Chapter 18: The Goodbye Before the Goodbye
The game wasn't part of any league.
No referees, no crowd, no stakes.
Just Sheik's team, a scrappy set of benches on the sidelines, and a breeze that kept lifting the corner flags like they, too, were restless.
Coach Mendoza said it was just a "friendly scrimmage"—a casual match before Sheik left for West Bay's trial camp. But no one really treated it like a goodbye game. Because no one really wanted to call it that.
Except Andrea.
She sat on the edge of the bleachers alone, hugging her knees, trying not to look like she was counting every second.
Sheik jogged onto the field with the same smile he always had before kickoff. But Andrea could see the nerves in the way he kept adjusting his socks. The way he glanced at her when he thought she wasn't watching.
The whistle blew.
And they played like it meant something.
The rhythm came back to him, the way it always did—like his feet knew exactly what to do before his brain even caught up. Passes came clean, fast. His teammates trusted him. He scored once, maybe twice, but it didn't matter.
What mattered was the quiet between the cheers.
What mattered was the moment he paused at midfield, hands on his hips, staring out at the sunset bleeding orange across the trees. He stayed there a second longer than he should have, as if he knew he wouldn't see this place again for a while.
After the match, while the others chatted and stripped off jerseys, Sheik walked over to the sideline where Andrea waited.
She didn't say anything.
She just handed him a towel and nodded toward the bench.
They sat side by side, not touching, but close enough to share the silence.
"I felt weird out there," Sheik said quietly.
"Weird like nervous?" she asked.
"Weird like…" He paused. "Like I was already somewhere else."
Andrea swallowed.
"I don't want to start saying goodbye," she whispered.
"You think I do?"
"I think you're going to get on that bus," she said, "and in a week you'll forget how this field smells after it rains. You'll forget the way Coach Mendoza always says 'Let's go' three times in a row. You'll forget—"
"I won't forget you," Sheik interrupted.
Andrea blinked.
"I know this is just a camp," he went on, "but it feels bigger. Like it's testing not just me, but us."
She finally looked at him. "Then let's pass the test."
He smiled—soft, unsure, but genuine.
They didn't kiss. Not this time. Not with so many words left unspoken.
Instead, Sheik reached out and held her pinky, just barely hooking hers with his.
A silent promise.
Not forever. But for now.
And sometimes, that was enough.