach, asked me to come. You didn’t tell him that we, uh…aren’t anymore?”
What I said, although it makes little sense to anyone, clearly affects him, as evidenced by his flinching. I don’t give him time to respond because I can’t talk about this, not when he has a game to play. So I just deliver the words from my heart, hoping it helps.
“Listen, Riggs, you got this. Your dad is so proud of you, whether you play basketball or not. But you love this game, so go and do what you love. Time isn’t guaranteed. Go make the most of every play, every pass, every game. Get the win.”
Then I run, not walk, back into the arena and sit a few rows higher than normal, giving myself space from the man I love without a doubt in my mind.
The Titans are a force to be reckoned with when Riggs Hart is at the helm, and if nothing else, basketball looks like it’s slowly putting together the pieces of him that were broken when Joel died. They win the game by over twenty points, securing a share of the conference regular season championship.
Riggs plays the best game of his college career, dedicating it and the rest of his season to his father.
I run awayfrom the bench as soon as the buzzer sounds, ending the game. I can’t risk making eye contact with Riggs or any of the other players. My brother has been treating me like a porcelain doll who might break at any moment. I can’t blame him, especially when he told me he can hear me crying at night.
I miss Riggs terribly. Despite him pushing me away, I’m trying to let go of the anger that I felt when I left his house, but it’s hard. Right now, I feel overwhelming hurt—not only for me but for him as well. He’s in pain. I can see it in his face, even from a distance.
I have been able to avoid him by taking alternate routes to classes and avoiding the Titan Gym entirely. Until tonight. All I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him when he stood in front of me. But I didn’t dare.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t even find it in myself to read. I tried to start a new book, and as soon as the main characters had their meet-cute, I threw my Kindle across the room and buried my head in my pillows.
I’m first on the bus and take a seat close to the front, where I know I can sit alone. Nobody likes to be up near the coaches, especially after a win when the guys are all celebrating and making plans for the rest of their night.
I sit on my phone, pretending to scroll through social media, while really, I’m just zoning out and peeking at each person who gets on, praying no one sees me. And by no one, I mean Riggs.
I sense him before I see him. His dark hair, messy and a little wet from his post-game shower, appears as he takes the few steps up and turns to go down the aisle. I freeze, and immediately his eyes lock on mine.
No. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. His deep green eyes are still sad but are a little brighter than before the game started.
Basketball is healing him. He doesn’t need you.My inner voice slices my heart at that realization.
Instead of waiting for a reaction from him, I break eye contact first. I feel him standing for a moment before he slowly passes my row and walks to the back of the bus, joining his teammates.
The drive home takes about an hour, and I lose count of how many of those minutes are consumed by my tears.
FORTY-EIGHT
RIGGS
It’s my dad’s birthday, and I'm going to visit my mom. She’s been handling things better lately. The combination of therapy and a great circle of friends, especially Aunt Lane and Paige Mills, has allowed her to grieve in a healthier way. I’ve been staying at my apartment again at her request.
I walk into the kitchen and smell my favorite meal, which is breakfast for dinner. French toast, bacon, and eggs are all laid out on the table. Only two settings are set out instead of our normal three, and that hits hard. Grief is so odd. There are days when memories trigger happiness, but right now, it’s a gut punch, and sadness envelops me for a moment. Hearing Mom singing in the kitchen pulls me out of it. She hasn’t sung since Dad passed. It gives me hope.
