Ellery
The day was already in full swing by the time I made it to my desk.
The low hum of conversation filled the foundation like music — volunteers hanging banners in the hallway, printers churning out name tags, the distant thump of a soccer ball echoing from the field outside. It was the kind of chaos I thrived on.
I was elbow-deep in inventory spreadsheets, half-listening to the playlist Naomi had queued up, when she poked her head into my office. “Hey,” she said, grinning. “Surprise guest. In expensive sneakers.”
I looked up — and froze.
Kyle stood in the doorway, all effortless charm and fresh-off-the-field energy. His duffel bag hung over one shoulder, and his grin was the kind that used to knock the wind out of me. “Thought I’d drop by,” he said. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen your place.”
My chest tightened with a mix of surprise and something warmer. “Kyle,” I said, setting my pen down. “I didn’t think you’d have time.”
He shrugged, easy and confident, the way only someone used to the world bending around his schedule could be. “Coach gave us an hour before recovery drills. I figured I’d make it count.”
Before I could say anything else, he stepped forward, and I met him halfway. The hug was automatic — familiar. His jersey smelled faintly of grass and cologne, and for a second, everything else — the spreadsheets, the deadlines, the never-ending prep — faded away.
But then he pulled back. His smile stayed, but his eyes were already darting — to the banners lining the walls, to the framed photo of the kids from last season, to the clock ticking steadily behind me. Always moving, always measuring.
“Place looks great,” he said, glancing around like a tourist. “You’ve been busy.”
“You could say that.” I gestured toward the stacks of forms on my desk. “Gala week doesn’t exactly leave room for naps.”
He grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Still doing everything yourself, huh?”
“I have help,” I said, a little too quickly. “Naomi, volunteers, donors—”
“Right, right,” he said, waving a hand. “The usual Ellery James miracle team.” His tone was teasing, but there was something distracted about it.
He checked his phone. A flash of irritation — not at him, but at how predictable this was. I’d waited weeks for an unplanned visit, and now that he was here, I could feel the countdown ticking.
I tried to keep my tone light. “You sure you’re not going to get in trouble for being here?”
He laughed. “Please. Coach will live. Besides, I wanted to see you. It’s been crazy lately.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “For both of us.”
We stood there for a beat too long, the buzz of conversation outside filling the silence. I could see the tug in him — the part that wanted to stay and the one that had already left.
Finally, he glanced toward the door. “Anyway, I should probably head back soon. Just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re not overworking yourself.”
I smiled — small, genuine. “And you’re here to set an example?”
He chuckled, slinging the duffel bag higher on his shoulder. “Touché.”
As he left, the scent of grass and cologne lingered in the air — bright, fleeting, like a memory you couldn’t quite hold on to.
I hesitated when he turned toward the door, already halfway gone. “Wait,” I said, the word out before I could stop it.
He turned back, eyebrows lifted.
“I’d like…” I trailed off, realizing how ridiculous I probably sounded. My face warmed. “Can I show you around?”
Kyle hesitated, glancing toward his phone like he was checking for an excuse. Then he smiled that easy, practiced smile. “Uh… sure. Yeah. Of course.”
I ignored the pause between sure and yeah and motioned for him to follow me down the hall.
The foundation hummed with movement—volunteers sorting gear, the faint echo of music from the training field outside. I pointed out the new sponsor logos lining the hallway, the updated tutoring room with bright new chairs and shelves packed with books.
“We’re expanding next season,” I said, my voice picking up some of its usual energy. “Hoping to bring in girls’ teams too. The gala’s what’ll make it possible.”
“That’s awesome,” he said automatically, thumb flicking across his phone.
I tried not to deflate. “We’ve been working with the Storm’s PR team, actually."
"How’s Beckett working out?”
The question caught me off guard—not because he knew, but because of the tone. Light. Casual. Like he was asking about a new pair of cleats.
“He’s… trying,” I said carefully. “Let’s call it a work in progress.”
Kyle chuckled, the corner of his mouth curving. “That sounds about right.”
“Meaning?” I prompted.
He shrugged, adjusting the strap of his duffel. “Beckett’s not bad—he’s just… Beckett. Hotheaded, stubborn, always two seconds from saying something he’ll regret. But when his head’s straight, he’s one of the best we’ve got.”
There was no judgment in his voice—just that same detached, locker-room loyalty he used whenever he talked about teammates. Protective but distant. The kind of tone that saw the talent, not the person.
I nodded, pretending not to notice the flicker of warmth in my chest when he said one of the best. It was strange—hearing the name from someone who actually knew Beckett beyond the headlines.
Still, the way Kyle said it made me wonder if anyone really saw him at all.
“Good to know,” I said lightly, pushing open the door to the small conference space. “Anyway, this is where we run team meetings, planning sessions, you name it.”
He nodded, looking around politely but not really seeing any of it.
“There’s talk the national scouts might come to the next match,” he said suddenly, shifting the topic like muscle memory. “If I can make that shortlist—”
I smiled, swallowing the ache that crept in. “That’s incredible, Kyle.”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes lighting up the way they always did when he talked about the game. “I’ve been grinding like crazy. Coach says I’m peaking at the right time.”
“Of course you are,” I said, meaning it. “You’ve worked for this.”
He grinned, that same easy warmth radiating off him. For a heartbeat, it felt like the old days—back when he’d come to our fundraisers without being prompted, when he’d help the kids run drills on his off days. When he still looked at me like I was part of the same dream.
But now, even as he stood right beside me, I could feel the distance creeping in—the quiet, invisible space where his ambitions lived and mine didn’t quite fit anymore.
I tucked my hands into my pockets, forcing another smile. “Well,” I said, keeping my tone light, “if the scouts do show, tell them to save me a seat.”
Kyle laughed, leaning down to kiss my cheek before heading toward the door again. “I’ll hold you to that.”
We ended up outside, sitting on the bleachers by the small training field. The afternoon sun was warm, the air filled with the steady rhythm of kids kicking soccer balls, coaches calling out drills, laughter rising and fading like waves.
It was the kind of sound that used to feel like home.
I brushed a bit of turf rubber off my skirt and exhaled. “The gala’s turning into a full-time job,” I said, watching the kids chase the ball downfield. “My team’s running thin. We’re stretched about as far as we can go.”
Kyle leaned back, elbows propped on the bench behind him. “You should delegate more,” he said, eyes squinting against the light.
“I’m trying,” I said with a small smile. “But when it’s your name on the nonprofit, it’s hard not to feel responsible.”
He nodded, but I could tell his attention had already shifted. His phone buzzed, and his thumb was scrolling before I could finish the sentence.
I looked away, focusing on the kids again—the bright jerseys, the sheer joy of movement. The part of this whole thing that made the late nights and endless emails worth it.
“How’s your shoulder?” I asked after a moment. “You said it was sore last week.”
He glanced up briefly. “Better. I’m doing extra resistance work.” A pause. “Beckett’s been taking over finishing drills, so that helps.”
My brows lifted. “So you two are working together more now?”
Kyle gave a short laugh. “If you call it that. He’s competitive as hell. Always has to prove something.”
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my mouth. “Sounds familiar.”
He grinned, not catching the quiet edge beneath my words. “What can I say? Competition brings out the best in us.”
I looked at him then—really looked. The way the sun caught in his hair, the way he seemed to vibrate with energy even when sitting still. He was the same Kyle I’d always known—driven, confident, constantly reaching for something just out of reach.
But there was a gap now. Not visible, not loud—just there. The kind that formed when two people’s dreams ran parallel but never touched.
“Sometimes it brings out distance too,” I said softly.
If he heard me, he didn’t show it. His gaze had already drifted back to his phone, his fingers tapping out a quick reply before sliding it back into his pocket.
I looked back at the field, forcing a smile when one of the younger kids waved at me. The moment passed, quiet and invisible, like so many others before it.
“Hey, Ellery?” Naomi’s voice carried before she even stepped onto the bleachers. “Quick question about the caterer invo—” She stopped short when she saw Kyle sitting beside me. “Oh. Sorry! Didn’t realize you were—uh—occupied.”
Kyle chuckled, rising to his feet. “Guess that’s my cue.” He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, easy smile in place. “I should head back before Lawson starts sending search parties.”
“You don’t have to rush,” I said automatically, hating how soft it sounded.
He grinned. “If I don’t, Coach’ll kill me.”
I stood too, brushing a bit of turf off my skirt. “Tell him I said hi.”
“Pretty sure he’d rather not know I’m taking unscheduled field trips,” he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my cheek.
Affectionate.
Familiar.
The kind of gesture that fit neatly into our routine—sweet, practiced, safe.