Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Scout
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
The sign above the door reads Sage & Stone Yoga in clean, modern lettering.
I stand on the sidewalk staring at it, still not quite believing this is real.
It took Silas’s financial backing, Ivy’s connections in the real estate world, and a signed contract from the Seattle Havoc for Mobility Mondays for the next two years.
But with all of that, I managed to get the perfect location, mere minutes away from the Rainier Bank Center where the guys play.
It’s been a stressful six months, getting this project off the ground. But now it’s all come together. I suck in a breath, swearing to myself that I won’t cry.
"Are you going to go in or just stand there all day?" Silas asks from behind me. His hand rests warm on the small of my back.
"I'm going in. I'm just..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"Proud? Excited? Terrified?"
"All of the above." I turn to look at him. "What if nobody shows up?"
"Baby, half the team is already inside. Hunter texted me ten minutes ago asking where the coffee is."
"There's no coffee. Why would there be coffee at a mobility studio?"
Silas grins. "Exactly what I told him. He called me a monster."
That makes me laugh, which was probably his intention. Taking a deep breath, I push open the door.
The space is perfect. Better than I imagined when Ivy first texted me about this location four months ago.
Hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, cubbies for personal belongings along one wall.
Yoga mats rolled and waiting in neat rows.
Resistance bands hanging from hooks. Foam rollers stacked in the corner.
And people. So many people.
The entire Havoc roster is here. Thorne and Beck stretching in the corner. Jett and Connor comparing hamstring flexibility. Shane showing Theo some hip opener I taught him last week. Hunter doing absolutely nothing productive, just standing around with a protein shake like he owns the place.
The Coven's here too. Juliet in full PR mode, taking photos for social media. Jessa and Mollie setting up a snack table that nobody asked for but everyone will appreciate. Wren chatting with Coach Ryan, her hand resting on her barely-there baby bump while she beams. She’s the cutest pregnant person I’ve ever seen.
Sable stands near the front, talking to Dad. My dad, who drove over from his assisted living facility with Sable this morning specifically for this. He's using his cane but standing tall, looking proud and healthy in a way I haven't seen in years.
And it looks like he’s brought a few friends with him, as well. A bunch of ladies from his retirement community are clustered around Dad, seeing to his every need. I don’t quite understand the nature of their relationships, but my Dad seems to be fitting in well in the community. He’s thriving.
"Scout!" Juliet spots me and waves. "Get over here. We need to cut the ribbon."
"There's a ribbon?"
Her eyes widen a fraction. "Of course there's a ribbon. I'm a professional."
She drags me to the front entrance where someone has strung up an actual ribbon across the doorway. Silas produces a pair of giant gold scissors from somewhere. The team gathers around, phones out, recording.
"Speech!" someone yells. Probably Jett.
I flush. "I didn't prepare a speech."
"Good," Beck calls out. "Keep it short. Some of us are old and need to pee frequently."
That gets a laugh. I look around at all these faces, these people who showed up for me on a random Tuesday morning. My throat gets tight.
"Okay. Um." I clear my throat. "A few months ago, this was just an idea.
A hope that maybe I could help you guys stay healthy and keep playing the sport you love.
And then Juliet helped me turn it into a proposal.
And then Silas..." I glance at him. He's watching me with that expression that makes my insides go soft.
"Silas helped make it real. But this isn't just my studio.
It's ours. All of ours. This is a space for the team, built by the team, to support the team.
So thank you for believing in me. Thank you for showing up.
And thank you for letting me do what I love. "
"Cut the damn ribbon!" Thorne shouts. "We've got places to be!"
I laugh and cut the ribbon. It falls to the floor in two neat pieces. Everyone cheers. Someone pops a bottle of champagne that sprays everywhere and makes Juliet shriek about the hardwood floors.
The first official Mobility Monday class in the new studio starts fifteen minutes later. Twenty players show up. That's more than half the roster, more than I ever expected for a voluntary session.
They sprawl across mats, some confident, some looking vaguely terrified.
Shane's done this enough times that he knows the routine.
Hunter's here purely to support me, which is sweet even if he's going to complain the whole time.
Thorne's in the back corner looking grumpy.
Mollie's hovering near him with a foam roller, trying to explain how it works while he ignores her.
"Okay everyone," I call out. "We're starting with cat-cow to warm up the spine. On all fours, please."
The room fills with the sound of grown men trying to figure out how to arrange their massive bodies into a tabletop position. It's crazy and perfect.
I move between mats, adjusting postures, offering modifications. Connor needs help with his hip alignment. Theo keeps forgetting to breathe. Shane's got it down but I praise him anyway because positive reinforcement works.
When I reach Hunter, he's doing the movement completely wrong.
"You look like a dying giraffe," I tell him.
"I’m trying, though," he grumbles. “That counts, right?”
"Absolutely. This stretch is helping your body recover from getting checked into the boards three times a game." I press gently on his lower back. "Arch here. Good. Feel that stretch?"
"Yeah," he admits grudgingly. "It feels nice."
"That's because I'm a genius."
His lips twitch. "Don't let it go to your head."
I move on to the next player, then the next. The room settles into a rhythm. Breathing and movement and the occasional grunt when someone discovers a tight muscle they didn't know existed.
Silas watches from the doorway. He's not participating because his shoulder is on complete rest, but he shows up anyway. He’s supporting me. Not just that, he’s proud of me. And he’s making sure that everyone knows today is a big deal.
After class, players linger. They don't rush off to showers or meetings. They stay, asking questions, wanting to know when the next session is, thanking me for teaching them. I’m absolutely glowing from within.
Beck approaches while I'm rolling up mats. "This is good, Scout. Really good. The guys need this."
"Thanks, Beck."
"I'm serious. We're getting older, staying healthy is getting harder. Having someone who actually gives a shit about our long-term wellbeing?" He shakes his head. "That's rare. Don't let anyone make you doubt your value here."
The words land heavier than he probably meant them to. I think about Enzo, about all the years he made me feel like my work didn't matter. He had a way of making it seem like I was playing at having a career instead of actually building one.
"I won't," I promise.
After everyone leaves, it's just me and Silas in the empty studio. Afternoon light streams through the windows, making the hardwood floors glow. I sit in the middle of the room, legs crossed, just breathing it in.
Silas sits beside me. "You did it."
"We did it." I lean against his shoulder. "I couldn't have done this without you."
"Bullshit. You would've found a way." He kisses the top of my head. "But I'm glad I got to help."
"You paid for half of it."
"So? It's still yours." He tilts my chin up to look at him. "I don't need my name on everything I care about, Scout. Watching you teach today, seeing how much the guys respect you, knowing you built something that matters? That's better than any plaque or sign."
My eyes get wet. "You can't just say stuff like that."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes me want to kiss you in front of everybody. And we agreed to limit our PDA in work settings."
"There's nobody here right now." His mouth curves. "I’m just saying."
Leaning in, inhaling a deep lungful of his scent, I kiss him. Slow and deep and full of gratitude and love and the overwhelming feeling of having built something real. It’s not just the studio.
This relationship almost didn't happen because we were both too scared to be honest. I’m so fucking glad we both took a chance on each other.
When we break apart, Silas rests his forehead against mine. "I'm so proud of you, Pretty Girl."
"I'm proud of us."
"Yeah." He smiles. "Me too."
My phone buzzes and I see that Dad's texted a photo. It's me cutting the ribbon, Silas beside me, both of us grinning like idiots. The caption reads: "My daughter, the business owner. Your mother would be so proud."
I show Silas the text. He squeezes my hand.
"She would be," he says. "I'm sure of it."
For the first time in my life, everything feels like it's exactly where it's supposed to be.