Chapter 17
From a distance, I see her before she sees me.
She’s on the phone, voice masked by the waves, punching the air.
Whatever the good news is, it’s got her glowing.
She ends the call, lifts her oversized T-shirt, and slides her phone into the waistband of her shorts.
Christ. My eyes betray me. That arse could make a saint swear.
The wind catches her hair, and she laughs before breaking into a little dance.
I stand there, feet buried in sand, watching her spin under the sun. The world disappears, and all I see is her.
She turns and gasps, nearly colliding with me again. Her eyes widen, then pink rises in her cheeks, fast—pretty, unguarded.
“Hey, kitten,” I say, low enough that the wind has to carry it to her.
“Rogue,” she breathes out, one hand going to her chest. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to.” A smile tugs at my mouth. “Didn’t want to interrupt your victory dance.”
Her lips curve. “You saw that?”
“I did.” I keep my gaze on her a beat too long. “Looked important.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, still catching her breath. “It was. I just found out I’m getting an assistant. Officially. I’m … still a little shocked, honestly.”
“That’s brilliant. You deserve it.”
Her smile softens. “Thanks. I’ve been stretched thin for a while now.”
“Will this mean we won’t see you around as much?”
The question slips out before I can stop it, quieter than I mean.
Her brow lifts. “You’ll still be seeing plenty of me, Gallagher. Don’t sound so worried.”
“I wasn’t …” She’s smirking now, so I don’t bother finishing the lie.
She crosses her arms loosely, still flushed from running. “What are you even doing here?”
“Running. Same as you.”
Her eyes sweep over me, a spark of mischief flickering there. “Of course you run.”
I shrug, wearing a hint of a grin. “Occupational hazard.”
“Right, professional athlete and all that.”
“Still, didn’t picture you doing sunrise cardio.”
“Needed air,” I admit. “And I like the quiet before the world wakes up.”
She hums softly, looking toward the horizon. The sun glints against her skin, and I have to drag my eyes back to the water before I forget how to be decent.
After a pause, I nod at her. “You done with your run, then?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Because …” I step closer. “I was going to offer you a coffee. Seems the least I can do after interrupting your dance.”
She looks torn between surprise and something else, something warmer. “Coffee?”
“Aye,” I nod, voice low. “If you’ve the time.”
There’s a flicker of hesitation, then she nods. “Sure. Why not?”
We walk along the shore, the waves licking at the sand beside us. For a while, neither of us talk. It’s not uncomfortable, though. It’s quiet in a way that feels … steady. Like breathing after you’ve been holding it too long.
Heaven help me, I’ve missed that.
“Take me to your favorite place,” I say, glancing down at her.
She looks up, shading her eyes with her hand. “My favorite place?”
“For coffee.”
“Oh.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “It’s just off the boardwalk. Two blocks away.”
“Lead the way, then.”
We climb the ramp to the boardwalk, our footsteps thudding softly against the wood. The town’s waking up, shops unlocking, gulls shrieking overhead, the scent of espresso drifting on the air.
“I’m surprised you’re out here alone.” She side-eyes me. “No bodyguard? No entourage?”
I shake my head. “Don’t keep any. Wouldn’t know what to do with one, to be honest.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Seriously? You’re … you.”
I huff a laugh. “Aye, but I like my freedom. The noise gets too loud sometimes. Running helps me remember I’m still my own person.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then nods. “That actually makes sense.”
We walk a little farther, the wind tugging at her shirt. “You liking Great Lakes so far?” she asks.
“I am. The sea air, the quiet. Bit of a change from where I lived before. I’m looking forward to surfing in the offseason.”
She smiles. “You surf?”
“Trying to remember how,” I admit. “Been a few years.”
“Well,” she says, eyes glinting, “if you ever need someone to film your inevitable wipeouts, I’ve got a camera.”
I laugh then, properly, and her breath snags just slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “You offering to document my humiliation?”
“Someone has to,” she teases.
We reach the coffee shop. Small string lights still glowing from the night before, the smell of pastries spilling out as the door swings open. I hold the door open for her, and she steps inside, brushing past me. The scent of her, vanilla and sun, lingers.
If I’m not careful, she’s going to make a habit of undoing me.
The café smells of roasted beans and brown sugar, warm and rich, the kind of scent that settles deep in your chest and refuses to leave.
Catalina leads the way to a small table tucked by the window, half hidden behind a shelf of plants.
It’s quiet here. Sunlight spilling across wood grain, dust motes dancing in the air.
She slides into the seat across from me, legs crossing, oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder enough to reveal smooth skin. I take the opposite seat before I can make a fool of myself by staring.
A waitress comes over, and recognition flickers in her eyes, but she’s kind enough not to say my name. Catalina orders an iced latte; I stick with black coffee. She thanks the waitress with that easy, soft smile, and it hits me right in the gut.
For a moment, neither of us speak. The silence isn’t awkward; it’s alive. Humming. I feel it in my chest, in the pulse at my throat.
Then she leans forward, elbows on the table, her voice gentle. “So … your academy. You said it’s named after your mom?”
I nod once. “Aye.”
“What was she like?” She asks it quietly. No pity, no performance, just curiosity. Genuine.
I look down at my cup, thumb running along the rim. “She was … fierce. Kind, but stubborn as hell. Worked herself raw to keep me fed, and still found time to watch every match, rain or shine. She had this laugh, big and loud, filled a room. I still hear it sometimes when the crowd gets going.”
A small smile curves her lips. “She sounds incredible.”
“She was.” The word lodges in my throat. “Only one who ever believed I’d make it. My da thought football was a waste of time. He wanted a striker, someone who scored goals, not stopped them. Said keepers were cowards hiding behind gloves.”
Catalina’s brow furrows, her voice soft. “That’s cruel.”
“Aye. He … wasn’t the kindest man.” I hesitate, fingers tightening around my mug. “Drank too much. Took it out on her when the world didn’t go his way.”
She goes still, eyes searching mine. “What happened?”
I draw in a breath, slow. “One night, he raised a hand, and I stepped in. I was twelve—finally big enough to think I could stop him. My heart was hammerin’, legs shakin’, but I stood between them anyway, and that was it. He never touched her again.”
The words hang between us. Too heavy, too familiar.
Her eyes glisten, and she reaches across the table without hesitation. Her hand finds mine, small and warm, her thumb brushing the back of it. “That must’ve been terrifying.”
“It was.” My voice is rough, lower than I mean it to be.
“But after that, I went to the academy every day I could. That’s where I met Cormac, been my best mate ever since.
Back then, it was the only place that felt safe.
That’s why I rebuilt it so the next kid with a shite home can have somewhere to go. ”
Her fingers tighten around mine, grounding me.
“You did that. You took something awful and made it good again. That’s … beautiful, Rogue.”
I can’t look away. Her eyes are shining, and something sharp and sweet cuts through my chest.
“You make it sound like I’m some kind of saint.”
She shakes her head, smiling faintly. “No. Just someone who cares more than he lets on.”
That gets me. I huff a laugh and glance down at our hands still joined on the table. I should pull away, but I don’t.
“You’ve clearly watched too many bloody romance movies, kitten.”
“Maybe.” Her smile widens. “Or maybe I just know a hero when I see one.”
Christ, this woman. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll start to believe you.”
The air thickens, electric. Neither of us move. The café fades into a blur of sound and light, and all I can think about is how warm her hand feels against mine, how the sunlight finds the tiny freckles on her nose, how easy it’d be to lean forward just a little more.
Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and my pulse stumbles. She’s looking at me like she sees every part of me I’ve tried to hide, and for the first time, I don’t feel the urge to look away.
The waitress arrives with our drinks, breaking the spell. Catalina pulls her hand back, cheeks flushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I wrap both hands around my mug, trying to ignore how cold they suddenly feel.
She stirs her latte with a straw, voice barely above a whisper. “Does your dad still live in Ireland?”
“Aye,” I say after a long moment. “Haven’t seen him in years. Not since Mam’s funeral.”
Her eyes flicker with sympathy I don’t want but somehow don’t hate. “Do you miss home?”
“I do,” I admit. “But the game took me away young. Every pitch since has been a bit of home.”
She smiles softly. “Maybe that’s why you guard it so fiercely.”
I glance up at her, and she’s already watching me. God help me, she’s too much. The kind of woman who sneaks under your skin without even trying.
A silence stretches between us, warm and pulsing. I don’t think, just reach across the table, fingertips brushing hers. She jerks but doesn’t pull away. The jolt that follows is instant, alive, and far too easy to crave.
She draws in a breath, quick. I feel it more than I hear it.
I want to say something, do something, but I’ve spent a lifetime keeping myself in control. My hand twitches, wanting to stay there, but I drag it back before I forget myself. I swallow it all down and force a smile. “You ready?”
She nods, eyes still locked on mine. “Yeah.”
“Come on, then.” I stand, then hold the door open for her. “Walk you back.”
She hesitates, biting her lip, then slips past me, close enough for her shoulder to brush my arm. The scent of her floods my head.
Outside, the sunlight hits her hair, turning it gold. She looks over her shoulder, smiling like she doesn’t know she’s killing me. “Thanks for coffee, Gallagher.”
I smirk, voice low. “Anytime, kitten.”
She rolls her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks betrays her. As she walks ahead toward the boardwalk, the breeze catches her shirt, the hem lifting just enough to tease.
And I think, if I’m not careful, she’s going to ruin me.