The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(54)

“I know I haven’t,” Hazel says in awe, staring up at the tall ceilings. She turns slightly and then says, “Look at the organ.”

Behind us is a choir balcony with a pipe organ set as a backdrop. It’s grand, and I can only imagine the acoustics they would have in a place like this.

“I can understand why Pops loved this church so much. He was never a strict Catholic, but he did appreciate a place of worship. Any place—a temple, a synagogue—didn’t matter what was worshipped in between the walls, just that there was love and joy and understanding in every space. This seems like a place where Pops would identify those types of emotions.” Spotting the candles over in the right corner, I point to them and say, “That’s where we need to go.”

“Okay.” Hazel walks slowly, taking everything in. “Pops has been here, right?”

“That’s what the letter said.”

She nods. “Is it weird to say that I can almost feel him with us?”

“No. I’ve felt him many times on this trip, just didn’t want to say anything and sound . . . I don’t know . . . weird.”

“That’s not weird at all. I can feel him.” She smiles up at me, those captivating eyes nearly gutting me with one look.

Last night, hell, I don’t even know what we argued about. I was trying to give her some space. I thought she needed it, but boy was I wrong. That’s not what she needs at all. Instead she needs communication, she needs the small touches, the hugs, the jokes. Hell, I need them too.

This morning, waking up to her smiling face, it was a relief to know I didn’t utterly fuck things up. The trip to Tauberbischofsheim was fun. A short trip, but we listened to some music, took in the sights, and kept things simple. Normal.

That’s how it’s been ever since, and I’m grateful because I was nervous that we’d lost our connection, that she was pulling away. It’s no wonder Pops loved her so much. And right now, I cannot ever imagine not having her in my life again. She’s so beautiful, inside and out, and I know I’m a lucky bastard to experience this adventure with her. Thank you, Pops.

When we step up to the candles, I pull out a long match from a glass jar and take her hand in mine. “We need to kneel.” Together, we kneel on the kneeling pad, and with her hand in mine, I hold up the stick and I say, “Take it with me.” She reaches out her other hand, and we hold it together. “Now we need to light it.” We dip the stick in the candle in front of us and watch the tip ignite. “Pops said three candles. Let’s start with the past. Be grateful for the past, be conscious of how it shaped us, and always keep a memory close to your heart. Do you have your memory?” She nods and, together, we light a candle. “For the past,” I say quietly.

“Now the present, right?” she asks.

I nod and hover our hands over the candle that’s next to the one we just lit. “This is for the present, for this moment of being connected again and for connecting with Pops once more.” We light it and then we move over to the third and final candle. “For the future and what’s to come. Let Pops always be there with us and let us always be there for each other.”

“You and me?” Hazel asks.

“Yes, you and me, Hazel. Let us always be there for each other.” We light the third candle, and then I lift the stick and blow out the end, depositing it with the rest of the burnt-out sticks.

We don’t get up right away.

Instead we kneel silently in front of the candles, and I take this moment to be grateful. To remember that it was a rough year, that I lost my grandpa and my season, blowing my career chances tremendously. I’m lost. I’m sad. I’m unsure of what’s to come, but what I do have is a girl who’s willing to hold my hand in sad times such as this, in meaningful times. I have friends who care about me and my future. I have parents, an uncle and aunt, and five cousins, who would do anything for me. I have a fulfilling life, even if things aren’t going the way I expected. Life might have thrown me some curveballs, but I need to be grateful for what I do have.

And what I do have should be enough to make any single human happy.

Friends. Family. A future, no matter what it might be. It’s there, waiting for me to take hold of it.

Hazel squeezes my hand and when I look over at her, I catch tears in her eyes.

“You okay?” I ask her quietly, our voices easily echoing in the vast space.

She nods and wipes a tear off her cheek. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Ready to go?”

“Mind if we just sit in one of the pews for a second?”

“Not at all.” I help her to her feet and we walk over to pews that are off to the side but still offer a picturesque view of the baroque altar. We take a seat and Hazel doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead she sits close enough to me so she can rest her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, then I link my other hand with hers.

Comfortable silence falls over us as we sit in this awe-inspiring church, the only visitors, taking in the serenity the space offers.

“It was a humid as hell day,” she says, surprising me. “I was playing out by the big oak tree with that sprinkler that Pops attached to the hose. You know which one.”

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “Meant for the crops, but he’d hook it up for us and we had to keep enough distance to not get blasted in the head.”