Beckett
I told myself I’d only be there five minutes. Drop off the donated gear, sign the form, get out before I did something I couldn’t walk back. Easy.
The foundation’s office smelled like coffee and printer ink—too familiar for my own good.
Ellery was behind her desk, hair pulled back, pen tapping against a folder.
When she looked up and smiled, it hit harder than a clean tackle to the ribs.
Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t kissed me back and then thrown up all over my shirt.
She remembered. She had to. Nobody forgot that.
I shifted the bag of cleats on my shoulder, trying to act normal, but Naomi was already in the background, perched on a filing cabinet like she’d been waiting to pounce.
“Hey, dream guy,” she called, grinning. “Good to see you in daylight.”
Ellery’s head dropped instantly, a faint blush climbing up her neck. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and leaned on the counter instead.
“You sound alive,” I said. “Miracle.”
She looked up, eyes narrowing just enough to make me grin harder. “You sound smug. Less miraculous.”
There it was—the spark that had no business making my heart kick like that.
Naomi snorted and vanished conveniently into the back room, muttering something about ‘grabbing paperwork’. Which, knowing her, was code for ‘leaving you two idiots alone’.
I tried to stay focused, handing over the clipboard for her to sign. Our fingers brushed—barely—but it was enough. Static shot straight up my arm, fast and sharp.
She froze. I pretended I didn’t notice.
“Thanks,” I said, voice rougher than it should’ve been.
She gave a small nod, still looking everywhere but at me. “Appreciate the drop-off. The kids will love this.”
I should’ve left right then, but I couldn’t stop watching the curve of her smile—the one she used when she was trying too hard to be fine.
The silence stretched until it wasn’t comfortable anymore, until I could feel the air bending around it. I coughed, forcing a smirk. “Anyway. Training.”
Her brows lifted. “Now? You just got here.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got to stay sharp. Wouldn’t want to ruin your PR photos with my poor form.”
That earned me a small laugh. It wasn’t much, but it hit harder than it should’ve.
I turned for the door before I could say something stupid, like how good it was to see her smile again.
As I stepped outside into the glare of late morning, the noise of the street rushed back in—cars, horns, normal life. I should’ve felt relieved to be gone. Instead, my pulse was still going like I’d just sprinted a mile.
I told myself I was fine. That the kiss hadn’t meant anything. That I wasn’t replaying the sound of her laugh in my head like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
But as I climbed into my truck and gripped the steering wheel, the truth settled in low and unshakable.
Five minutes had turned into something a lot more dangerous.
Adam and Derek were on me the second I stepped into the locker room. I didn’t even make it to my stall before Adam’s voice came flying across the benches.
“So, you and James, huh?”
I froze mid-step. “We’re colleagues.”
Derek barked a laugh. “Colleagues don’t look at each other like that, man.”
I tossed my gym bag down harder than I needed to; the thud echoing off the tile. “Like what?”
Adam grinned like a kid who’d just found candy. “Like you’re in a slow-motion movie trailer, right before the kiss scene.”
Derek smirked. “You saying there was a kiss scene?”
The sound of my locker slamming shut made them both flinch, but only for a second. They lived for this kind of crap.
I grabbed a towel off the bench and hurled it straight at Adam’s head. “You two should take up stand-up comedy. You’d kill at children’s birthday parties.”
Adam caught it midair, still laughing. “Hey, I’m just saying—when a guy starts volunteering for extra foundation work and walking the PR director to her car, it’s not strictly professional anymore.”
Derek added, “Yeah, and when he nearly bites someone’s head off for saying her name, it’s definitely not professional.”
“Done,” I said flatly, already heading for the showers. “Conversation over.”
They chuckled behind me, voices fading into the background noise of running water and echoing laughter, but the damage was already done.
Under the spray, I leaned against the wall, palms flat, letting the heat bite against my shoulders. The sound drowned everything else out, but it couldn’t quiet my own thoughts.
If everyone can see it, it’s a problem.
It wasn’t supposed to show. Not on my face, not in my voice, not in the way my eyes tracked her across a room. I’d built my whole life on control—on keeping emotion and impulse in separate cages. But Ellery James had a way of slipping past the bars before I even realized she’d done it.
I closed my eyes, letting the steam cloud around me.
Distance. You need distance.
I repeated it like a mantra, over and over, until it almost sounded believable. But the truth burned under my skin, anyway. Because no matter how far I stayed, part of me was already hers.
For the next couple of days, I made myself disappear. No texts. No calls. No foundation drop-ins. No excuses to “swing by” just to check on some made-up equipment issue.
If I was good at anything, it was discipline—and I was determined to put that to use.
I threw myself into training like I could sweat her out of my system.
Early drills, late lifts, extra laps until my lungs burned and my legs shook.
Every time the urge to text her hit, I picked up a heavier weight.
Every time I thought about her laugh, I ran another mile.
But nothing hit right.
The ice baths didn’t clear my head. The guys’ jokes didn’t land. Even the adrenaline of a scrimmage—the one thing that usually shut my brain off—just fizzled out before it started.
It was ridiculous. It was one kiss and a disaster. I’d had worse nights, worse regrets. But somehow, this one stuck.
Every small thing around me was a reminder I didn’t want.
Naomi walked past during a post-practice press meeting, and I caught the faint scent of Ellery’s perfume—sharp and clean with a hint of citrus.
I froze mid-answer, earning a weird look from the reporter.
Later, scrolling through the team’s social media, I saw a photo from the youth clinic—Ellery in the background, clipboard in hand, talking to a kid like they were the only two people in the world.
She tucked her pen behind her ear in that photo. I’d seen her do it a hundred times in person. The image hit harder than it should have.
I shut the phone off and dropped it face-down on the counter, pacing like I could outrun the ghost of her voice in my head.
You’re ridiculous, I told myself. It was one kiss and a disaster. Move on.
But my body didn’t get the memo.
I’d wake up in the middle of the night convinced I heard her laugh—the soft one she tried to hide when she thought something was funnier than it should be. My mind replayed the feel of her hand brushing mine when we passed a clipboard, the faint warmth of her breath before she’d stepped away.
I started volunteering for extra film study just so I wouldn’t have time to think. I even let Adam rope me into a poker night, which was a mistake.
Halfway through the first hand, Derek looked up with that stupid grin and said, “Hey, Mason, how’s your girlfriend in PR?”
I folded and left.
Back home, I crashed onto the couch, still in my hoodie, staring at the ceiling like it held the answer.
I wasn’t supposed to care this much. I didn’t do caring this much. I knew what this was supposed to be—a mistake, a moment, something to laugh about and forget.
But forgetting her felt impossible.
I rolled onto my side, eyes half-shut, exhausted and restless at the same time.
Distance. You need distance.
That was the rule. But all distance did was make the silence louder. And the louder it got, the more I realized—I wasn’t avoiding her anymore. I was waiting.
Late afternoon at practice, and everything was off. My timing, my touch, my head. Every pass went a fraction too wide, every sprint ended a second too late. It wasn’t physical—my body was fine. It was everything else.
Every time I tried to focus, her face crept in. Ellery, frowning over a spreadsheet, smiling at a kid on the field, laughing at something Naomi said. Every version of her hit me like a punch.
We were running a small-sided drill when my frustration finally boiled over. A bad pass from Derek rolled short, and I slammed the ball so hard against the wall that everyone went silent.
Coach Lawson blew the whistle. “Mason.” His voice carried the weight of ten seasons. “You need a day off. Clear your head.”
I wiped the sweat off my face, half-smirking. “That’s the problem, Coach. It’s too clear.”
He gave me that long, disappointed stare only a coach can master, then waved me toward the bench. “Hit the showers. You’re done for the day.”
I didn’t argue. There wasn’t a point.
The locker room was empty when I got there—cool, quiet, too big for one person’s thoughts.
I sat on the bench, elbows on my knees, staring at my cleats.
There were still grass stains from that youth clinic a few weeks back.
The one she organized. The one where she’d laughed at me for slipping in the mud.
I thought about texting her. Just something stupid like “You win. Distance is overrated.” But I didn’t. I’d promised myself I’d stay away. And yet… staying away was starting to feel a lot like losing.
That night, I threw myself into recovery mode—protein shake, ice bath, film review. Anything to fill the hours.
Then my phone buzzed.
Adam.
Saw your girlfriend on the news again, Romeo.
Attached was a link. I didn’t want to open it, but I did anyway.