Olivia
I woke wrapped in sheets that smelled like cedar and frost.
Rhys's bed. Rhys's shirt hanging loose on my frame. Rhys's fingerprints still ghosting across my skin in bruises I couldn't see but felt with every breath.
Everything ached. Not pain—something deeper. Like my body had been remade overnight into something that belonged to him.
I should've felt scared.
I felt safe instead.
The bathroom mirror showed me exactly what I expected: wild hair, swollen mouth, shadows under my eyes from a night that contained too much emotion and not nearly enough sleep.
I splashed cold water on my face and tried to become the version of myself who could handle a shift at the café.
Failed. Changed into clean clothes anyway.
When I emerged, Rhys stood in the kitchen with two travel mugs. Black coffee for him. Something lighter for me. He'd memorized how I took it without asking.
"I can take the bus," I said.
His expression didn't shift. "No."
"Rhys—"
"I'm driving you."
I opened my mouth to argue. Closed it. The look on his face made it clear this wasn't negotiable. He'd decided I belonged under his protection, and every instinct he possessed would enforce that decision until I stopped fighting.
So I stopped fighting.
The drive passed in comfortable silence. His hand found mine across the console. Held tight. Like letting go meant losing me.
When we pulled up to the arena, I expected him to leave immediately.
He walked me to the door instead. Kissed me once—brief, possessive, devastatingly gentle—then disappeared before anyone could see.
The café exploded with pre-game chaos the moment I clocked in.
Fans pressed against the counter. Players grabbed drinks between warm-ups. Jenna barked orders while Ben moved at double speed trying to keep up with demand.
I fell into rhythm automatically. Taking orders. Making change. Wiping down counters between rushes. The familiar motions grounded me when everything else felt like standing on shifting ice.
Safe. That was what I felt walking in wearing yesterday's fear like armor I no longer needed. Rhys had promised no one would touch me. I believed him.
Shaky. Because last night had changed everything and I still didn't know what came next.
Embarrassed. Because surely everyone could see it written across my face—what we'd done, how completely I'd surrendered, how desperately I wanted to do it again. Weirdly happy. A lightness in my chest I hadn't felt in years. Like maybe I deserved good things after all.
Ben caught my eye across the espresso machine and smiled.
My stomach dropped.
I needed to end things. Clean. Simple. Respectful. He deserved that much. But the line wrapped around the corridor and Jenna needed backup on register, and a player's girlfriend complained her latte wasn't hot enough, and…
Later. I'd talk to Ben later.
When the rush died down. When I could find words that wouldn't destroy the one friendship I'd built here.
Orders piled faster than we could fill them. The espresso machine hissed. Jenna called out modifications I barely caught over the noise. My hands moved on autopilot—grab cup, fill, cap, slide across counter, repeat.
A player laughed too loud near the pastry case. Someone's phone blared. The overhead lights buzzed with that specific frequency that made my teeth ache.
I wiped down the counter for the third time in ten minutes, needing the motion to settle my nerves.
Then Rhys passed the window.
My hands stilled mid-wipe.
He walked with that same controlled stride, shoulders set, hoodie pulled low. But his eyes found mine through the glass—just for a second. Dark. Intent. A look that made heat crawl up my neck.
My stomach flipped hard enough I forgot to breathe.
He kept walking. Disappeared around the corner. Left me standing there gripping a rag like it could anchor me to reality.
"Okay, seriously." Jenna appeared at my elbow, eyebrow raised. "What's going on with you today?"
"Nothing." I turned back to the counter too fast. "Just tired."
"Uh-huh." She leaned against the espresso machine, arms crossed, smirk playing at her mouth. "You've got a glow. I've seen that look before."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." She laughed and grabbed a pitcher. "Just don't let whoever put that smile on your face distract you during the game rush."
I pretended I didn't hear her. Grabbed the next ticket. Focused on making a cappuccino with foam I definitely over-steamed.
But my cheeks burned anyway.
Ben restocked cups near the register. I caught his profile—focused, oblivious, still thinking we had plans for another dinner. My chest tightened.
I needed to talk to him. Now. Before someone else mentioned seeing me leave with Rhys. Before a player made a comment. Before this became gossip instead of a conversation between two people who deserved better than rumors.
I stepped toward him.
A group of fans pushed through the door, laughing and loud, forming an instant line.
Ben glanced up, caught my eye, smiled. "I've got register. Can you handle espresso?"
"Yeah. Sure."
The moment passed.
I tried again during the mid-rush lull. Ben wiped down the pastry case. I opened my mouth—
"Excuse me, is this almond milk?" A woman held up her latte, suspicious.
"Yes, ma'am."
"It doesn't taste like almond milk."
By the time I remade her drink and apologized twice, Ben had moved to the storage room.
My anxiety climbed higher with every missed opportunity. Every second that passed felt like a lie building between us. He didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve to be blindsided.
I just needed five minutes.
God wasn't giving me five minutes.
The rush finally eased enough that I could breathe.
I found Ben near the supply closet, restocking napkin dispensers with methodical precision. My heart hammered against my ribs hard enough to hurt.
"Can we talk?"
He glanced up, eyes bright with the same easy warmth he always carried. "Sure. What's up?"
"Maybe somewhere quieter?"
Something in my tone made his smile falter. He set down the stack of napkins and followed me into the hallway behind the concessions area—a narrow corridor lit by flickering fluorescents, empty except for stacked chairs and the distant hum of freezers.
I turned to face him, words dying on my tongue. He deserved better than this. Better than me fumbling through an explanation I couldn't give without hurting him.
"I really appreciated the date," I started, voice softer than I meant. "You chose a great place. And you were—you've been really kind to me since I started here."
Ben's expression shifted. Not quite guarded, but preparing.
I forced myself to continue. "But I'm… not interested romantically. And I should have said something sooner. Before we went out. It wasn't fair to you."
Silence stretched between us.
He nodded slowly—tight, controlled. The kind of nod that didn't match the tension pulling at his jaw.
"Right. Sure." His voice came out flat. "You're just… not interested."
"Ben—"
His eyes traveled over me once. Not the way he'd looked at me before—not admiring or sweet or hopeful. This was different. Assessing. Calculating. Finding something that made his mouth twist.
Then he scoffed.
The sound hit like a slap.
"Yeah. That tracks."
I blinked, confused. "What?"
He shook his head, bitter smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. "Nothing. Just—" He gestured vaguely at me. "You should cover the hickey next time."
The world stopped.
Hickey.
My hand flew to my neck—right side, just below my jaw—and found the tender spot I hadn't noticed in the rush to get ready. Hadn't thought to check. Hadn't realized Rhys had left visible proof of what we'd done.
Heat flooded my face so fast I went dizzy.
Oh fuck.
Everyone could see it. Jenna had seen it. That was why she'd asked about the glow. That was why she'd smirked. How many customers had noticed? How many players?
Ben watched my reaction with something like satisfaction twisting his features. "Yeah. Thought so."
"I didn't—" My voice came out strangled. "I wasn't trying to—"
"Save it." He stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. "Enjoy your upgrade."
The words landed with surgical precision, cutting exactly where he meant them to. Then he turned and walked away, shoulders stiff, leaving me standing alone in the flickering hallway with my hand still pressed to my neck and shame burning through every nerve.
I couldn't move. Couldn't think past the mortification crawling under my skin.
Ben thought I'd used him. Led him on while already involved with someone else. Someone clearly more important, more powerful, more everything than a part-time café worker could ever be.
And he wasn't entirely wrong.
I'd gone on that date trying to convince myself I could move on from Rhys. Trying to prove I didn't need the man who kept pushing me away. But my heart had never been in it. Not really.
Ben deserved honesty from the start.
Instead, I'd given him confusion wrapped in good intentions and ended up hurting him, anyway.
The overhead lights buzzed. My reflection caught in the metal surface of a storage cart—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, fingers still covering the mark Rhys had left like a brand.
I dropped my hand. No point hiding it now. Everyone had already seen.
I stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks burning so hot I swore the fluorescent lights dimmed by comparison.
I pressed my palms against my face, forcing air through my lungs in careful counts. In for four. Hold. Out for four. The breathing exercise Marsha had taught me years ago when panic used to swallow me whole.
It wasn't working.
My throat tightened. Eyes stung. I blinked hard against the pressure building behind them, refusing to cry in a stadium hallway where anyone could walk past and see me falling apart.
"It's fine," I whispered to the empty corridor. The words tasted like lies. "Ben's not a bad guy. He's just hurt."