The One & Only(138)

“Then please stop this,” Lucy whimpered, her hands clasped, prayer-style. “Please don’t do this. Please.”

“I would if I could,” I said. “But I’m in—”

“Don’t say it,” Lucy said, cutting me off, staring at me pleadingly. “Don’t say it, Shea. Please.”

I almost stopped. I almost gave in to her. But then I thought of him. The only person in the world I cared for more than Lucy. And I knew I had to keep going.

“But Lucy. I am in love with him,” I said, my heart thudding so hard I could hear it in my ears. “It was there even when I didn’t know it yet … And I can’t help it or change it … I tried by keeping my distance. I tried by leaving Walker to take another job. I tried by dating Ryan James. Nothing has worked. My feelings are strong and real and I think he feels the same way.”

“But you can get over it!” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “You can both get over it. You have to. Please, Shea! Please just get over it.”

I put my head in my hands, my mind racing, wishing I could have a sidebar with Coach, trying desperately to channel him. I was pretty sure I knew what he would say. Stick to your guns. Do what’s right. Don’t take the easy way out.

With this advice swirling in my head, I opened my mouth and said, “My mother said you want me to make a choice. I have to tell you that I don’t think that’s fair of you. But feelings aren’t fair, and if you really want me to make a choice, then I will.”

“And?” she said, her face now streaked with tears that she didn’t bother to wipe away.

I held my breath, ready to pull the trigger, ready to prove what I’d always believed to be true: that love conquers all. But looking into the eyes of my best friend, I wasn’t so sure. I thought of everything we had been through, together. What I’d lost as a child to divorce. What she’d lost this year to cancer. And, in that moment, I decided that maybe I was wrong. Maybe the bonds of friendship were stronger than anything else in this world.

“We are on the same team and have been since we were babies,” I began, staring into her big, glassy eyes. “And we will be together until we are both little old ladies in cute clothes—because of you … watching football on television—because of me …”

She gave me the smallest smile.

“So. I really hope you change your mind. I really hope you don’t make me choose between the two things I care about the most. But if I have to pick one … then I choose you, Lucy. I choose you and our friendship. Now and always.”

She rose and walked slowly over to me as I stood to face her, waiting, praying for her to say it: You don’t have to choose.

Instead, she gave me a hug and said, “Thank you, Shea. I want to be a bigger person here. I really do. But I just can’t … I can’t.”

I hugged her numbly back, then said, “Well, I’m glad we talked.”

“Me, too, Shea … Thank you.”

I nodded, the devastation slowly sinking in. It was the way I felt after Walker losses—only much, much worse. Because I had never lost this big before.

For a few minutes after that, we both sat again, and miraculously managed to change the subject, mustering small talk about her pregnancy, her next doctor’s appointment, how she planned to decorate a nursery when she didn’t know the gender of the baby. Then, when I couldn’t stand it another second, I told her I should go and let her get some sleep. She nodded and walked me to the door, then gave me another hug. “I love you, Shea.”

“I love you, too, Lucy,” I said, relieved to realize that I meant it, even if I hated her a little bit, too.





Forty-two





There was only one thing left to be done, and I was prepared to put it off for as long as possible, as if not telling Coach about my decision would somehow make it less real.

But right before I went to bed that night, there was a knock at my door. I went to look through the peephole and saw Coach staring back at me. My heart broke a little more as I answered the door and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be on the road?”

“I caught the last flight home tonight. I wanted to see you. I’d have called first,” he said, dropping his leather duffel at his feet and unbuttoning his navy overcoat. “But my phone went dead and I forgot to pack my charger.”

“Rookie move.”

“Hey, now. Who you callin’ a rookie, rook?”

“You,” I said, mustering a smile as my arms remained awkwardly at my sides. “How did the visit go?”

“Great. Good kid. Nice family,” he said, still fumbling with his buttons.