Chapter Eight
Carter
Practice ends late. The sun’s already dipping below the stadium lights, casting long shadows across the field. My shoulder aches, a dull throb that reminds me I’m not twenty-five anymore. I stretch it out, rolling it back as I head toward the tunnel.
Most of the team’s already in the locker room, but I linger on the field, helmet in hand, breathing in the smell of grass and sweat. This is my sanctuary. The one place where everything makes sense.
“You planning to sleep out here?”
I turn. Olivia stands at the edge of the field, tablet tucked under her arm, that professional mask firmly in place. But I’ve learned to read the cracks in it now. The way her eyes soften when she thinks I’m not looking. The slight curve of her mouth when I say something that amuses her.
“Thought about it,” I say, walking toward her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Really?”
“Freshman year. Lost a big game. Couldn’t face going home, so I slept under the bleachers.” I stop a few feet away from her. “Coach found me at dawn, brought me coffee, and told me the best players aren’t the ones who never lose. They’re the ones who know how to get back up.”
Her expression softens. “That’s good advice.”
“Yeah.” I glance back at the empty field. “I’ve been getting back up for seventeen years. Some days it gets harder.”
“Your shoulder?”
I shake my head. “My head. Knowing when to stop.”
The words hang between us, heavier than I intended. Olivia shifts, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say something profound, something that’ll either break this tension or make it worse.
Instead, she clears her throat. “I need you to review the talking points for tomorrow’s radio interview.”
Back to business. Always back to business with her.
“Now?”
“It’ll take five minutes.”
I gesture toward the stadium. “My office?”
She hesitates, just for a beat, then nods. “Lead the way.”
The stadium’s nearly empty as we walk through the corridors. Our footsteps echo against concrete walls covered in team photos and championship banners. Olivia’s heels click a steady rhythm beside my cleats.
“You ever think about what comes next?” she asks suddenly.
“After football?”
“Yeah.”
I push open the door to my office, really more of a glorified closet with a desk and a couch. “Every single day.”
Olivia steps inside, and I follow, leaving the door open. Professional. Safe. But as she sets her tablet on the desk and turns to face me, the space feels impossibly small.
“And?” she prompts.
“And I have no idea.” I drop my helmet on the couch and lean against the desk. “Football’s all I’ve ever known. My dad played. His dad played. I was throwing a ball before I could walk. Everything I am, everything I’ve built… it’s all tied to this.”
“That’s not true.”
I look at her, surprised. “What?”
“Everything you are isn’t just football, Carter.” Her voice is softer now, the professional edge gone. “I’ve watched you with those kids at the hospital. I’ve seen you mentor the younger players. The way you lead, the way you care that’s not about the game. That’s just you.”
Something in my chest tightens. “Olivia—”
“I know.” She holds up a hand, stopping me. “Professional boundaries. I’m just saying… you’ll be fine. Whatever comes next.”
“Will I?”
“Yes.”
The certainty in her voice does something to me. Makes me want to believe her. Makes me want to close the distance between us and—
Thunder rumbles outside, low and threatening. Olivia glances toward the window.
“Storm’s coming,” I say.
“Fitting.”
I laugh, and she does too, and just like that, some of the tension breaks. She picks up her tablet. “Okay, talking points. The interview’s at nine tomorrow, so—”
The lights flicker once. Twice.
Then go out completely.
Darkness swallows the room, broken only by the faint glow of emergency exit signs in the hallway and her tablet.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“Does this happen often?” Olivia asks.
“Sometimes when the weather gets bad.” I pull out my phone, using the flashlight. The beam finds her face, and she blinks against the bright light. “Backup generators should kick in soon.”
But minutes pass, and the lights stay off. Rain starts hammering against the window, punctuated by more thunder.
“I should probably get home before it gets worse,” Olivia says, but she doesn’t move toward the door.
“You walked here from your office?”
“It’s not far.”
“It’s pouring.”
“I’ve survived rain before, Storm.”
I shine the light toward the window. Water streams down the glass in sheets. “Not like this. Wait it out. At least until the lightning stops.”
She sighs but nods. “Fine. But just until—”
Another crack of thunder, so loud it shakes the walls. Olivia jumps, and without thinking, I step closer, hand reaching out.
“It’s okay,” I say, my voice lower than it should be.
“I know. I’m not afraid of storms.” She puts her tablet down on my desk with the screen turned over.
“No?” The phone light catches her eyes, and I see something there that contradicts her words. “What are you afraid of?”
She swallows. “Right now? This.”
“This?”
“You. Me. Whatever this is.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Olivia—”
“We should talk about something else,” she says quickly. “The talking points. The interview. Literally anything else.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t, I’m going to do something really stupid.”
“Like what?”
She laughs, but it’s shaky. “Like forget every rule I’ve set for myself. Like stop pretending I don’t think about you when I shouldn’t. Like—”
I close the distance between us in two strides. “Like this?”
My hand finds her waist, steadying her, and she gasps softly. The phone’s still in my other hand, casting crazy shadows on the walls as the light bounces.
“Carter.” My name is a warning. Or maybe a plea. I can’t tell.
“Tell me to stop,” I say, my forehead almost touching hers now. “Tell me this is a bad idea, and I’ll back off. I’ll be professional. I’ll pretend I don’t want to kiss you so badly I can barely think straight.”
Her breath hitches. “It is a bad idea.”
“I know.”
“We work together. Mark specifically told me to shadow you. If anyone finds out—”
“I know.”
“Your career, my job, everything we’ve both worked for—”
“Olivia.” I tilt my head, bringing my lips so close to hers I can feel her breath on my skin. “I. Know.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. We’re balanced on a knife’s edge, the weight of professionalism on one side and something far more dangerous on the other.
Then she shifts, just barely, closing the last millimeter of space between us—
The lights slam back on with an aggressive hum.
We jerk apart like we’ve been electrocuted. Olivia stumbles back against the desk, eyes wide, chest heaving. I stand frozen, phone still clutched in my hand, my entire body screaming at the interruption.
“I—” she starts.
“Olivia—”
Derek “Thunder” Johnson sticks his head in, grinning like an idiot. “Yo, Storm! Power’s back. You still—” He stops, gaze bouncing between us. “Oh. Uh. Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Olivia says, too quickly, too loudly. She grabs her tablet and clutches it to her chest like a shield. “We were just finishing up.”
Derek’s grin widens. He knows. The bastard knows exactly what he walked in on. “Right. Finishing up. Cool. Well, uh, carry on.”
He disappears, and I hear him laughing down the hallway.
Olivia won’t look at me. She’s staring at her tablet like it holds the secrets of the universe, her knuckles white around the edges.
“Olivia—”
“I need to go.” She moves toward the door, and I let her pass, even though every instinct screams at me to stop her.
She pauses in the doorway, finally meeting my eyes. “This can’t happen, Carter.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. We have to be professional. We have to—”
“I know,” I repeat, softer this time. “But it almost did.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s the problem.”
Then she’s gone, heels clicking down the corridor at double speed, leaving me alone in my office with the taste of almost burning on my tongue.