Page 135 of Triple Play
“My future is with you.”
“In six months I’ll be in Chicago. Grant will be in Boston. Jordie will be—wherever he ends up.” Wyatt’s voice is flat. Factual. “You’ll be in med school. Probably not even on the East Coast.”
“So what, we just—give up?”
“No. But we don’t ask you to sacrifice your dreams for ours.”
I’m about to argue when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
3:17 AM. Who the hell—
It’s an email. I quickly read it.
“Johns Hopkins rescheduled. Via Zoom. After the game.”
Silence.
Then Jordie asks, “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“So you can—” Wyatt sits up. “You can do both?”
“I can do both.”
Grant pulls me back down to the bed. Kisses me hard. “You can do both.”
“I can do both.” I’m laughing and crying at the same time. “I don’t have to choose.”
“Best news all week,” Jordie says. “Besides, you know, not getting expelled.”
“Bar’s pretty low right now,” Wyatt mutters, but he’s grinning.
We lie there in the dark, tangled together, and for the first time in six days I can breathe.
Game day arrives like a hurricane.
The arena is packed. Standing room only. Every sports blogger and scout and reporter on the Eastern seaboard showed up to watch the “controversial captain” play.
I’m in the stands wearing a custom jersey that Jordie’s mom—yes, Senator Dickson’s wife—had made for me.
It’s got all three of their numbers. Grant’s 17. Wyatt’s 47. Jordie’s 23.
And on the back where a name would normally go: THEIRS
Subtle. Real subtle.
But when I walked into the arena and the guys saw me, Grant’s face did this thing. This soft, vulnerable, completely wrecked thing that made my chest hurt.
Worth it.
Teddy’s beside me. He drove up for the game. “You’re not nervous at all, are you?”
“I’m terrified.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He nods at my hands. I’m gripping the railing so hard my knuckles are white.
“It’s playoffs. I’m allowed to be nervous.”
