She takes a step back to swap spots with me. My hands are still shaking on the stick. I look her way for just a moment. The only thing I see on her face is the barest hint of expectancy.

Chapter Six

Made the Time

May

The legendary CJ Bradley holds a women’s lacrosse stick as he lines himself up to take on our goal. He’s led the league in shot-for-shot midfielder stats since he started playing on the New Haven Woodchucks, drafted in what was technically his junior year. This is where he’s most at home. But for all his bluster, something’s missing in the way he stands.

I throw him a ball, and he cradles it idly for a moment, eyes trained on the goal. The steely gunmetal of his irises glitters beneath long lashes that flutter against the brutal Oklahoman sun, his well-defined jaw ticking in concentration. I might have stopped giving him the light of day – or at least tried – but I can’t deny the fact that he’s got skills. Always did, always will.

Colt lunges forward, and I’m ready for it to be an immediate net. Except, it isn’t. The ball veers far right, and before I know it, the thing has wound around the goal and clangs against the fencing in the back with a sad clink.

What the hell?

He’s already prepared with another ball for me when he turns back, and suddenly, he’s the one who doesn’t want to meet my eye.

My next shot’s an easy one. Coach had me run these time and time again when I was starting. It’s muscle memory, and for a lax team captain, not to mention alleged goal-bagging midfielder extraordinaire, it definitely should be, injury aside. Despite it all, I stand back and watch as he takes his second shot, and it flies over the net. Well, damn.

‘Best of three, you said?’ I shrug as I jog to the goal to grab the balls. ‘Sorry, cowboy. Looks like that’s a game, fair and square.’

‘May …’ Oh, hell no. I can’t do more emotion from him. I pause, balls in hand, and stop to listen to whatever he thinks he’s got to say to me.

He swallows, removes his cap and smooths down his tousled hair before popping it back on. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he struggles to find words. ‘May, do you ever think about what could have been?’

My mouth goes just slightly slack. Do I ever? About what could have been? ‘For the sake of my sanity,’ I start, the red-hot flame of anger building up in my chest, ‘I try not to.’

‘I do.’ His voice is quiet, gentle. ‘And I wanna talk to you. I don’t wanna make excuses. I just want to talk.’