Beckett
My apartment looked like hell — empty takeout boxes on the counter, soccer gear dumped in the corner, half a coffee gone cold beside my phone.
Perfect backdrop for hypocrisy.
I told Ellery I’d help. No more half-assing it.
I sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through contacts I hadn’t looked at in years — old sponsors, ex-teammates, brand reps, a few rivals who still owed me favors. Every name was another reminder of the part of this job I hated most: pretending to care enough to make a call.
I rubbed a hand over my face and muttered under my breath, You said you’d help. Don’t half-ass it.
The first number I dialed was an equipment supplier I used to work with. The guy answered on the third ring, all smooth confidence.
“Beckett Mason,” he said, like he couldn’t believe I still had his number. “Thought you’d retired to an island by now.”
“Yeah, well, I’m between vacations,” I said dryly. “Listen, I’ve got something you might want in on. Community thing. Youth foundation. Big coverage, solid PR value.”
There was a pause. Then a low chuckle. “You? Doing charity pitches?”
I smirked even though he couldn’t see it. “Crazy, right? But yeah. It’s legit. You’d be helping out a good program—and scoring some good press in the process.”
He laughed again, but this time it sounded thoughtful. “Send me the details.”
“Will do,” I said, hanging up before he could ask why the hell I cared.
That was one.
Next call: a nutrition brand I’d worked with last year before I told their PR director to shove their protein powder where the sun didn’t shine. I hesitated before hitting dial, then shrugged. Pride wasn’t going to fund scholarships.
The line clicked. “Beckett?” the woman said, wary but curious.
“Hey, look,” I started, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “I know last time we spoke I was… less than polite.”
“Less than polite? You told my boss his smoothie tasted like chalk.”
“Yeah,” I said, fighting a grin. “But I’m calling to make it up to you. There’s this youth foundation—nonprofit, local, good people. They just lost a major sponsor. I think your company could fill the gap, get some community goodwill out of it.”
Silence stretched on the other end. Then a sigh. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
I hated this tone — the smooth, careful rhythm of someone selling a story — but I knew how to use it. Direct, persuasive, just enough sincerity to hit the mark.
She laughed softly. “Email me the info, Mason. If this is real, we’ll talk.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, hanging up.
Two calls down.
I leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t built for this kind of work — the small talk, the favors, the fake smiles. But for once, it didn’t feel fake.
It wasn’t about headlines or damage control or saving my own image. It was about a promise.
Ellery’s voice echoed in my head — I’m tired of being the thing that waits.
She wouldn’t wait this time. Not if I could help it.
I scrolled to the next contact, thumb hovering over the call button, and muttered to myself, “You really are losing it, Mason.”
Still, I hit dial.
Because the truth was, I’d rather deal with every PR rep in the country than see that look on her face again — the one that said she was holding everything together alone.
And if that meant playing the game for once, then fine. I’d play to win.
My phone had been buzzing all morning—calls, texts, follow-ups. Every time I thought I was done, another name popped up that I couldn’t ignore.
The price of keeping a promise, I guess.
Adam’s message came first:
You begging people for money now? Who are you and what did you do with Mason?
I rolled my eyes and typed back,
It’s for Ellery’s foundation. Keep it quiet.
He didn’t miss a beat.
Ohhhh. So it’s like that.
It’s not.
Sure, Saint Beckett. Keep telling yourself that.
I didn’t bother replying. The guy could sniff out subtext like a bloodhound, and the more I denied it, the more he’d dig.
A minute later, Derek texted.
Told a rival brand rep about your charity project. They’ll match whatever was lost. You owe me a bottle.
I stared at the message for a second, surprised. Then sent back:
You’ll get two.
So now, somehow, the guys were helping me do PR. That alone felt like a cosmic joke.
By mid-afternoon, I’d made more calls than I had in months. Three companies were on board—two pending paperwork, one already drafting a sponsorship letter. I could practically hear Cam’s stunned silence when those contracts hit his desk.
I typed out the email to Ellery, fingers drumming the keys while I figured out how to word it.
Subject: Possible Replacements
These might fill the gap.
Don’t ask how. Just take the win.
—B.
No explanation. No brag. Just results. I hit send before I could second-guess it.
Then I tossed the phone aside and leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles.
The truth was, I hated this kind of work. The fake niceties. The polite small talk. The careful phrasing that made favors sound like partnerships. But I’d done it anyway—because I’d told her I would.
And maybe because I couldn’t stand seeing her look like that again.
That quiet kind of defeated, the one you didn’t show the world because you were too busy holding it together. I knew that look. I’d worn it for years.
I’d told myself this was about fixing a PR mess, about balancing the scales after too many screw-ups. But when I pictured her—bent over a stack of paperwork, brow furrowed, still fighting even when the odds weren’t fair—it hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
She’ll never know how much calling in those favors cost me, I thought. But hell, it’s worth it if she stops looking like she’s about to break.
The phone buzzed again—probably Adam ready with another sarcastic comment. I ignored it this time.
Instead, I grabbed a marker from the coffee table and scrawled a note on the back of a crumpled takeout receipt: Still standing.
I wasn’t sure if I meant her foundation or myself. Maybe both.
Either way, I wasn’t planning to stop.
The next morning hit like a punishment. The air was sharp enough to sting, the drills relentless, and Coach Lawson looked like he’d skipped breakfast just so he could yell louder.
We were halfway through sprint sets when my phone buzzed again. I slowed, thumb already swiping to the notification—one of the new sponsors confirming a meeting. Good. Another small win.
“Mason!” Lawson’s voice cracked across the field. “You gonna run or text your way into shape?”
I called back, “Give me one sec, Coach.”
He muttered something about unbelievable and stalked off. Fair. I deserved that one.
I was about to pocket the phone when I heard Kyle from the other side of the field. “What’s with you lately? You’ve been glued to that thing all week.”
“Business,” I said, not bothering to look up.
“Since when do you have business?”
I almost laughed. “Since Ellery’s sponsor bailed. I’m trying to help her replace it.”
Silence. The kind that didn’t belong on a training field. Even the sound of the ball stopped.
When I finally looked up, Kyle was staring at me like I’d just confessed to murder.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “What?”
I frowned. “You didn’t know?”
He jogged closer, brows drawn tight. “No, I didn’t know. She didn’t say anything.”
I shrugged, pretending that didn’t hit weird. “Guess she didn’t want to worry you.”
He looked thrown off—confused, maybe even guilty. I turned back toward the track before he could say anything else.
“Beckett,” he called after a moment. “You’re helping her?”
“Trying to,” I said, stretching my shoulders. “You got a problem with that?”
“No, I just—” He shook his head, frowning. “I didn’t expect it from you.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Join the club.”
Lawson blew the whistle again, saving us both from finishing the conversation. We lined up for another sprint, but the back of my neck was burning. I could feel Kyle’s eyes on me even after we started running.
Halfway down the field, my thoughts drifted—Ellery’s face when she’d tried to sound fine, the exhaustion behind her smile. I picked up speed, legs burning, lungs screaming. Anything to drown that image out.
When we reached the end, Lawson barked another set, but I wasn’t listening anymore. My phone was still buzzing on the bench, another reply coming in.
Confirmed partnership. Details to follow.
I stared at it for a second, sweat dripping into my eyes, chest heaving.
That was three sponsors locked. Enough to keep her foundation above water.
I wiped my face with my sleeve and muttered under my breath, “Can't believe you didn't fucking know. And you call yourself a boyfriend? Fuck me."
I didn't know why this pissed me off so much, but it did.
Kyle jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead, the air between us heavy with that post-drill burn and something worse—curiosity.
He planted his hands on his hips. “What did you say?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
I stared at him. “You’re her boyfriend. Shouldn’t you know what’s going on?”
His head snapped up at that, tone going defensive. “She’s been busy. I’ve been training. We don’t have time to talk about every crisis she has.”
Something in me bristled. Maybe it was the way he said every crisis, like what she did was an inconvenience instead of the thing she built her whole world around.
“It’s not every crisis,” I said before I could stop myself. “It’s her life’s work.”
The words came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t take them back.
Kyle’s eyes narrowed, that easy charm he always wore slipping just a little. “You sound like you care a lot for someone who just met her.”
I met his stare head-on. “Someone’s gotta.”
The field went quiet again, or maybe it just felt that way. Lawson was yelling at someone near midfield, but the sound was muted—background noise to the tension sitting between us.
Kyle let out a short, humorless laugh. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
I smirked, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Never been my strong suit.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, maybe throw a punch just to make it simple again, but he didn’t. He just shook his head, muttering something under his breath, and jogged back toward the rest of the team.
I stood there for a second, breathing hard, trying to shake off the edge in my voice. I hadn’t planned to get into it with him. Hell, I hadn’t planned to feel anything about any of this.
But the truth was, hearing him talk like that—like she was some side project he’d get around to when life slowed down—got under my skin more than it should have.
Ellery didn’t half-ass anything. She worked herself raw trying to make that foundation matter, and people like Kyle got to be her reason for smiling while the rest of us watched her carry the weight alone.
I turned back toward the bench, grabbed my water bottle, and took a long drink. The water was lukewarm, useless, but it gave me something to do while my temper cooled.
Across the field, Kyle was laughing again with Adam and Derek, slipping back into the easy rhythm of teammates who never stayed mad for long. I envied that—how simple it was for him to move on.
I couldn’t stop replaying the look on Ellery’s face the last time I saw her.
I tossed the bottle aside and went back to drills, running harder than before—trying to burn the thought of her, of him, out of my head.
It didn’t work.
After practice, Adam cornered me before I could even sit down, towel still slung around my neck, sweat cooling on my skin. The locker room was a low hum of voices and slamming lockers, the usual chaos after drills, but he somehow made it feel like a spotlight was pointed right at me.
“So,” he said, leaning against the bench, grin too sharp to be friendly. “Rumor says you went nuclear on Reynolds.”
I shot him a look. “Didn’t go nuclear. Just told him to look up from his damn reflection once in a while.”
Adam let out a low whistle. “Subtle. And here I thought you were trying to clean up your image.”
I shoved my gear into my locker, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t. He never did.
“You really like this girl, huh?” he asked.
I froze for half a second before forcing a laugh. “She’s not mine.”
“Didn’t say she was,” Adam said, tone easy, teasing but not cruel. “Just that you like her.”
“Drop it.”
He raised both hands, smirk still firmly in place. “Fine. For now.”
He wandered off to bother someone else, leaving me alone with the echo of that for now.
I sat down on the bench, elbows on my knees, trying to shake off the conversation. It shouldn’t have gotten under my skin. Adam teased everyone—it was practically a sport for him. But the thing was, he wasn’t wrong.
And I hated that he wasn’t wrong.
Ellery had been stuck in my head for days.
Not because she was flawless or sweet or any of the usual clichés.
No, she was infuriating. Sharp as glass, stubborn as hell, and too damn earnest for her own good.
The kind of person who believed in things long after the world stopped giving her reasons to.
That kind of belief was contagious—and dangerous.
By the time I showered and headed out, my phone was buzzing again. Unknown number at first glance, but I knew who it was before I picked up.
“Beckett?” Her voice. A little breathless, like she’d been moving around. “The sponsors—how did you—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, seriously,” she pressed. “You replaced a fifty-thousand-dollar deal overnight. That’s—how?”
I rubbed a hand over my face, leaning against the wall of the hallway outside the locker room. “Told you not to thank me till it was done.”
She went quiet, and for a second, all I could hear was her breathing. Soft. Measured. Trying to find the right words.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” she said finally, her voice low.
“Yeah, I did.”
It slipped out before I could stop it.
There was a pause on the line—long enough that I could feel the weight of everything I wasn’t supposed to be thinking. The way she’d looked when she thought no one was watching. The sound of her laugh when she forgot to be guarded. The way she made me want to be better without ever asking me to.
I could hear the words forming on her end, gratitude or something worse—something warm. I wasn’t ready for either.
So I ended the call. Just like that.
The screen went dark, and I stared at my reflection in it. My jaw was tight, eyes shadowed.
If Adam saw me now, he’d never let me live it down. You really like this girl, huh?
Maybe.
But it didn’t matter. Liking someone didn’t mean anything good came from it.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and pushed off the wall, heading out toward the parking lot. The evening air hit cold and clean against my face.
Helping her didn’t change who I was. Didn’t change where this was going.
At least, that was what I told myself.
Then I caught myself smiling—barely, but real.
Yeah. I was screwed.