Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Blair
I’m about a mile away and my knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel.
Today is the day I'm headed back to the studio. After the vandalism and my blow up with Tyson, I basically hid. My body needed a few days to get back to myself and feel like everything wasn’t totally in despair—just a little.
I talked to the contractor and apparently the fixes went well.
A new window, door, coat of paint, and fresh new security system, all of which was no big deal and completely covered by insurance.
This time, I made sure to get cameras with the new system, kind of kicking myself for saying no to them before.
My heart tugs at the relief I thought I’d feel, knowing it wouldn’t cost me anything financially, but then I remember what it took from me emotionally—it’s a much higher price tag. Isn’t that how it always goes?
I park in the back, on purpose, needing a moment alone. Running my thumb along the steering wheel, I go back to last week, including the game I missed. The points I didn’t kick. The moment I didn’t get to be part of. The anxiety that kept me on the edge of a breakdown.
At first, I was convinced I’d ruined it—let my team down, embarrassed myself by sitting out. But the coaches were incredible. My teammates checked in nonstop. Zack even left me a voicemail that made me laugh through tears, to accompany a massive basket full of every snack you could ever dream of.
Still, I hated how small I felt. How fragile everything was—the actual windows of the building a perfect metaphor for my resolve. How easily someone like Oscar could shake my foundation.
But even now, with the building back to its true form, there’s still one crack I can’t patch over.
Tyson.
I haven’t talked to him since I found out about the house. His house. On his land. Michigan. States away. A future I was left in the dark on. It’s hard not to overthink it.
I close my eyes for a second and the ache of not talking to him tugs somewhere deep in my chest. I miss him. Of course I miss him. I don’t think there’s ever been a time we’ve gone a whole week without saying something—some dumb joke, some late-night text.
And still, there’s a sting I can’t shake. Not from distance, exactly, but from the secret he kept. It shouldn’t matter this much, but it does. If he’s making plans somewhere else, away from me, what does that mean for us? He talked about the future, and I believed him. I still do, mostly.
It’s a small crack, but it still hurts.
Before I get out of the car, I shake my hands out, trying to pull myself together.
The gym is empty—I’d asked the staff to give me this first day alone.
We’re not open for members or anything; it’s just me, trying to find my footing again.
To stand inside the walls that hold so many good memories, and remember those instead of the ones who tried to take something that wasn’t theirs.
The air whips against my cheeks as I wrap my scarf tighter and make the short walk to the back door. I punch in the new security code, step inside, and flip on the first lights.
I take a few steps in and turn the rest of the lights on, just as I feel someone standing in front of me. “Blair, I don’t want to scare you,” someone says and I immediately scream. And then I see that it’s Dylan, and I stop.
My hand clutches my chest and my eyes feel like they might fall straight out of my skull. I yell, “What are you doing in here? What the fuck, Dylan?”
He steps back and says, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know the best way to not scare you. Tiffany, she let me in. I promise I mean no harm.” When he steps forward, I step back, needing to keep the space between us.
My breathing is shallow and quick, the air thin like there’s none for me to grab. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
Dylan is trying not to smile as he says, “I’m sorry. We didn’t really think this part through.” He’s trying not to laugh.
“We? What do you mean we?” When it’s clear I’m not going to have a heart attack or pass out, I set my bag down on the floor, take my coat off and hang it on the hook.
My coach smiles at me, and nothing makes any sense. “Let me show you.” He stands next to me, wrapping a cautious arm around my shoulder. We walk toward the main part of the gym and when we turn the corner, that’s when I see them.
My teammates. Maybe the whole team. It’s an entire room full of men, trying to be quiet and they’re all wearing the same jersey.
My jersey. Around the room are balloons and a few ‘Congratulations’ banners hang from the ceiling across the mirrors.
When they see me, in unison, they yell, “Surprise!”
It makes me jump and, again, a heart attack isn’t out of the question. When I can catch my breath, I ask, “What’s all this?”
And that’s when I see him. Tyson. Walking forward from the group, wearing the grin I dream about. A number seven on his front—he really is wearing my jersey.
“We wanted to try and show you how much we care. What happened with Oscar at the facility and then here, in the place you’ve built, wasn’t okay. Actually, it was pretty fucked up.”
Our teammates laugh from behind him at the brash honesty of his words. I catch myself almost smiling, the closest I’ve been in a week.
“Blair, we’re some of your biggest fans. You deserved a welcome back that proved that to you.” He says each letter of the word slow, on purpose, and it’s an inside thing only the two of us know. How I told him to prove it to me—that he wanted more. “That you belong on the team, in Cosmos blue.”
The guys immediately start to clap as Tyson finishes and before anyone else can say anything, I hear Zack yell from the corner, “WE LOVE YOU, BLAIR! THANKS FOR SAVING OUR ASS THIS SEASON.”
Everyone claps and cheers for Zack. Cheers for me.
Coach Dylan steps in and says, “I’m so sorry for how that all happened. I should have called security the first time he crossed the line, and that’s on me. I hope you’re ready to come back to the team, to the facility, but if you’re not—we get it.”
The men around me all nod in understanding. They do get it. It might be true that they actually get me.
“Now, we have a photographer here, and we’d like to take some pictures that the Cosmos PR team can post—with your approval, of course—showing losers like whoever did this that we stand with you and you’re part of our team. And we’re the lucky ones.”
A team photographer waves and starts putting us all together. I move where I’m supposed to as team members smile at me, give me high-fives, tell me good job. The entire time I’m trying not to melt into a puddle on the floor.
We take a few normal photos and then the guys ask if they can lift me on their shoulders. I let them do what they want, laughing the entire time. And I love the way the gym feels. Full. Brave. Safe.
“That’s a wrap for us,” Coach Dylan announces as he checks with the photographer that they got the shot. “We know you’re getting back in the swing of things, but we hope to see you at practice tomorrow.”
“You will. I promise.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
Coach steps in close to me, looking between Tyson and myself. “And this? Nothing public until the season is over, okay? The rest of the team can be discreet if you can.”
“You got it, Coach,” I agree, my voice a little shaky.
The guys start to scatter—grabbing keys, slinging bags over their shoulders, still laughing about something Zack said. And one by one, they walk past me. Every single one of them is wearing my name on their back. My number.
It hits me harder than I expected.
For a second, I can’t move. My throat burns, and I have to blink fast because it’s suddenly too much—the sound of their voices, the sight of my jersey stretched across their broad shoulders, the way they showed up for me without being asked.
They didn’t have to do this. None of them did. But they did. For me.
After this mess, they still chose to stand with me.
To remind me that I mattered. That I was worth showing up for.
I press a hand against my chest, right where the ache has lived all week, and it feels a little lighter now.
Maybe this is what healing actually looks like—not a big, dramatic moment, just a quiet one where you realize you’re not alone anymore.
I lock the back door behind them and walk back out to the person who I think is responsible for such a thing. Tyson.
When it’s just the two of us, I can’t help but practically run into his arms, letting him wrap me up. No matter what happens between us, I need him like this, right now. We hold onto each other, without saying anything, for who knows how long.
Tyson breaks the silence. “Come over here,” he says, and he takes me to my own office. On my expo board are all the floor plans I saw at his place.
“This wasn’t supposed to be a secret. But, I can see how it feels like I left you out. The thing is, I want you to help me build this house. I can’t do it without you.”
“You can’t?”
“No. Why would I build our forever home without your opinion?” His eyes sparkle at the mention of forever.
Scrunching my eyes, I admit, “I’m barely following.”
Tyson laughs and kisses me, slow and sweet.
When he pulls away, he says, “Sorry, I’ve been waiting to do that.
” And he’s wearing that devilish grin. “Back to this,” he gestures to the board, “I bought this land years ago, not knowing what I wanted to do with it. I’d like to build a house there and I’d like it to be ours.
You and me. Whether it’s our main address or a vacation home, or even just our Thanksgiving home.
I want to do this with you.” His voice is sugary-sweet, dripping like honey off the side of the jar.
Ours.
“These plans were just ideas. Me taking a single meeting with a contractor who had a last minute cancellation on his books. I wanted to show them to you and get your non-negotiables and figure out what you had planned. What kind of things you need for your own version of forever.”
My lip wobbles and my eyes are glassy, butterflies zooming around my rib cage as he adds, “Because, Blair, all I need is you. Michigan. New York. Anywhere else. It doesn’t matter. My forever, my future, it’s you.”
I practically fall into his arms. He pulls me in tight, kissing my cheek before our lips find each other. My hands find the sides of his face and I hold him like I have no intentions of letting go.
“What do you say, baby? Want to help me build our house?” His nose brushes mine and his smile is contagious.
“Yes. A thousand times yes.”
My lips find Ty’s and I kiss him like it’s the start of everything. The start of the two of us planning together. The start of our forever.
“I will never leave you, Blair. I promise. I’m staying right here, or wherever you end up.”
“I know you will. And that’s why I love you.”
“And no more running from either of us. No more space. Let’s work on it together.” His voice may be soft but the man in front of me is the support I need.
No more running.
Fuck, I’m tired of running.
“For you, anything,” I say. And I mean it. Because I know that the only running I want to do with Tyson is toward him. Toward us. Toward whatever is next.
Tyson picks me up, spinning me around, and I see my name on his back in the mirror. It heals a little bit of me, maybe the singed part where I was worried people will always leave. Because I’m finding out that’s not necessarily true.
Sometimes, people will leave. Those that were never meant to stay and some who surprise you with their absence.
The thing about people leaving, not choosing you, is that it gets you ready for what’s coming.
The people who stay. The ones who choose you, day after day, with blind confidence. People like Tyson.
Sometimes, people will show up when you least expect them. They’ll cheer you on when you think you don’t deserve it, pick you up when you can’t do it on your own. And these are the people who are truly meant for us.
Tyson continues to spin me, and for once, I stop bracing for the drop. Because maybe I was never too much. Maybe I was just waiting for someone, the right person, who could hold it all.