Chapter Eleven
Drop It
Ariana
Present
“So, as you can see, there are a lot of places the new budget can go,” Maven Tanev said, her fingers steepled beneath her chin before she pressed a nude-polished nail to one of the papers spread out before her.
“But I think this is where it would be best spent. The more beds we can buy, the more kids we can support.”
“Second on that list would be the therapist support, wouldn’t you agree?” Grace Tanev chimed in.
“Definitely,” Maven agreed. “But we’ve talked for long enough. What do you think, Ariana?”
Maven and Grace were sisters-in-law, I’d come to discover. Maven was married to Vince Tanev, one of our star wingers, and Grace was engaged to his best friend and teammate. Apparently, it had been quite the scandal when the news broke, but everything seemed settled now.
I’d instantly liked them both.
Grace had bounded into the room for our first Sweet Dreams meeting like she’d just hopped off a plane and had espresso the entire flight — which, from our conversations since, might actually have been the case.
She was a little jetsetter; though, it seemed she was excited to settle down in Tampa for the time being.
As a petite woman myself, I appreciated that so much energy came in that small package of bronze skin and platinum-blonde hair.
Maven, on the other hand, had strolled into the room tall, poised, and warm, her bright smile making it impossible not to lean into everything she said.
She was taller than both Grace and me by at least a foot, with brown skin and a halo of black curls.
I could tell straight away that this initiative was her baby.
She expressed the utmost care for it from the moment she began speaking, and I sensed the tinge of regret she held for stepping back.
“My daughter has proven to be my new obsession,” she’d said in way of explanation when she opened the meeting. “I still love this community and want to give back whenever I have the chance, but I also want to focus on this baby whom I know won’t be a baby for long.”
I wasn’t a mother, but I knew the truth of that statement.
I’d watched Georgie grow far too fast for my liking, going from a newborn sleeping soundly in a crib in my bedroom to a med-school student.
Sometimes it was hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that he was older now than I was when I became his legal guardian.
Maven’s words had settled in my chest, stirring up my own thoughts of children. I’d loved Georgie fiercely and protectively, and I’d learned young what it meant to put someone else first, to structure your entire life around the needs of a child.
If I was being honest with myself… it had stripped any lingering romanticism from the idea of motherhood and left only the truth of it.
Add in the fact that I hadn’t exactly had a beautiful childhood, and you could say my feelings on it were set in stone.
Nathan, on the other hand, loved the idea of a family — the way it would look for him, the way it would fit neatly into the version of himself he liked to present.
But when he shared his hypotheticals, the weight of parenting had always landed somewhere outside him.
He would talk about how great it would be to play with the kids and take them to work events to show them off, but it was always me in his vision doing the work.
The late nights. The sacrifices. The quiet, mentally loaded, unrelenting work.
He didn’t want to be a father. He wanted a family for show — a doting wife who took care of everything, kids who were seen and not heard.
And that was when I learned that my husband wasn’t the only one who could keep a secret or manipulate a situation. Because I had an IUD put in and I never told him.
“I think both of you are right,” I answered, shaking off my thoughts.
“Obviously, priority needs to be on getting as many mattresses and bed frames to as many families in need as possible. I also agree that the mental impact of living in those circumstances deserves attention. But I wonder if we could take it a step further — make it more than a one-time delivery.”
Grace perked up. “What do you have in mind?”
“Maybe we start a ‘Dream Partner’ program,” I said slowly, the idea forming as I spoke. “Each family we help is paired with a volunteer from the team — players, staff, even fans — who can check in, help connect them with other resources. It’s not just about the bed. It’s about stability.”
Maven smiled, eyes lighting with approval. “That’s good. I love that. It makes it sustainable.”
“And maybe,” I added, “we host a ‘Sweet Dreams Night’ at one of the home games — donate a portion of ticket sales to the program, let fans bring bedding donations. Kids we’ve helped could come to the game, meet some of the players.
I think seeing familiar faces again, and realizing people care, would make a huge impact. ”
Grace tapped her pen against her notepad. “Oh, and we could do a short video series — player spotlights about what home means to them, or how sleep affects performance. Sponsors would eat that up.”
My mind sparked with another idea, and before I could stop myself, I was leaning forward, words tumbling out fast. “What if we threw a gala in the holiday season? Between Thanksgiving and Christmas. We could call it the Sweet Dreams Soirée — black-tie, but warm and whimsical. We invite the families we’ve helped, the sponsors, the team.
Ensure every kid who needs a bed for the holiday season has one, raise money for next season’s beds, celebrate the kids who’ve thrived. It could become an annual tradition.”
Maven’s smile spread wide, eyes glittering. “You two are going to make me jealous I handed this off.”
Her laughter filled the room, rich and genuine, and I felt something stir inside me — a flicker of pride, of purpose.
For the first time since Nathan had dropped this initiative in my lap in the form of a control move disguised as a gift, I wasn’t thinking about how it had started. I was thinking about what it could be.
The girls and I continued to hash out our ideas, namely focusing on whether just a couple of months was enough time to pull off a gala.
Grace had zero doubts while Maven and I wondered — especially with her pulling back.
I was new to the area, and I wasn’t sure I had the connections necessary to make it happen on such short notice.
But with Grace and Maven’s help, and maybe some assistance from my husband… it was doable, right?
We were focused, heads bent together and debating logistics when there was a knock on the door.
We all swung to face it just as Shane McCabe let himself in.
“Coach!” the girls bellowed in unison, hopping up to hug him. He had his hands full — a cardboard drink carrier in one, a paper bag in the other — but managed to juggle it all with practiced ease, setting everything down on the conference table just in time to catch them each in a quick embrace.
“Brought peace offerings,” he said, holding up the carrier with a grin. “I heard through the grapevine that this meeting didn’t have snacks. Can’t have that.”
Maven peered over his shoulder. “Are those smoothies?”
My heart stalled in my chest.
“From JuiceFix on Kennedy,” he said, tapping each of the cups. “Two mango dreams, one berry paradise, and one green machine.”
“Ick,” Grace said, her nose wrinkling. “Please tell me the green machine is for you. Pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say no thanks to kale in my sweet treat.”
The girls laughed, swooping in to grab their drinks — both of them taking a mango — and continuing to tease Shane for his choice.
I stayed back, smiling but uncertain. I hadn’t seen him in a setting this casual since… God, since college. And the last time he’d handed me a smoothie, it had been from our spot in Boston, the one that became a part of our relationship the way a song does for some.
Smoothies were our thing.
What does it mean that he brought me one today?
“I see the party’s already started without me,” he said, his voice easy as his gaze finally found mine. The grin softened, the teasing fading into quiet apprehension. “Hello, Ari.”
Ari.
The nickname made my next breath lodge in my chest.
“Hello,” I managed, and then Shane made the decision for both of us. He opened his arms — carefree and unassuming, like it wasn’t a big deal — and I stepped into them before I could overthink it.
It was a simple hug, but the moment his arms wrapped around me, the years between us collapsed like dominoes.
His scent hit me first — that clean, familiar blend of mint, eucalyptus, and iron, like the rink itself had seeped into his skin.
His chest rose against mine, steady and warm, and for a heartbeat, it was 2006 again.
The way he squeezed me, the way a contented sigh washed against my neck the moment I was fully in his embrace…
It was only a second, but it felt like time had slowed just for us.
I wondered for that brief lag in time what it could have been like, if would have’s and should have’s mattered.
And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. We both stepped back with casual, professional smiles and distance — as if the air between us hadn’t just charged with an electric current strong enough to power a city.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat and gesturing to the table, “looks like I’m late to the brainstorm.” He checked his watch. “The meeting did start at eleven, right?”
Grace laughed. “That’s what you get for assuming on time isn’t late to women like us, Coach. We were all here at ten thirty.”
“Of course you were,” he answered with a grin.