Chapter Ten
T yler Von’s house looked exactly like Hailey should have expected.
Not polished. Not staged. Not the kind of place designed to impress anyone with expensive furniture or careful restraint.
It was warm.
Lived in.
A small beach house tucked three streets back from the sand, painted pale gray with white trim and a porch just wide enough for two chairs, a pair of abandoned flip-flops, and a surfboard leaning against the wall like it had been there since childhood.
String lights glowed along the railing, soft and golden in the deepening night.
Somewhere nearby, someone had a grill going.
The smell of smoke and salt air drifted lazily through the street.
Tyler unlocked the front door with one hand, his championship medal still hanging around his neck and the trophy tucked under his other arm like he had not yet figured out where to put it.
Hailey followed him inside, her sandals in one hand, her hair wind-tangled from the beach, her heart still not entirely convinced the day had actually happened.
Tyler had won.
He had won.
The thought kept moving through her in waves, each one carrying another image.
Tyler at the service line.
Tyler breathing.
Tyler waiting.
Tyler earning the point.
Tyler frozen in disbelief as the referee’s whistle blew.
Tyler’s arms around her when she ran across the sand.
Tyler telling her he loved her with sweat on his skin, fear in his eyes, and a championship still ahead of him.
Hailey stepped into his living room and stopped.
The house was simple and masculine in the unintentional way of a man who spent more time outside than in.
A faded blue sofa faced a low wooden coffee table stacked with volleyball magazines, a few takeout menus, and a remote that looked like it had survived war.
Framed photos lined one wall—Tyler as a kid on the beach, Tyler and Jack holding smaller trophies, Tyler with Aaron and Bethany at what looked like a high school graduation party, Tyler with a woman who had his eyes and a man who had his smile.
There were volleyballs everywhere.
One near the door.
One on a shelf.
One signed and mounted in a clear case beside a framed tournament poster from five years ago.
Hailey looked at it, then back at Tyler.
“You have a decorating theme.”
He shut the door behind them. “Careful. That theme has a championship now.”
“Yes, and I’m sure it will be insufferable.”
“Almost certainly.”
He set the trophy on the coffee table, then stared at it.
For the first time since leaving the beach, Tyler went quiet.
Hailey watched him from the entryway.
The celebration had lasted for hours. Photos. Interviews. Sponsors. Teammates. Friends. Strangers clapping him on the shoulder. Jack threatening to sleep with the trophy. Bethany crying again. Aaron declaring the entire day proof that emotional support yelling should be recognized as a sport.
Through all of it, Tyler had smiled.
Laughed.
Answered questions.
Held Hailey’s hand whenever he could reach her.
But now, inside his house with the door closed and the noise left behind, the truth of it seemed to settle over him.
He had spent five years chasing this.
And now it was sitting on his coffee table.
Tyler rubbed a hand over his jaw. “It looks weird there.”
Hailey softened. “Good weird?”
“I don’t know.” His laugh was quiet and unsteady. “I keep thinking someone’s going to knock on the door and tell me there was a scoring mistake.”
“There wasn’t.”
“Or that I dreamed it.”
“You didn’t.”
“Or that Jack stole it and replaced it with a fake.”
“That is the most likely possibility.”
Tyler looked over at her, and some of the tension eased from his face.
“There she is,” he said.
Hailey’s heart pinched.
She loved when he said that.
She hated that she loved when he said that.
He crossed the room slowly, as if every muscle had finally remembered he had spent the entire day battling through a championship.
His hair was still damp from the quick shower he had taken at the tournament facility, but sand clung stubbornly to one calf, and sunburn colored the bridge of his nose.
He stopped in front of her.
For once, he did not touch her right away.
“Hi,” he said softly.
Hailey’s mouth curved. “Hi.”
“I won.”
“You did.”
“I told you I loved you in the middle of a tournament.”
“You did.”
“You said it back.”
Her breath caught, though she tried not to show it.
“I did.”
His gaze searched hers, careful now. Less champion. More Tyler. The man who had asked before touching her. The man who had waited for her answer. The man who had not asked her to save him, even when she had wanted to help.
“Still true?” he asked.
Hailey stepped closer.
“Yes,” she said. “Still true.”
Something broke open in his expression.
Relief.
Joy.
Awe.
He reached for her then, hands sliding to her waist, and pulled her into him. Hailey went willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck and rising onto her toes as he kissed her.
This kiss was different from the one on the beach.
There were no crowds now. No whistles. No cameras. No championship point waiting on the other side of it.
Just Tyler.
Just Hailey.
Just the quiet house and the impossible thing growing between them.
His mouth moved over hers slowly at first, tender enough to make her chest ache. Then his grip tightened, and the kiss deepened, heat unfurling between them with familiar, dangerous ease.
Hailey sank into it.
Into him.
Into the warmth of his hands, the clean scent of his skin, the hard body that had looked so powerful on the court and now trembled slightly beneath her touch.
She drew back just enough to look at him.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered.
Tyler let out a breath. “It’s been a day.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“I have others.”
“Are they appropriate?”
“Not all of them.”
She smiled.
His thumb brushed along her waist. “You want a drink?”
“I thought you weren’t drinking during training.”
His smile came slowly. “Training’s over.”
“Is it?”
“Championship’s over.”
“That does not answer my question.”
His brows lifted. “Are you already planning my next season?”
Hailey opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Because that was exactly what her brain wanted to do.
Line up next steps. Build strategy. Consider sponsor positioning. Think about press coverage. Map Tyler’s opportunities. Shape the story before someone else shaped it for him.
She glanced toward the trophy.
Then back at Tyler.
“No,” she said.
He studied her. “No?”
“No.” She took a breath. “Tonight, I am not managing you.”
His expression softened. “What are you doing?”
“Celebrating you.”
The words landed between them.
Tyler’s throat moved.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Hailey touched the medal still hanging around his neck. “But tomorrow, you should probably take a proper recovery day.”
He laughed. “There she is.”
“I said probably.”
“You said recovery day.”
“Fine. I’m supporting you with light recommendations.”
“Very light.”
“Barely noticeable.”
He kissed her again, smiling against her mouth. “Beer?”
“Yes,” she said. “An ice-cold beer sounds perfect.”
Tyler went to the kitchen, and Hailey followed because she did not want to be too far from him. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles, then popped the caps with the edge of a mounted opener shaped like a volleyball.
Hailey stared at it.
“Seriously?”
“It was a gift.”
“From Jack?”
“Obviously.”
He handed her one of the beers.
She took it and lifted it slightly. “To Santa Monica’s newest champion.”
Tyler touched his bottle to hers.
“To the woman who helped me stop being almost.”
Her throat tightened.
“Tyler.”
“I know.” His smile softened. “You didn’t win it for me.”
“No, I did not.”
“I had to earn it.”
“Yes.”
“But you helped me believe I could.”
Hailey looked down at the bottle in her hand.
She could handle praise when it was professional. Compliments about a campaign, a statement, a strategy. Those were measurable. Useful. Safe.
This was not safe.
This slipped beneath all the armor she had spent years polishing.
Tyler stepped closer. “Thank you.”
“You already thanked me.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to keep doing it, aren’t you?”
“Probably forever.”
Her chest squeezed.
Forever.
The word should have scared her.
It did.
But not enough to make her run.
She took a sip of beer to steady herself. It was cold and sharp, bubbles fizzing against her tongue.
Tyler watched her with too much tenderness.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“That is never true with you.”
“I was thinking this is the best day of my life.”
Hailey went still.
His smile was small. Almost shy. “And not just because of the trophy.”
The ache in her chest spread.
She looked away before he could see too much, but his house did not offer many neutral places to look.
Everywhere held some piece of him. Photos.
Sand. Volleyballs. A half-dead plant on the windowsill that had clearly survived by stubbornness alone.
A stack of clean towels on a chair, folded badly.
A life rooted here. A life built in sunshine and salt air.
A life on the opposite side of the country from hers.
The thought moved through her like a shadow.
Tyler felt it. Of course he did.
“Hailey,” he said.
She closed her eyes for half a second.
There it was.
The question they had avoided all day.
The one waiting beneath the celebration, beneath the kisses, beneath every look that lasted too long.
She was supposed to leave in two days.
Back to New York.
Back to Gentry PR.
Back to the apartment that looked beautiful because she was never home long enough to ruin it.
Back to a life she had worked so hard to build and had somehow forgotten to enjoy.
Tyler set his beer on the counter.
“Can we talk about it?” he asked.
Hailey gave a small laugh. “That depends on what it is.”
“You know what it is.”
“Yes.” She looked at him. “That’s the problem.”
He came closer but stopped before touching her. “I’m not going to ask you to give up your life.”