Page 60 of With the Assist

Me: You’re up early.

It’s 6:30am here, which means 8:30 am in Boston. To me, it’s not early at all, but he hates mornings. It’s partially why I pushed for them.

Nathan: I figure I should get used to the mornings for when you come back and run me into the ground.

I smile, taking a sip from my mug. He doesn’t shy away from my athleticism like other men have. It doesn’t intimidate him in the slightest. In fact, he seems to actually like it.

Me: Smart man.

Nathan: When will that be?

No pressure. No accusation.

I swallow.

Me: I head back tonight.

I contemplate pushing our next session to next week, but a deal is a deal. I need to hold up my end.

Me: We can pick back up tomorrow since Thursday is Thanksgiving.

There is a pause this time. It’s long enough for me to imagine him reading it. My foot starts tapping faster against the floor.

Nathan: Yeah, sure. Might be extra tired though.

Me: Why?

Before I can wonder, a photo appears on my screen.

It’s him at my stadium.

The field is empty behind him with lights turned half on. The turf’s gleaming with frost. He’s in workout gear, his hair damp with sweat, wearing a focused, slightly sheepish expression.

Nathan: The groundskeeper let me inside in exchange for tickets to a game.

Nathan: I wanted to keep the routine.

My heart gives a strange tug.

He went to the field and worked out anyway. If I hadn’t texted him, I wouldn’t have even known. He did it because it matters to him, not for show or for me. The media has this man all wrong, and so did I.

He is focused. He puts in the effort. The man getting up early on his own with no witnesses, just to sneak in an extra workout, is not the man I thought he’d be.

My throat tightens, and I set the phone down, pressing my hands flat against the counter like that will ground me.

This is what I’m afraid of.

Me: That’s proof you don’t even need me.

Nathan: Wrong. I’m not nearly as tired as I am when we do it together. Besides, I like you yelling at me.

I snort into my coffee, but quickly recover when my dad turns to me over the newspaper.

Me: I do like being in charge on the field.

Nathan: Where else do you like being in charge?

And there he is. Overly confident, flirty Nathan is back. Good. I can deal with the teasing and being hit on. I cannot deal with the rest of it.