Chapter 1 #2
“I know.” Her face softened by maybe half a degree, which for Tessa was practically a hug. “That’s why I texted you twice and Roman once. Next time, answer one of us.”
Guilt landed heavy and immediate. “Yeah. Sorry.”
She nodded, accepting it without making me bleed for it. “Two minutes. Smile like you’re not personally victimized by employment.”
I gave her the clip. I smiled. I said the new coach brought structure and accountability and a strong defensive mindset, which were all words players said when they did not want to create headlines. Across the hallway, Reid spoke with our assistant GM. He wasn’t looking at me.
I still felt him.
By the time I showered, changed, lost my keys, found them in my hoodie pocket, and made it to the players’ parking lot, my nerves were scraped raw.
The afternoon sun bounced off windshields.
My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Vanessa had sent a photo of two ties and a question mark.
Harper had sent a meme about student debt followed by, do NOT send money, weirdo, which meant she definitely needed money. My dad had left a voicemail.
Too much.
All of it pressed in at once until the edges of everything felt too bright.
I stopped beside my car and shut my eyes.
In. Out.
I was fine. I was always fine. That was the whole job. Be fast, be charming, be worth the money, don’t make your mess visible.
“Holloway.”
My eyes opened.
Declan Reid stood a few spaces over beside a black SUV. He had changed into dark jeans and a black jacket, and somehow looked more intimidating out of team gear. He held a leash in one hand. At the end of it sat the biggest dog I had ever seen.
The bull mastiff stared at me with drooping jowls, soulful eyes, and the general build of a refrigerator.
I pointed at him. “That’s not a dog. That’s a security deposit with legs.”
Reid looked down at the beast. “Tiny.”
The dog’s tail thumped once against the pavement.
I blinked. “You named that Tiny?”
“He came with an attitude problem. I didn’t want to encourage him.”
Before I could stop myself, I laughed.
Tiny took that as an invitation. He rose, lumbered forward, and shoved his massive head directly into my stomach.
“Oof.” I grabbed his collar on instinct as he leaned his full body weight into me. “Okay. Hi. Wow. You are dense.”
“He doesn’t usually do that,” Reid said.
I scratched behind Tiny’s ear. The dog’s eyes half closed in bliss. “Because he has taste?”
“Because he has manners.”
“Debatable.”
Reid watched me with that same unreadable focus from the meeting. Up close, his eyes were worse. Not because they were cold. Because they weren’t. There was intelligence there, patience, and something else I didn’t know how to name.
It made me want to move. Talk. Joke. Escape. Stay.
All at once.
“You have a problem with direction?” he asked.
There it was.
I straightened, Tiny still pressed against my thigh like we’d survived war together. “Generally or specifically?”
“Specifically mine.”
“I did the drill.”
“After arguing.”
“I was discussing.”
“You were testing.”
The words hit too accurately. I looked away, toward the line of cars, the mountains beyond the arena, anything less inconvenient than his face.
“I don’t know you,” I said.
“No.”
“And you don’t know me.”
“Not yet.”
Something about that not yet got under my skin.
I gave Tiny one last scratch and stepped back. “Look, Coach, if this is the part where you tell me I need to buy in, I’ve heard it. I show up when it matters.”
“You were late this morning.”
My temper sparked. “Seven minutes.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a moral failure.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
My mouth shut.
Reid’s voice stayed level. “I’m not interested in shaming you. I am interested in whether I can count on you.”
I hated how much worse that felt.
My phone buzzed again in my hand. I looked down automatically. Vanessa: Babe answer me. Navy or black?
Reid’s gaze dropped to the screen for half a second, then returned to my face. Not prying. Just noticing. He probably noticed everything.
“I can be counted on,” I said.
“Then be on time tomorrow.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “That easy?”
“No. But it is that clear.”
The parking lot noise faded a little.
Clear.
Not easy. Clear.
I didn’t know why that distinction lodged somewhere behind my ribs.
Maybe because people were always telling me things like they should be simple if I cared enough.
Remember this. Finish that. Calm down. Pay attention.
Stop interrupting. Stop being dramatic. Stop making excuses.
As if wanting to do better and being able to do it every time were the same thing.
Reid didn’t soften. He also didn’t look disgusted.
That confused me more than it should have.
Tiny huffed and shoved his nose into my hand again.
I swallowed. “Your dog’s needy.”
“He knows what he wants.”
“Must be peaceful.”
Reid studied me for a second too long.
My pulse reacted like an idiot.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Eight-thirty. Players’ lounge. Bring your notebook. Put your phone away before you walk in.”
A laugh kicked out of me, sharp at the edges. “You giving me homework?”
“I’m giving you expectations.”
“And if I don’t meet them?”
His expression did not change, but the air between us tightened.
“Then we’ll have a different conversation.”
It should not have sounded like that.
It should not have made my stomach drop in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
I was twenty-three years old, straight, dating a woman whose face was currently on billboards for a skincare brand downtown. Declan Reid was my coach, thirty-two, married, and looking at me like I was a puzzle he had every intention of solving one piece at a time.
None of that stopped my body from paying attention.
I shifted my weight, restless and irritated with myself. “You always this dramatic?”
“No.”
“Special occasion?”
“You tell me.”
The answer that rose in my throat was too honest, so I buried it under a grin. “See you at eight-thirty, Coach.”
I opened my car door.
“Holloway.”
I paused.
Reid stood beside his SUV, Tiny leaning against his leg now, leash loose in his hand. “Tie your shoe before you drive.”
I looked down.
My left lace was undone again.
For some reason, that was the thing that got me. Not the meeting. Not the correction. Not the expectation. The fact that he’d noticed my damn shoe and said it like it mattered, like I mattered, like details were not small if they kept you from tripping.
I crouched and tied it, fingers moving too fast and clumsy before I forced them to slow down.
When I stood, Reid was still watching.
I got into my car, shut the door, and sat there with both hands on the steering wheel while my phone buzzed and buzzed in the cup holder.
For the first time all day, I didn’t pick it up.
Across the lot, Declan Reid loaded his enormous dog into the back of his SUV. He didn’t look back before he drove away.
I did.
And then I set an alarm for eight-ten tomorrow morning.
Then eight.
Then seven-fifty-five.
After a second, I added one more for seven-thirty, labeled it don’t screw this up, and hated how badly I wanted to be on time.