6. Steele
STEELE
I take the last gulp of my protein shake and grimace. It’s thick, chalky, and tastes vaguely like artificial vanilla.
Behind me, footsteps pad into the kitchen.
“What’s in that?” Lilah asks, her voice husky from sleep.
I turn and shake the nearly-empty bottle. “Let’s see… protein powder, almond milk, half a banana, creatine, and some other stuff I probably can’t pronounce.”
She walks over, plucks the container from the counter, and frowns down at the label. “This has more chemicals than a science lab.”
I shrug, rinsing the shaker out in the sink. “It gets the job done.”
“Barely,” she mutters, turning the tub around. “You’re a professional athlete. You should be more careful about what you put into your body.”
I arch a brow. “Are you offering to be my nutritionist now, lucky charm?”
She glances up, lips twitching. “Well, apparently I’m your new assistant. And it’s the least I can do. I’ll start making smoothies for you.”
I blink. “You know how to make smoothies? ”
She shrugs. “I’ve been playing around with recipes. I like them after workouts. They make me feel more balanced.”
I lean against the counter, watching her pull her hair into a messy knot, her eyes scanning the kitchen like she’s already cataloging potential ingredients. There’s a lightness in her voice that hasn’t been there in days, and I’d do just about anything to keep it there.
“You know,” I say, “if you keep this up, you’re gonna ruin me for my usual post-practice sludge.”
She smirks. “You’re welcome.”
I don’t say it out loud, but I like the idea of her making something just for me. I like it even more that she’s channeling her energy into something that has nothing to do with her ex.
My phone buzzes on the counter, screen lighting up with the building’s front desk number, just as I’m wiping out my shaker.
I swipe to answer. “Sanderson.”
“Morning, Mr. Sanderson,” Tommy says. “I got a delivery here for Miss Monroe. You want me to bring it up?”
I glance toward the hallway where Lilah disappeared a minute ago. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Be there in five.”
I hang up just as Lilah walks back into the kitchen, barefoot and holding a small spiral notebook in her hand.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Tommy. He’s bringing something up for you.”
She stops short and frowns. “For me?”
I nod. “Yeah. He said something about a delivery under your name.”
Her eyes flicker with confusion for a beat before she stills. “Oh. Devon must’ve sent my stuff.”
I open my mouth, unsure what I’m going to say, but the elevator dings before I can get a word out. A second later, the doors slide open and there’s Tommy, maneuvering a dolly stacked with boxes.
“Morning,” he says, offering a polite nod as he wheels them inside. Two guys follow with their own stacks. “Looks like you got a whole apartment in here.”
Lilah folds her arms tightly across her chest, gaze locked on the boxes. Her name is scrawled across the side in thick black marker.
“Thanks, Tommy,” I say, giving him a tip of my chin as he backs toward the elevator.
“We’ve got another load and then we’ll be out of your hair. Let me know if you need help getting rid of the cardboard later.”
When the elevator doors slide shut, I turn back to Lilah. She hasn’t moved an inch.
“I don’t know why it’s hitting all over again,” she whispers. “I mean, we broke up. It’s over. But seeing it all boxed up like a return shipment is hard.”
Something inside me twists at the expression on her face. Like the delivery is somehow proof of her failure.
“It’s just stuff,” I say quietly. “Not your life. Not you. Just grab whatever you need, and we’ll put the rest in one of the spare rooms until you’re ready to tackle it.”
She gives a small nod, but her jaw tightens. “It just feels like a lot.”
“Hey,” I say, stepping in and cupping her face. Her eyes meet mine, shiny and uncertain. “You trusted someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s on him, not you. Maybe you don’t have a plan yet, but you will. You always land on your feet. And in the meantime, you’ve got me.”
Her throat works around a swallow. “You really mean that?”
“Yeah, lucky charm. I’ve got you. Always.”
She steps into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her face against me. I hold her tight, one hand sliding into her hair, the other resting over her back.
For a long moment, neither of us moves as the boxes sit untouched a few feet away.
It’s only in my arms that Lilah seems to release the weight she’s been carrying.
She lets out an exhale, followed by a quiet, self-conscious laugh. “Okay. I need to find my clothes.” She untangles herself from me before kneeling next to one of the boxes labeled “closet stuff.” Her fingers work at the packing tape.
I grab a box cutter from the drawer and crouch beside her. “Here,” I offer, slicing open the top.
Inside are folded jeans, a few blouses, and an old Wildcats hoodie from our college days. She pulls it out, eyes widening.
“I forgot about this,” she murmurs, fingers smoothing over the faded fabric.
She pulls out a small jewelry box and sets it aside before digging deeper and freezing.
“Oh my God.”
“What is it?”
She lifts out a slightly beat-up photo frame, and my heart skips a beat.
It’s a picture of us in our dorm hallway sophomore year of college.
I’ve got an arm slung around her shoulder, and we’re both laughing.
Our eyes are squinted and heads thrown back.
There’s a smear of frosting on her cheek and a plastic tiara on my head from a prank someone pulled during my birthday.
We were so damn young.
“I haven’t seen this in years,” she whispers, running her thumb over the glass. “I used to keep it on my desk when I started law school.”
“You kept it all this time?” I ask, trying to play it cool even though my heart is doing somersaults behind my rib cage .
She nods. “You’ve always been a constant presence in my life. I guess this picture reminded me of that.”
Emotion swells inside me.
Without thinking, I take the frame from her and walk over to the console table by the window before carefully setting it down.
Her head tilts as she watches me. “What are you doing?”
“Giving it a new home,” I say simply. “Looks pretty good there, don’t you think?”
Her eyes warm as her voice dips. “It does.”
She moves beside me, and for a long moment, we both stare at the photo. Her shoulder brushes mine, and there’s a shift in the air as emotion crackles just beneath the surface.
“You really were always there,” she murmurs. “Weren’t you?”
I glance at her. “Always.”
She gives me a small smile. It’s a little sad but stronger than before. After a beat, she bumps her hip against mine.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s see what other blasts from the past we can dig up.”
I huff out a laugh as we turn back to the mess of cardboard and crumpled tissue paper. She’s still sorting through what’s hers, what’s worth keeping, and what’s already in the past.
And me?
I’m just here to make sure she doesn’t have to do it alone.