Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5)(89)

I nearly drop the plate I’m rinsing, before setting it hastily in the sink, madly drying my hands on my shirt. “Don’t. Don’t turn it down.”

Lunging for Viggo’s phone, I grab it and have grand plans to run somewhere private to watch, but the moment I see Gavin, my legs stop working. I sink to the nearest chair at the table with a clumsy flop.

My heart splinters as I look at him, drinking him in. Blue suit. Blue-and-gold tie. His beard neat, hair neater. He stands, tall, stoic, clutching a piece of paper.

“…Playing this game has been the greatest privilege, the richest joy. Saying goodbye to it, for years, has been my deepest fear and sadness.” He swallows thickly, sets the paper down and runs his hand flat across it. “But I cannot sustain this level of play. My body has reached its limit, and as much as I wish it were not the case, I have had to listen to it, to respect it, after it brought me this…incredible opportunity—” He swallows thickly again, bites his cheek. “And so, it is with gratitude for the journey that I have been fortunate enough to know, the players I’ve called teammates, the coaches who have shaped and directed me, that I announce my retirement from professional soccer.”

I wipe away tears, my chest aching. A hankie appears in my peripheral vision. I don’t question it, just accept it and loudly blow my nose. How long has he known? Why haven’t I known? I could have been there for him, comforted him—

He didn’t want you there, did he? that despairing voice whispers. He hasn’t wanted you for weeks, since he knew he was done here. You were just an insignificant pit stop, and now he’s moving on.

I shake my head, willing away those hopeless thoughts, reminding myself what Willa said—You need to do your part, too. Believe in yourself, in your worth, that you’re enough.

I watch Gavin on the screen as he folds up his paper, dabs the corner of his eye. So composed and calm, even though I know his heart is breaking. I want so badly to be right there beside him, to be the arms he turns to when the lights go out and he clears out his cubby and he comes home.

When he falls apart. I want to be what he’s been for me: safe, strong, comforting.

I love him.

The words drift through me, natural and gentle as a breeze whispering over my skin, the sun warming my face. I love him.

I love Gavin whether or not he’ll love me back. I love him if he comes out of retirement or walks away from the game forever. I love him, and I don’t know when it happened. When annoyance gave way to affection, when bickering became foreplay and lust’s grip became love’s fist wrapped around my heart until its every beat was just for him.

He’s retiring, leaving the game, exiting my world, and yet nothing’s clearer, safer, easier simply because he won’t do drills with me or bark at me across the field. The old me would have been relieved, convinced this separation of our careers would be all we needed and voila!

What a fool I was, to think it could be as simple as drawing a line between the person I’d allow myself to love and the game I loved, too. What a bogus idea that I could open my heart to someone safely, cautiously; that with the right person and the right boundaries, falling in love wouldn’t scare me just as badly as, or worse than, it did the first time, that it wouldn’t make me feel like I was hovering on the edge of a cliff, no guarantee that the person I was falling for would be there to catch me.

I still don’t know if he’ll be there. But now I know the truth: the nature of my heart, the fullness with which I love and live, means that to love is to risk deep pain.

And it also opens my world to incredible, intimate love.

I want that with him. I want Gavin.

I just…don’t know if he wants me. But I’m ready to be brave and find out.

Staring at his image, contained on a phone screen as the press turns unsurprisingly feral, I start to plan, dream, hope. The flight home I’ll try to move up to today instead of lingering here alone for a few days, how I’d planned; the words I’ll say, the way I’ll say them.

But for now, I watch him because I have to do this, to stand witness to what I wish I could have witnessed in person—his bravery, his pain, his dignity as the press shout his name, begging to be called on.

Clearing his throat, Gavin rolls his shoulders and straightens, then points to a man in back who the camera pans to, slim, wiry, thick glasses. The man says, “Colin Woodruff with ESPN. Mr. Hayes, first, please let me express what a beautiful statement that was. We’re all sad to see the end of this era in your life, and yet, so much is still ahead of you. What’s next?”

Gavin nods, stares down at the paper on the podium. “Taking care of myself, finding ways to give back to the community. Hopefully settling down.”

“Where?” Colin asks, shouting over new voices.

Gavin glances up at the camera. “That depends.”

“On?” Colin prompts.

Before Gavin can answer him, a bang on the front door startles me so badly, I nearly drop Viggo’s phone. A dozen hands dart my way, collectively steadying it.

That’s when I realize my entire family has congregated behind my chair, looking moved and curious.

Two more rapid thuds shake the front door, ringing through the great room and the silence they’ve created. Then, a single ring of the doorbell, like whoever went to town on the door only just realized that a more modern method of announcing themselves was available.