I clamber out of my car and onto the sidewalk as soon as we pull up alongside a large door labeled VIP Entrance. “Where are we?” I ask urgently as everyone else climbs out onto the sidewalk as well.

“I thought we should check out a football game!” Lionel says jovially. “Immerse ourselves in the local culture.” He winks at me.

“What?” I ask, hoping I somehow misheard him. There’s a clear note of panic in my voice I hope no one else can detect. This entire trip seems to be shaping up as some sort of cosmic joke meant to punish me for thinking I could forget Jace. “Isn’t it too early for football? It’s only August.”

“It’s the first preseason game,” Lionel replies as we approach the tinted glass door.

The doors glide open in a anticipation of our approach. I trail at the very back of the group, ignoring the concerned glances being sent my way. Evidently, I’m once again not reacting to a surprise the way my companions hoped.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks as we walk inside. “Your father said you weren’t feeling well yesterday and thought you might be coming down with something.”

“I’m feeling much better today, thanks,” I respond, although the statement couldn’t be further from the truth at this particular moment.

The lobby we enter is buttressed by an elaborate security set-up we’re quickly waved past; one of the few perks of traveling with your own team of agents. We’re all ushered inside a large carpeted elevator. An older man stands in the corner. Once we’re inside the surprisingly roomy space, the elevator attendant pushes the button, and we ascend rapidly. With each foot we rise, my feeling of foreboding grows.

Eventually, the doors open to reveal a carpeted hallway. Straight ahead, a couple rows of cushioned chairs sit, with the closer row elevated to allow a view beyond the first. A long, gleaming bar top sits to the right. The surface is spread with an array of finger food and a long shelf filled with expensive liquor stretches behind it. Several high-top tables with matching stools are pushed against the opposite wall. Two black and white clad waiters stand behind the bar top, waiting to serve us.

“Not bad, huh?” Lionel walks ahead of our group and spreads his arms to showcase the plush suite. “The team owner is an old friend. He owns the house next to ours.”

We all walk over to the two rows of seats that provide the perfect vantage point over the massive stadium. The sight of the lush green grass and straight white lines is familiar, and it sends a pang of sadness through me as I think of the other three times I’ve looked at a football field. I claim one of the available seats quickly, needing to ground myself in this present moment somehow.

My father and Charles sit on either side of me.

“I told Lionel you watched a football game while you attended Lincoln,” my father tells me, looking over at my face curiously. I wonder what he sees as I scramble to paste on a smile. “I assume that’s why he set this up.”