I couldn’t believe I forgot about the game. I had it in my calendar. Hell, I had the entire practice and game schedule in my calendar, but I guess it just didn’t register that this game was the game.

I was definitely slipping. Normally, I would have had a countdown widget with annoying blinking numbers reminding me how many days left until the big game. I would also have events on every day in the calendar with a daily alarm to remind me. I decided to blame not being prepared on Oakley. It just seemed easier than taking responsibility.

I jumped on my travel app and booked a flight, car, and hotel within minutes. My parents had wanted me to stay with them, but I decided I would be happier in the hotel. This time, it wasn’t to make sure Oakley stayed in line, it was so that I could have a safe space to hide if I needed it.

The next thing I did was research the university media presence. I knew they were going to want to interview Oakley, because quite frankly, everybody did. After a lot of deliberate online stalking, I found three news outlets wanting exclusives. My hope was that they wouldn’t know who I was since Dad expertly buried the footage from when I decided to publicly, and nakedly, humiliate myself. Threatening to sue was apparently good enough to keep it out of the news.

I was starting to feel semi-confident that this weekend wouldn’t be a complete shit show. I could handle this. It was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and ignoring my feelings. Someone knocked on the door, and I got up to open it, half expecting to find Shelby on the other side. She was always forgetting her keys. But to my surprise, it wasn’t Shelby. No, it was Oakley, dressed in a fucking killer suit with a bouquet clutched in his palm.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“We have some celebrating to do. My mother sends these,” he explained, holding out the fist full of flowers. “Not to brag, but I arranged them. Also, she wants to meet you.”

Just this morning, he didn’t want to label us, now I was meeting his mother? Talk about emotional whiplash. “Wait, what are we celebrating?”

Oakley walked inside and started shuffling around my kitchen. “Where do you keep the vases? We need to put these in water.”

“Oakley...what are we celebrating?”

He spun around to look at me. “I’ve been turning down scouts for years. But today, I told Coach I wanted to work hard this season and that I’d be open to meetings. I don’t know if they’ll even want me—”