Winter in the City
The heater at Joe's All-Day Diner was broken again.
Lena Shaw wiped down the laminate counter, the smell of burnt coffee and bacon grease clinging to her hair. Her hands, once manicured and soft, were now chapped red from the harsh sanitizer and the biting winter wind.
"Table four needs a refill, Shaw!" the manager, a gruff man named Rick who didn't care about her last name or her father's (former) money, shouted from the kitchen window.
"On it," Lena called back.
She grabbed the pot and walked over to the booth where an elderly couple sat. She poured the coffee with a steady hand.
"Thank you, dear," the old woman said, sliding a dollar bill onto the table.
"Thanks," Lena smiled. It was a genuine smile, tired but real.
Six months ago, a dollar was an insult. Now, it was bus fare.
Her life had imploded in slow motion. After the "Preseason Training" incident, Michael had dumped her publicly for Sarah. Her father, facing an SEC investigation, had frozen all assets and fled to the Caymans, leaving Lena and her mother to fend for themselves.
Her mother had collapsed under the pressure, spending her days in bed. Lena had to step up.
She sold the designer clothes. She sold the jewellery. She moved them into a small two-bedroom apartment near the highway. And she got a job.
Every night, after her shift ended at 10 PM, she didn't go to parties. She sat at her wobbly kitchen table with second-hand textbooks, studying for the SATs. She was teaching herself calculus because she couldn't afford a tutor.
She was exhausted. She was lonely. But for the first time in her life, she wasn't pretending.
US National Team Training Camp – The Ritz-Carlton
The lobby of the hotel was swarming with reporters. Flashbulbs went off like strobe lights as the bus pulled up.
The U-19 World Cup was two months away, and the US National Team had gathered for a friendly against Mexico. But the press only cared about one thing.
Harry Chase stepped off the bus.
He wore a Manchester United tracksuit, customized headphones around his neck, and an air of quiet authority that silenced the crowd for a split second.
"Harry! Over here!" "Harry, is it true Real Madrid is preparing a bid?" "Harry, how does it feel to be back?"
Harry kept his head down, signing a few autographs for kids holding up #10 jerseys.
He checked into his suite. It was luxurious, warm, and silent. He walked to the window and looked out at the city skyline. It looked smaller than he remembered.
"Hey, Cap," his teammate, the US goalkeeper, poked his head in. "We're sneaking out to get some real food. Hotel pasta is trash. You coming?"
Harry hesitated. "Where to?"
"Some diner a few blocks away. Supposed to have the best burgers. Low key."
Harry looked at the snow falling outside. He felt a strange pull. "Yeah. I'm in."
The Encounter
The bell above the door of Joe's Diner jingled.
Lena didn't look up from the register. She was counting change. "Sit anywhere you like. I'll be with you in a minute."
A group of four tall, athletic guys in heavy winter coats walked in, laughing and stomping snow off their boots. They squeezed into the corner booth.
Lena grabbed her notepad and walked over. She kept her eyes on the pad.
"What can I get you guys?"
"Four double cheeseburgers, fries, and... hey, do you have milkshakes?"
"Machine's broken," Lena said automatically. "Cokes or coffee?"
"Cokes all around."
"Got it."
She looked up to count the heads.
Her eyes swept past the first three guys. Then she locked onto the fourth.
He was sitting by the window, staring out at the street. He had taken off his beanie, revealing hair that was stylishly cut. He turned his head, feeling her gaze.
Harry Chase looked at Lena Shaw.
The diner noise seemed to suck out of the room. The clatter of plates, the hum of the fridge—it all vanished.
Harry didn't gasp. He didn't look angry. He just looked... surprised.
He took in the apron with the ketchup stain. The name tag that said LENA. The messy bun held up by a cheap plastic clip. The tiredness under her eyes.
"Lena," he said. His voice was calm, deep.
The other players went quiet, looking between them. "You know her, Harry?"
Lena felt a wave of shame so hot it burned her neck. She wanted to drop the notepad and run. She wanted to hide in the freezer.
But she didn't.
She gripped the pen tighter. She remembered the calculus problems she had solved last night. She remembered paying the electric bill with her own tips.
She took a breath.
"Hi, Harry," she said. Her voice didn't shake. "Long time."
Harry looked at her—really looked at her. He didn't see the princess anymore. He saw a girl working a shift.
"Yeah," Harry said. "You work here?"
"Pays the rent," Lena said simply. She didn't offer an excuse. She didn't lie and say it was an 'social experiment' or 'volunteer work.' "Four double cheeseburgers and Cokes. Anything else?"
Harry stared at her for a second longer, a flicker of respect crossing his eyes. "No. That's it."
"Coming right up."
She turned and walked to the kitchen. Her legs felt like jelly, but she walked straight.
The Check
Thirty minutes later, the team was finishing up. They were laughing, loud and boisterous. Harry was quiet, eating his burger, occasionally glancing at the counter where Lena was wiping down the milkshake machine.
"Check, please!" one of the guys called out.
Lena walked over with the slip. She placed it on the table.
"I got it," Harry said, reaching for the bill before his teammates could.
He pulled out a black credit card—heavy metal. He handed it to her. Their fingers brushed. His hand was warm; hers was cold.
"I'll run this," she said.
She went to the register, swiped the card, and brought back the receipt.
Harry took the pen. He signed quickly.
His teammates stood up, putting on their coats. "We'll wait outside, Harry."
They left. It was just Harry and Lena at the booth.
Harry stood up, buttoning his coat. He looked taller than she remembered. Broader. He didn't look like her Harry anymore. He looked like a stranger she used to know.
"You look..." Harry paused, searching for the word. "Different."
"I am different," Lena said softly. She looked down at her apron. "Life has a way of... humbling you."
Harry nodded. "I heard about your dad. And Michael."
"Yeah," Lena let out a dry laugh. "Turns out, you were right about a lot of things. Especially the dead weight part."
Harry didn't smile. He just watched her.
"Harry," Lena said, looking up. Her eyes were clear, free of the manipulation that used to cloud them. "I'm sorry."
She didn't add 'I miss you' or 'take me back' or 'I was scared.'
"I used you," she said. "Because I was insecure and selfish. You didn't deserve that. You deserved better."
It was the first completely honest thing she had ever said to him.
Harry softened. The armor he wore—the Manchester United star, the media darling—cracked just enough to show the boy who used to carry her books.
"I know," Harry said. "I forgave you a long time ago, Lena. Not for you. For me."
He stepped back.
"Good luck with the SATs," he said, gesturing to the prep book sticking out of her bag behind the counter.
"How did you...?"
"I notice things," he said. "That's my job."
He turned and walked toward the door.
"Harry?" she called out.
He stopped, hand on the handle. He didn't turn around.
"Win the World Cup," she said.
Harry pushed the door open, the cold wind rushing in. "That's the plan."
The door closed.
Lena walked over to the table to clear the plates. She picked up the merchant copy of the receipt.
On the line for the tip, Harry hadn't written a percentage.
He had written: $500.00.
And a note in the margin: Buy a new heater.
Lena looked out the window. She saw Harry get into a waiting SUV. The taillights turned red, then faded into the snowy night.
She didn't cry. She folded the receipt and put it in her apron pocket.
"Rick!" she yelled toward the kitchen. "I'm calling the repair guy for the heater!"
She picked up the rag and started scrubbing the table. She had work to do.