Chapter 2 #2
Her hands shook when she reached for the cup.
She froze mid-reach. Went completely still. Color flooded her face.
She knows.
Recognition hit her like a physical blow. I watched it happen—the widening of her eyes, the sharp intake of breath she tried to hide, the way her gaze snapped up to my face then away just as fast.
She knew exactly who I was.
And I'd just confirmed she had every reason to be afraid.
She turned away. Grabbed the carafe with both hands to steady the shake.
I should've looked away. Should've checked my phone. Scanned the café. Done literally anything except stand here watching her pour coffee like it required surgical precision.
But I didn't move.
She measured carefully. Overfilled slightly, corrected. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth—concentration or anxiety, impossible to tell. The fluorescent lights caught the side of her face, highlighted the tension in her jaw, the flutter of her pulse at her throat.
Too fragile. Too breakable.
And I couldn't stop cataloging every detail.
The way her hair escaped the ponytail in wisps at her nape. The slight tremor in her shoulders. How she positioned herself with the counter between us, like the barrier might protect her from whatever threat I represented.
Smart girl.
She should run. Should've run the second she recognized me.
She secured the lid. Turned.
Our eyes met.
The cup slipped from her fingers.
Time fractured.
I watched the trajectory—white ceramic tumbling through air, lid separating mid-fall, liquid arcing outward in a perfect dark spray. Physics I couldn't stop. Momentum already committed.
Scalding heat hit my stomach first. Soaked through the hoodie, the shirt beneath. Spread across my forearm where I'd moved too slow to block it. Coffee exploded across the counter, splattered the register, dripped onto the floor in heavy drops that sounded too loud in the sudden silence.
The entire café stopped breathing.
She stood frozen. Hand still suspended where the cup had been, lips parted on a gasp she hadn't released. Horror painted across every feature—eyes wide, face drained white, whole body locked in place like moving might make it worse.
"Oh my gosh," she breathed. "I—I'm so?—"
I looked at her.
Really looked.
Fierce eyes. Same ones from years ago, but older now. Haunted in ways that had nothing to do with childhood and everything to do with survival. Fear etched into the delicate lines around her mouth, the tension in her throat as she struggled for words that wouldn't come.
Beautiful.
The thought arrived unwanted. Unwelcome.
Wrong.
She was too young. Too damaged. Too tangled up in memories I'd buried for good reason.
And she looked at me like I might destroy her.
Maybe I would.
Maybe I already had.
Something hot and vicious coiled in my chest—recognition, yes, but underneath it lurked something darker.
Attraction I had no right to feel. Guilt that sat like lead in my gut because I should've checked on her, should've made sure she landed somewhere safe, should've been better than the man who walked away and never looked back.
I'd failed her once.
And now she stood here terrified, waiting for me to react.
I tightened my jaw. Only movement I allowed myself.
Then I stepped back.
Her eyes locked with mine.
Every instinct I'd honed over decades screamed at me to move—react, speak, do something to diffuse the tension crackling between us. But I stood there, muscles locked, coffee dripping from my hoodie onto the floor in steady drops that counted the seconds.
My jaw tightened. Only tell I allowed.
Something else stirred beneath the surface—dangerous, unwanted. Heat that had nothing to do with the coffee soaking through my clothes. I killed it. Buried it so deep she'd never see the flicker of awareness that threatened to surface.
She needed to fear me. Needed to believe I was every bit the cold bastard my reputation suggested.
Safer that way.
For both of us.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Voice breaking. "Please, I didn't mean?—"
I stepped back before she could finish. Turned. Walked.
The café door swung open under my hand. Cold air hit the wet fabric clinging to my stomach, but I didn't slow. Didn't look back. Just kept moving through the concourse with measured steps that gave away nothing.
Silence protects.
The words settled into my chest like a mantra I'd repeated too many times to count. If I'd spoken, I would've acknowledged her. Would've confirmed whatever suspicion lived behind those fierce eyes. Would've opened a door I'd sealed shut years ago for good reason.
She didn't need me in her life. Didn't need the weight of my attention or the complications that followed.
And I sure as hell didn't need the complication of her.
My loafers echoed on the concrete. Empty hallway. No witnesses. Just me and the coffee burning through layers of fabric, reminder of how badly I'd miscalculated by walking into that café.
I shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have let myself get close enough to see her. Shouldn't have felt the pull low in my gut when our eyes met—recognition that went both ways, whether she understood it or not.
I pushed through the door to the coaching offices. Let it slam behind me. Stood in the dim hallway and pressed my palm flat against the wall, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.
I'd forget this moment. Lock it away with every other mistake I'd made. Move forward like I always did—controlled, disciplined, alone.
But even as I formed the thought, I knew the truth.
I wouldn't forget her face. Wouldn't forget the fear in her eyes. Wouldn't forget the way something in my chest cracked when she whispered that apology.
Damn it.