16. Lucy #4
“I knew it had to happen,” I said more quietly. “I still hated being the person who did it.”
Ty remained silent for a moment. “Those things can both be true.”
“She said they would turn on me too,” I admitted.
Ty’s face changed. His jaw tightened once before he looked toward the open office door, as though checking that no one stood near enough to hear us. “Who?”
“The organization. Everyone.” I adjusted my glasses, though they had not moved. “She said I thought this place belonged to me now. Then she told me to give it time because eventually they would turn on me too.”
His attention returned to me. “And you believed her?”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“You have no idea what it is like to walk into this building knowing half the people here think you were hired because of your last name.”
“No,” he said evenly. “I don’t.”
The immediate agreement took the fight out of me before it could fully begin.
Ty glanced down at his hands. “But I know what it’s like when someone says the thing you’re already afraid might be true.”
“Charlotte wanted to hurt me,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“She was angry.”
“Probably.”
“That does not automatically mean everything she said was a lie.”
“No.” Ty raised his eyes to mine. “But it doesn’t make it the truth either.”
I held his gaze. He paused for me to argue. When I did not, he reached for the packet and closed it carefully. “She wanted to leave something behind,” he said. “You didn’t let her keep the job, so she made sure you kept the doubt.”
Beyond the interior windows, the empty lower bowl disappeared beneath rows of dark seats. Bright work lights reflected across the glass, turning the office into a faint mirror.
I could see the outline of myself behind the desk. Small. Dottie’s head in my lap. Ty sitting across from me where no player had any reason to feel comfortable, his attention on me instead of the arena beyond the glass.
“I’ll get over it,” I said.
Ty stood, unfolding himself from the chair. Dottie lifted her head immediately.
“I know.” His voice held no doubt.
He bent to retrieve the stuffed frog and placed it back in the basket instead of leaving it on the floor. Then he collected his gym bag, tucked the packet beneath one arm, and finally picked up his phone. “You don’t need to worry about me tomorrow,” he said.
“That is not a commitment I’m prepared to make.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, but it disappeared almost immediately. “I’m not going to make this harder for you, Lucy.” He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “Tomorrow matters. I’ll be ready.”
For years, I had built my understanding of Ty Burns around one truth. When I needed him most, he had not shown up.
It did not matter that he had been eighteen. It did not matter that he had been scared or stupid or convinced silence would somehow hurt less than honesty.
He had let me walk away. And now he stood in my office telling me he would be ready. Telling me he would not make anything harder. Offering presence instead of explanations.
“I’ll send the remaining information tonight,” I said.
Ty watched me for a breath, then nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Seven forty-five.”
“Seven forty-five,” he repeated then walked toward the door. Dottie followed him halfway across the office before stopping and looking back at me. “Stay with her,” he told Dottie quietly.
My heart pulled painfully against my ribs.
Dottie returned to my side. Ty stepped into the corridor without looking back, the packet still tucked securely beneath his arm.
His footsteps faded beneath the hum of the arena until I could no longer separate them from everything else moving outside my office.
I remained behind the desk. For what felt like an hour, I stared at the empty chair across from me.
Ty had changed more than I wanted to acknowledge. Not completely. Not enough to erase what happened between us. But enough that dismissing him as the same careless boy had become harder than it used to be.
It would have been easier if he pushed. Easier if he turned every serious moment into a joke or treated tomorrow like another obligation he could survive on charm.
I knew how to protect myself from that version of him.
I did not know what to do with the man who listened when I told him no. The man who noticed six missing letters in an email signature. The man who asked the right questions when nobody was watching and left my office without demanding anything I had not offered.
One afternoon did not rewrite our history. One thoughtful meeting did not make him safe.
And being forced into his orbit did not mean I had to forget why I had spent years learning how to live outside it.
I slid the remaining packets into a neat stack and rose from my chair. Dottie watched as I walked around the desk and placed both hands on the back of the chair Ty had used. It remained angled slightly toward mine. I pushed it beneath the desk until the legs aligned perfectly with the edge.
Then I stood there, staring at the place where he had sat, and rebuilt every wall he had made me forget for the last hour.