Chapter Seven
M orning arrived softly.
No alarm. No sirens. No sharp, urgent vibration of her phone against a nightstand. No laptop glow cutting through the dark. No one demanding a statement, a strategy, a miracle, or a way to make bad behavior look like misunderstood humanity before breakfast.
Just sunlight.
Warm, golden, and patient as it slipped through the sheer curtains and painted the bedroom floor in pale stripes.
Hailey woke slowly, surfacing from sleep in layers. First came the weight of the sheet over her legs. Then the salt air drifting through the cracked window. Then the steady sound of waves rolling against the shore, close enough to feel like they belonged to the room.
Then Tyler.
He was still there.
For one fragile second, Hailey did not move.
His arm was draped loosely around her waist, heavy and warm. His chest pressed against her back. His breathing was slow and even against the curve of her shoulder, each exhale stirring the fine hair at the nape of her neck.
Memory rushed in.
The restaurant. The walk home. The kiss beneath the moonlight. His hands. His mouth. The way he had touched her like she was something precious and wanted her like he had been waiting for her longer than two days.
The way she had fallen asleep with her hand over his heart.
Hailey stared at the strip of sunlight on the wall and tried to decide what kind of woman she was this morning.
The practical woman would gently extract herself from his arms, shower, make coffee, and establish boundaries before the situation became too emotionally inconvenient.
The panicked woman would pretend to be asleep until he left.
The woman she had been in New York would already be halfway through a mental risk assessment, drafting language for what this was and what it was not, managing expectations before either of them could get hurt.
But the woman in this bed did none of those things.
She stayed.
Tyler shifted behind her, his arm tightening slightly around her waist.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
The sound moved through her like warm honey.
Hailey closed her eyes. “Morning.”
His lips brushed the back of her shoulder. Not quite a kiss. Softer than that. Sleepy, absent, intimate enough to make her chest ache.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“Very observant.”
“I have many skills.”
“Humility isn’t one of them.”
His quiet laugh vibrated against her back. “No. Not usually.”
She felt him smile against her skin, and the tenderness of it was almost unbearable.
For several moments, neither of them moved. The ocean filled the silence. Outside, somewhere down the beach, a gull cried. A car passed on the narrow lane beyond the bungalow. Life continued, ordinary and bright, while Hailey lay in bed with a man who made ordinary feel dangerous.
Tyler’s fingers moved lightly against her stomach beneath the sheet.
“Regrets?” he asked.
The question was low. Careful.
Hailey looked at the window.
The automatic answer rose again.
No. Of course not. I’m fine.
But she had promised herself, somewhere between his arms and the dark, that she would try not to hide behind reflexes with him. Not if he kept offering her honesty first.
“No regrets,” she said. Then, after a beat, “A little panic.”
His hand stilled. “About me?”
“About me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
His chest moved with a silent laugh.
Hailey rolled onto her back so she could see him. Big mistake. Possibly catastrophic.
Tyler Von in morning light was unfair.
His sun-streaked brown hair was sleep-mussed, his jaw faintly shadowed, his steel-blue eyes soft in a way that made him look younger and more dangerous at the same time. The sheet sat low at his hips, and the golden line of his bare chest made Hailey briefly forget that words existed.
His mouth curved. “You’re observing again.”
“I’m reassessing the situation.”
“Professionally?”
“Critically.”
“And?”
She let herself look at him for one more second. Maybe two.
Then she sighed. “Still distracting.”
His smile widened.
Before he could get smug about it, Hailey reached for the pillow beside her and dropped it over his face.
Tyler laughed beneath it, catching her wrist before she could retreat. He pulled the pillow away and rolled toward her, trapping her hand against his chest.
“That was aggressive.”
“You looked too pleased with yourself.”
“I was pleased with you.”
Her breath caught.
There it was. That directness again. No flourish. No performance. Just a simple truth set between them like he trusted her with it.
Hailey looked down at their joined hands.
“You should probably go,” she said softly.
Tyler’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes shuttered.
“Okay.”
The immediate respect in his answer made her feel worse.
She tightened her fingers around his before he could pull away. “Not because I want you to.”
He waited.
She hated how good he was at that.
“I need coffee,” she said. “And a shower. And a few minutes to become a functioning human being before I make a phone call that could either change your entire week or make me look like a woman who wildly overestimated her influence.”
Tyler’s brows drew together.
“Medrano,” he said.
“Yes.”
All the sleepiness faded from him.
He sat up slowly, the sheet falling to his waist, and dragged a hand through his hair. Hailey watched the shift happen in real time. Warm, rumpled man in her bed became athlete. Focused. Guarded. Hopeful, but trying not to be.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
He looked at her. “Hailey.”
She sat up too, pulling the sheet around herself. “Tyler.”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
She softened. “I’m making the call because I want to. Not because you asked me. Not because I think you need saving. Not because last night confused me into thinking I should reorganize your career before breakfast.”
“That last one sounded very specific.”
“I know my flaws.”
His eyes warmed.
Hailey reached over and touched his hand. “You said this championship matters. You said this might be your last year. If I have a contact who might help, I’m going to use it.”
He turned his hand beneath hers, threading their fingers together. “Why?”
She almost made a joke. Something about being benevolent while under-caffeinated. Something about liking a challenge. Something easy.
But Tyler deserved better than easy.
“Because I know what it feels like to be standing right in front of the thing you want and still be terrified you’re not enough to reach it.”
His face went still.
Hailey held his gaze.
“And because when I watched you play yesterday, I didn’t see a man who was almost good enough. I saw a man who was tired of losing to the story he keeps telling himself.”
Tyler looked away first.
The muscle in his jaw tightened.
For a second, she thought she had said too much. Then he lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles, just as he had the night before.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
That one word felt bigger than agreement.
It felt like trust.
Hailey’s chest tightened around it.
Then her stomach growled.
Loudly.
Tyler blinked.
Hailey closed her eyes. “Absolutely not.”
His grin broke free. “Was that you?”
“No.”
“Was there another woman in this bed I missed?”
“Leave immediately.”
He laughed, and the sound filled the room, warm and easy and addictive.
***
A few minutes later, Tyler was in the kitchen wearing last night’s rumpled button-down and looking entirely too comfortable in her temporary space. Hailey had thrown on a pale blue robe and was making coffee with the kind of focus usually reserved for litigation strategy.
Tyler leaned against the counter, watching her.
“What?” she asked without looking at him.
“Nothing.”
“That was a very loud nothing.”
“I like this.”
She glanced over. “The coffee?”
“This.” His eyes moved around the small kitchen, then back to her. “You. Here. Morning.”
The words landed too gently.
Hailey busied herself with mugs. “You are dangerously sincere before caffeine.”
“I’m dangerously sincere most of the time. People just don’t notice because I’m also charming.”
“Debatable.”
“False.”
She handed him a mug. Their fingers brushed, and the small contact sent an absurd little spark up her arm.
Tyler noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
“Do not start,” she warned.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You thought it loudly.”
“I’m learning from the best.”
Hailey rolled her eyes and carried her coffee to the small table by the window.
Her phone sat there, silent and face down.
She stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
Tyler came to stand beside her, but did not touch her. “You don’t have to call right now.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because if I wait, I’ll overthink it.”
“That sounds familiar.”
She shot him a look.
He lifted both hands. “Supportively.”
Hailey picked up the phone before she could change her mind.
There were missed texts from Amanda and Meagan. No missed calls from work. No emergencies. No disasters. The world had somehow continued spinning without her direct supervision.
That should have felt comforting.
Instead, it made something inside her loosen in a way that was almost painful.
Maybe she really could step away.
Maybe the whole world would not collapse if she stopped holding up her corner for five minutes.
She opened her contacts and searched for Lucia Reyes.
Tyler watched her thumb hover over the name.
“Who’s Lucia?” he asked.
“Medrano’s daughter.”
“You have Coach Medrano’s daughter in your phone?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I told you. Sponsorship dispute. Leaked contract. Retired soccer player with a social media problem.”
“You say things like that so casually.”
“You hit balls for a living. We all have our talents.”
He smiled, but his eyes stayed sharp with nerves.
Hailey tapped the call button and lifted the phone to her ear.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
She was about to get voicemail when a bright female voice answered.