Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5)(55)

“Hey. It’s okay.” I hold her tight, how she likes, and keep swaying her. Ziggy’s on the autism spectrum, and since she was diagnosed back when we were teens, I’ve learned how to give her comfort when she’s upset like this. Hard pressure, rhythmic swaying, making a safe space for her to tell me whatever she needs to or, conversely, to let silence be enough when she can’t seem to form words.

“You’re always welcome here,” I tell her. “I always want you to be comfortable showing up when you need to. I feel like a jerk for not having my phone and for not giving you a new key. Come on inside.” I pull my keys from my pocket and open up the house for her, before jogging out across the lawn to grab my phone and water bottle.

As I run back, I glance toward Gavin’s kitchen window, regret and guilt knotting inside me. His house is completely dark now. I can only imagine how it looked to him, seeing me practically jump out of his arms when I noticed a woman outside my house and ran straight toward her. I have a feeling he’s locked that door and shut me out. In more ways than one.

Worst part is, I know it’s for the best. I know Gavin only wanted me for one night, and I know I shouldn’t want him for a thousand more. But I do. I want him. And with every sliver of him that I see, of the person I’m starting to realize is the real Gavin, I only want more.

Acting on that wanting, encouraging it, even this little bit, is asking for trouble. If I indulged it and fell for him, then what? Pine for him for as long as he stays with the team? Watch him walk off into the sunset and retire somewhere warm and lovely to live in a big grayscale house with no one to fill it with color, or worse, with someone who agrees that black, charcoal, and heather gray are the be-all, end-all of interior design?

I’d be crushed.

No, it’s for the best that Ziggy showed up, that our wild night was cut short, that Gavin and I stopped before acting on this attraction and ruined the tentative camaraderie we built during our trip for the preseason game.

I know I’ve likely done some damage, pulling away tonight. Gavin’s pride may be hurt until he lets me explain myself and tell him it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with a family emergency. Worse, he might be relieved.

Worse yet, he might not actually care at all.

Just how much I care about that is deeply worrying.

“Ollie?” Ziggy peers out from the house and sees me standing outside my back door, lost in very unwise thoughts.

It’s definitely for the best that my sister showed up.

“Sorry.” I tear my gaze away from his house.

“Why were you next door?” she asks, glancing toward Gavin’s house. “Do you need to go back? I can wait.”

“Nah. Nope. All good... Just a…quick…little…neighborly visit. No big deal.”

Stepping inside the house, I shut the door, then lock it. Ziggy flicks on the soft overhead recessed lights, then flicks them off.

“Too bright,” she mutters, then flops onto my sofa, all long, lanky limbs. A groan leaves her.

“What’s the matter, Zigs?” I squeeze her toe gently as I walk by into my kitchen. “Want some tea?”

“Yes, please,” she says, massaging her temples.

I wait for her, because that’s what Ziggy needs when she’s upset—time and patience to let her formulate her thoughts, not pressure to spit them out. As I turn on the kettle and set out two mugs with peppermint sachets in them, Ziggy stares up at the ceiling, her socked feet bouncing rhythmically off the edge of my sofa.

Finally she says, “Nobody takes me seriously.”

I close the distance between us, circling the dining table, then leaning against the back of the sofa. I peer down at her and ask, “What do you mean, ‘nobody’?”

She doesn’t meet my eyes. She just keeps staring up at the ceiling. “I mean nobody.”

I sift through that, trying to think about what she needs from me, if anything beyond a listening ear. Ziggy’s struggled socially for a long time. It’s part of why she ended up having a comprehensive psych eval and getting diagnosed with autism. She was depressed and anxious, had compulsions and panic attacks. So many of her needs and struggles weren’t being met or understood, and trying to mask them had led her to the edge of a breakdown.

After being diagnosed, she took her time to process her diagnosis, learn her unmasked self, finished high school through cyber school while spending a lot of time in therapy, playing soccer, keeping life simple, her social circle small. Surprising us all when it came time to decide between trying to go directly into professional soccer or play for a team in college and she was hell-bent on going to UCLA.

She got in, of course, made the team, secured a full-ride scholarship, and she’s seemed to be doing well so far. She’s a senior now, and she’s also on the US U-23 team, playing only for them now that UCLA’s season is over. I thought she’d really hit her stride, was feeling more confident and acclimated since becoming an upperclassman on the UCLA team, since making U-23 and its starting lineup. She’s seemed to be doing well.

Sure, she’s a little weepy sometimes and wants to come over to watch rom-coms with me, make popcorn, and not really talk about anything. I can always tell something’s on her mind when she does that, but usually just being with me, laughing, goofing off, seems to have her smiling and calm by the time she drives back to her studio apartment near campus.