Chapter 3 #2
Haven’t heard from you in a bit. Just checking in
Hey you. I know I owe you approximately six FaceTimes. Just wanted to say I’m alive.
The reply came a moment later.
Wow. Proof of life. I was about to file a missing persons report.
I smiled, warmth blooming in my chest.
I’ll call soon, I swear. Things are a little upside down right now.
My phone buzzed again with another text, this time from an unfamiliar number.
Coffee after practice? We need to catch up.
My stomach dropped. I didn’t need to guess who it was from.
I stared at the screen for a moment longer before locking the phone and flipping it facedown.
Practice had started at eight. Morning skate, some lifting, light recovery work after the win. No—I cut the thought off and forced my attention back to my laptop. I wasn’t supposed to care what she was doing. Just the team.
“We need to catch up,” I muttered under my breath. Dani had always been direct, but this felt presumptuous. Intimate, even. I didn’t want to think about how she’d gotten my number—or why a part of me wasn’t surprised she had.
I rewound a sequence from the first period, resolved not to respond to her message, and focused on my laptop screen. Boston’s starting goalie had a tendency to cheat a half-step off the post on lateral movements, especially when traffic collapsed in front of the net, and I made a note about it.
When the footage rolled into the second period, the bell above the café door jingled.
I felt it—the unmistakable awareness of being watched.
I’d spent most of my career observing others, noticing things first. Being on the other end of it felt wrong, like standing in a spotlight I hadn’t chosen for myself.
I looked up.
And there she was.
Dani Callahan, in the flesh. She was fresh from practice, judging by the slightly damp strands of hair escaping her knit cap, the faint flush in her cheeks, and the duffle bag slung over her shoulder.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
Dani spotted me instantly, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile as she made her way over. There was an ease to the way she moved, all long lines, broad shoulders, and quiet confidence, like she expected space to open up for her, and it usually did.
She stopped in front of my table. “Funny running into you here.”
“Is it?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.
She shrugged and dropped her bag onto the floor with a dull thud. “Well, I did text you,” she said. “Figured you’d at least reply, even if it was to tell me to get lost.”
I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. “What are you doing here, Dani?”
“Getting coffee,” she said innocently. She pulled out the chair across from me and sat down with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly how to get under my skin.
“Shouldn’t you be at practice?”
“Coach let us out early after that big win last night.” Her gaze flicked to my open notebook and then up to my face, lingering just long enough to feel intentional. “You look good, Reese.”
I didn’t know whether to be flattered or irritated. Probably both. I resisted the impulse to touch my hair for flyaways. “What do you want?”
“Straight to the point.” Her lazy grin widened. “I always liked that about you.”
Don’t fall for it, I told myself.
“Fine,” she said, leaning forward, forearms resting on the table. Even that small shift felt deliberate, her presence crowding the space between us. “I wanted to see you. I figured we should catch up. Isn’t that what old … friends do?”
The hesitation on friends was deliberate, and we both knew it.
I scoffed. “We’re not friends, Dani.”
She tilted her head, her expression softening. “No, I guess we’re not. But we could be.”
I stared at her, caught between disbelief and the undeniable pull of nostalgia. Dani Callahan had always had a way of making the impossible seem possible.
But I wasn’t that college girl anymore, and I wasn’t about to let her waltz back into my life like nothing had changed or no time had passed.
I returned to my notes, writing Line 3: watch winger transitions. Anything to avoid looking at her.
“You’re still meticulous,” she said, nodding toward my spiral notebook. “I remember that from college. Notebook in hand, every drill documented. You were a little obsessive.”
“I’m thorough,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh, I know the difference,” she said, voice low and teasing. “But obsessive … that’s attractive, too.”
I sighed and snapped my notebook shut. “Dani—stop.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Stop what? Flirting? Observing? Making your heart race?”
“Everything,” I said firmly. “I’m trying to work. I’m trying to set boundaries.”
Her teasing grin softened, but it didn’t disappear. “Boundaries. I like that. Very adult of you.”
I pushed my chair back and rose to my feet. “I’m busy,” I said, grabbing my bag.
She didn’t stop me. She tilted her head, her lips twisting into a wry smile. “You didn’t say no.”
I froze mid-step. Heart hammering. God damn it.
She stood too, stepping close enough that I caught the clean scent of her bar soap beneath the faint tang of sweat from practice. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”
I exhaled, trying to anchor myself in professionalism. “We’ll see,” I said. It was all I trusted myself to say before stepping toward the door.
Outside, the February air was sharp and unforgiving. I breathed it in, hoping to steady my racing pulse.
Dani Callahan was already back in my head—and I hadn’t even officially started the job yet.