Chapter 11 #5
“You followed me to practice. You may leave.”
“I didn’t say I disliked it.”
Her mouth shifts before she turns away.
Practice ends twenty minutes later. The boys surround me for pictures, questions, and arguments about which shoes I should wear this season.
Hannah collects cones while pretending I’m not there.
One of the guards looks between us.
“Coach Hannah, is he your boyfriend?”
“No,” she deadpans.
I sign the kid’s basketball. “She hasn’t asked me yet.”
Hannah throws a pinkie at my head.
The boys lose control.
By the time the gym empties, I’ve agreed to return without remembering when the decision happened.
A polished woman in a camel coat approaches from the bleachers.
“You’re Kane Haverhill.”
“I am.”
“I’m Melissa Chen. Tyler’s mother.”
We shake hands.
Her attention moves between Hannah and me with open curiosity.
“You two know each other?”
“Unfortunately,” Hannah says.
“We’re academic partners.”
“Temporary academic partners.”
Melissa smiles. “Thank you for helping tonight.”
“I invited myself.”
“I noticed.”
She glances at her phone.
“My driver is stuck at the airport with my husband. Hannah, I can order you a car.”
“I’ll drive her,” I say.
Hannah turns. “No.”
Melissa’s smile deepens.
“Perfect. Thank you, Kane.”
“Melissa—”
“I’ll see you next practice, Hannah.”
She leaves before Hannah can argue.
Hannah waits until the gym doors close behind her.
“I can order my own ride.”
“You can get in my car.”
“I don’t reward stalking.”
“I helped at practice.”
“You discovered the practice by following me.”
“Then stayed and improved team morale.”
“You distracted seven children.”
“They seemed happy.”
“So do people at the circus.”
I pick up her equipment bag.
“I can carry that.”
“I know.”
“Then give it back.”
“No.”
She follows me into the parking lot, muttering about unresolved control issues.
I put the bag in my trunk and open the passenger door.
Hannah stares at it.
“What?”
“I’m considering the bus.”
“It’s raining.”
“I own an umbrella.”
“It’ll take over an hour.”
“That may still be worth it.”
“Get in, Bookworm.”
Her glare should burn through my jacket.
She climbs inside.
* * *
Ten minutes later, she’s criticizing my music.
“This man has rhymed money with money three times.”
“It’s motivational.”
“It motivates me to open the door.”
I change the song.
She takes a Twizzler from her emergency bag.
“You brought those to practice?”
“I bring them everywhere.”
“You ate six while we worked.”
“Your argument was stressful.”
“You’re blaming me for your sugar intake?”
“I blame you for several things.”
“Name them.”
“The soup incident.”
“You hit me.”
“The beach.”
“You hit me there too.”
“The library.”
“You nearly fell.”
She turns toward the window, but I catch her smile.
“You’re good with them,” I say.
“The boys?”
“No, the cones.”
She looks at me.
“Yes, the boys.”
“They’re good kids.”
“They listen to you.”
“They listen when they understand why something matters.”
“That’s rare at thirteen.”
“It’s rare at twenty.”
I accept the shot.
“Where did you learn all that?”
Her attention returns to the passing lights.
“Gyms.”
“Your father?”
Silence.
“You shut down every time I ask about him.”
“Then notice the pattern and stop.”
Fair.
I turn onto the road leading back to Stanford.
“My coach drove me to school,” I say.
Hannah glances over.
“No bus ran from my neighborhood to the private school. Practice started before sunrise, so he picked me up every morning.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“I did landscaping every summer and school break to pay for this truck. Even though I have NIL money now. I’ll never sell it. It’s a reminder that hard work earns. You think I woke up campus royalty.”
“I don’t think about you that much.”
“Liar.”
She bites another Twizzler.
“Basketball got me into rooms my parents couldn’t afford,” I continue. “It didn’t make people want me there.”
Her expression softens.
Barely.
“The boys?”
“Mostly. Their fathers too. Every minute I played came from someone who deserved it more because his tuition cleared without assistance.”
“That sounds familiar.”
The answer is quiet.
I look at her.
She closes again.
“There.”
“What?”
“You almost told me something real.”
“Don’t get excited.”
“I’m patient.”
“You chased me through three buildings.”
“I’m selectively patient.”
Briar Hall appears ahead.
I pull to the curb and shut off the engine.
Rain taps the windshield.
Hannah reaches for the door.
“You’re leaving without thanking me?”
“You followed me, hijacked practice, stole my equipment bag, and forced me into your car.”
“You enjoyed at least two.”
She turns.
“Which two?”
I don’t answer.
Her eyes hold mine through the lenses.
The car shrinks around us.
I reach over and touch the edge of her glasses.
She stills.
“Don’t.”
I slide them from her face and set them on the dashboard.
Without the frames, she becomes the woman from the parking lot again.
Still sharp.
Still guarded.
Still Hannah.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Checking something.”
“What?”
“Whether you still look at me like you hate me without these.”
Her voice drops.
“I do.”
“Liar.”
Then I kiss her.