“Elise.”

His voice is like gravel, but I ignore the flutter in my stomach and keep walking.

* * *

I walk the perimeter of the stadium, stripping off layers of clothing, periodically checking my phone to see if Karina called or emailed, but there’s nothing. I use the restroom, even though I don’t need it. My spiked temperature probably evaporated any potential pee in my body—and I have no idea how I’m going to live through the second half of this rugby match.

When I peek into the stadium and see there is only six minutes left until the game resumes, I groan, turn away from the pitch…

And I lock eyes with a woman who is standing right behind me. She is medium height, well dressed, her brown skin glowing youthfully, despite her age.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, starting to bypass her.

I’m not sure what stops me. A familiarity about her?

I don’t think we’ve ever met, but there is something in the staunch set of her jaw and fiercely intelligent eyes that gives me pause. She has stopped halfway up the tunnel leading to the field, seemingly hesitant about entering to watch the game.

“Do you need help finding your seat?” I venture, sort of surprised at myself. Up until recently, I was definitely the kind of person who minds her own business.

The woman looks at me like I’m daft. Maybe I am. Maybe pheromones have eroded my brain, hindering my ability to behave normally. “What gave you the impression I need help?”

“You seem…undecided,” I settle on. “About going in. I thought maybe…”

She waves off my stuttering explanation. “It’s fine. You’re just being nice.”

I nod through a hum. “Enjoy the game.”

When I turn to leave, she stops me. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

She’s poised to speak, but it takes a moment for the words to come out. “Do you come to many games?”

“I don’t. No. This is my first.”

“Ah.”

That seems to be that, so I start to leave again. Not because I’m worried about Tobias being worried about me. Certainly not. Having to check in is a big part of why I avoid serious entanglements. Still, I’d like to make sure he isn’t worried…

“My son is the coach,” blurts the woman, gesturing at the end of the tunnel, then crossing her arms once again. “He always leaves me a ticket at the front. This is the first time I’ve taken it…” She shifts. “But I can’t seem to make it in there.”

I’m still reeling from the revelation that this woman is Banks’s mother. Then I realize, I shouldn’t be shocked. The similarities in their features and mannerisms are uncanny. It’s why she seemed so familiar. And thank God I convinced him to leave the ticket one more time. She might have come here today otherwise and found nothing waiting for her. “Why can’t you go in?”

Her laugh only contains a speck of humor. “That’s a good question.” The small smile fades. “I don’t think I deserve to be proud of him, I suppose. I didn’t have anything to do with…all of this. His accomplishment isn’t mine. I did nothing to support him and yet he keeps on leaving me that damn ticket at the front gate.”