Chapter Eleven Maren #2
“You did internally.”
“A little.”
Griffin took the second lemonade from Ava. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Ava’s eyes flicked to Maren, gentler now. “You good?”
Maren lifted the lemonade. “Hydrated and dangerous.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is a lifestyle.”
Ava did not smile. Not fully.
Rude best-friend-adjacent behavior again.
Maren softened before she could stop herself. “I’m okay.”
Ava nodded like she would accept that for now, but only because she had fries to supervise and probably a private list of everyone who had ever made Maren use the bright smile.
Maren loved her a little for that.
Not out loud, obviously.
The moment Ava disappeared back inside, Griffin looked at Maren.
“What?” she asked.
“You grabbed my arm to stop me from confiscating Tyler’s sign.”
“I did.”
“That was very brave.”
“It was instinct.”
“Still brave.”
“Tyler’s sign might be good.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are defending the sign.”
“I said might.”
“Feelings with handles?”
“It is terrible.”
“Yes.”
“And accurate.”
“No.”
“It is a little accurate.”
“No.”
She smiled. “Come on. We need the alumni tent.”
They walked back toward the lawn together, the earlier tension tucked somewhere between them but not gone. Maren could feel it like a second shadow. Griffin was careful not to crowd her, but every time someone moved too quickly near the path, he shifted half a step closer without making it obvious.
Protective.
Not controlling.
There was a difference.
She wished she did not know that now.
The alumni tent buzzed with activity near the far side of the lawn.
Former Ridgeview players had arrived in clusters, older and broader and louder than the current team, wearing polos with the team logo and the relaxed confidence of men who had already survived their own embarrassing college years and could now enjoy judging others.
A banner stretched across the tent front:
RIDGEVIEW HOCKEY ALUMNI WELCOME
Below it, someone had added a smaller handwritten sign:
PLEASE DO NOT TELL STORIES COACH DOYLE CAN VERIFY.
Maren lifted her phone. “That sign is staying.”
Griffin looked at it. “I hate that it is effective.”
“Excellent. Growth.”
She filmed the alumni greeting Nate, slapping shoulders, laughing at old memories.
She captured a clean shot of Coach Doyle arriving in sunglasses, looking calm enough to terrify people from across a lawn.
The current players immediately stood straighter.
Tyler hid the whistle behind his back like contraband.
Griffin went still beside her.
Maren noticed.
Of course she did.
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“That was very fast.”
“Coach is here.”
“I gathered that from the way every hockey boy suddenly remembered posture.”
Griffin did not smile.
His eyes were on Doyle.
Maren followed his gaze. Coach Doyle was talking to Nate now, expression unreadable, one hand tucked in his pocket. He looked across the lawn once, taking in the scoreboard, the crowd, the banners, Tyler’s suspicious innocence, and finally Griffin.
Doyle lifted his chin.
Small acknowledgment.
Griffin nodded back.
Also small.
Men were exhausting.
“Is he scary?” Maren asked.
“Yes.”
“You answered that one honestly.”
“He prefers it.”
“Do you?”
Griffin looked at her.
The question had escaped before she could soften it.
She meant Doyle, maybe. Honesty. Expectations. The way Griffin seemed to stand straighter now too, like someone had pulled a string through his spine.
He held her gaze.
“Yes,” he said.
Then Coach Doyle called, “Hayes.”
Griffin exhaled once. “Excuse me.”
Maren watched him walk toward the tent.
Not because he looked good walking away.
Although.
No.
Professional.
She filmed the alumni tent instead, capturing casual greetings, old Ridgeview stories, Nate laughing with a former captain, Coach Doyle speaking to Griffin near the edge of the tent.
She did not turn the camera toward them.
Not at first.
Their conversation looked private.
Griffin stood with his arms loose at his sides, but Maren could see the tension in his shoulders. Doyle spoke calmly. Griffin listened. Nodded once. Said something. Doyle looked across the lawn toward the Lake Briar signs and then at the crowd near the scoreboard.
Then, unexpectedly, Doyle smiled.
Barely.
Griffin looked like he had not expected that either.
Maren angled the camera down.
She did not know why.
Maybe because seeing Griffin receive approval felt too private to turn into content.
Maybe because she was learning there were things worth not filming.
That thought annoyed her.
Deeply.
Her job was filming.
Her gift was knowing what to capture.
But maybe part of being good was knowing what to leave alone.
Ugh.
Growth was inconvenient.
A voice behind her said, “You’re Maren, right?”
She turned.
One of the alumni stood a few feet away, smiling in a friendly, assessing way. Early thirties maybe. Expensive sunglasses. Ridgeview polo. The kind of man who looked like he had learned confidence early and never had to check whether it belonged in the room.
“That’s me,” she said.
“I’m Carter Vale.” He offered a hand. “Cooper’s brother.”
“Oh.” Maren shook his hand. “That explains the face.”
Carter laughed. “Which one?”
“The one where you look like you know everyone else is about to disappoint you but you are too polite to say it.”
“Definitely family.”
Cooper, from several feet away, called, “Do not bond with him.”
Carter lifted a hand without looking. “He loves me.”
“I tolerate biology,” Cooper replied.
Maren smiled.
Carter nodded toward her phone. “You’re running the Lake Briar content?”
“I am.”
“It is good.”
Maren braced automatically for the cute.
It did not come.
Carter continued, “Really good. I do corporate event marketing now, and this has a better story arc than campaigns I’ve seen with six-figure budgets.”
Maren blinked.
“Oh,” she said, stupidly.
His smile turned knowing, not unkind. “That surprises you?”
“No. I mean, thank you. That is very nice. Professionally nice. I accept it with normal human grace.”
Cooper appeared beside Carter. “She means no one was allowed to call it cute.”
Maren pointed at him. “Correct.”
Carter laughed. “Then I will be specific. The way you framed Griffin’s safety checks this morning was smart. Most event coverage shows the fun and hides the structure. You made the structure part of the emotional value. That is not cute. That is strategy.”
Maren stared at him.
For one second, she was dangerously close to doing something horrifying.
Like crying in front of a Vale.
Absolutely not.
She gripped her phone tighter and smiled, softer this time.
“Thank you,” she said.
Carter nodded. “Send me your portfolio link later. I might know people who need someone who can do that.”
Maren’s brain stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Cooper looked at Carter. “You say that like a normal person and not a networking grenade.”
Carter shrugged. “She is good.”
There it was again.
Good.
Strategy.
Portfolio.
People who need someone who can do that.
Maren swallowed carefully. “I can send it.”
“Do.” Carter smiled. “And for what it is worth, the romance storyline is helping the reach, sure. But the reason people keep watching is the pacing. You are giving them a reason to come back.”
Maren’s chest tightened.
The clean part.
There it was.
The truth without the whole messy confession.
The romance was helping.
The work was keeping them.
Before she could answer, a shadow fell beside her.
Griffin.
Maren knew it before she looked up.
Carter seemed to know it too, because his smile sharpened with older-brother cruelty despite having no relation to Griffin.
“Hayes,” Carter said.
“Vale.”
“Coach looks pleased.”
“Terrifyingly.”
Carter laughed. “Good luck with that.”