“Yeah. I’ve been home for six hours, Donovan.” My voice is flat.
I set my book down and head into the bedroom. The Huntsville Dragons t-shirt hits the hamper, replaced by pajama pants and a matching tank top.
He follows, dropping onto the bed, rolling toward me with a sloppy grin. His breath isn’t just alcohol—there's something sweet beneath it, like the wildflowers-and-honey that clung to the room earlier.
I pull the blanket to my chin before his lips can find mine. “Goodnight, D. Talk to me when you’re sober.”
The next morning, I wake up to the smell of bacon and coffee. Donovan’s at the stove, hair messy, wearing just a pair of basketball shorts. He flips an omelet like he’s auditioning for a cooking show, glances over his shoulder, and grins.
“Morning, Star. You want your eggs the same way?”
I nod, still wrapped in the blanket, and shuffle into the kitchen. We move around each other in an easy rhythm—him plating bacon, me pouring coffee. It almost feels normal.
His phone buzzes against the counter. I slide it out of the way so I can set my coffee down, and the screen lights up.
Elaine PR:Van Van, you better bring the good coffee on Monday ??*laughing face*
Van Van? The nickname pricks at something in the back of my mind. I’ve heard that before… but from where?
Donovan grabs the phone from the counter without looking at me, tucking it into his back pocket. “Need more toast?” His voice is casual, but his eyes don’t quite meet mine.
I pour more coffee instead. “Sure.”
The smell of bacon fills the silence, but the words stay stuck in my head.Van Van.
Donovan
Iwake up with a throbbing headache. Who the hell thought getting drunk with Coach Headstrom was a good idea? He insisted we go out to celebrate the “amazing work Elaine’s been doing with PR.”
The papers have finally backed off the fight, and Varsity’s name hasn’t been dragged through the mud. With training about to start, Coach is already talking about a three-peat for the championships.
We didn’t get to celebrate much for our second win—Stella was still reeling from losing her parents. A third one would look damn good on my record… and maybe, just maybe, on my future.
I’ve got breakfast going when Stella pads out of the bedroom, still wrapped in a blanket. Her face is unreadable—not angry, but not entirely relaxed either.
“Morning, Star. You want your eggs the same way?”
She nods. We move around each other in the kitchen, bacon to plates, coffee poured. My phone vibrates on the counter. She’s closer, so she shifts it aside, and her gaze catches the screen.
Elaine PR:Van Van, you better bring the good coffee on Monday ??
The flicker in her eyes makes something in my chest tighten. I pocket the phone, force a smile, and slide her plate across the counter.
After breakfast, I do the dishes. We end up on the couch with a movie playing low in the background. Stella’s asleep before it’s over, curled in my arms. I pull her closer, breathing in her scent, committing the weight of her against me to memory.
I tell myself this is enough, thatshe’senough. So why the hell does my stomach feel like it’s full of rocks?
The plane lands an hour ahead of schedule, but I’m not going home. Not yet. Coach gave us an extra day off for the grind we’ve been putting in, and I’m cashing it in where it matters—with Stella.
Her car’s in the lot when I pull into Carrington Caskets. Through the glass, I see her behind the counter, head bent over her sketch pad. It’s almost closing time.
When I step inside, she doesn’t look up right away. “Welcome to Carrington Caskets, where elegance meets eternity,” she says, her voice warm but laced with dry humor.
I laugh low in my chest. “I can’t believe you actually say that, Star.”
Her head lifts, eyes locking on me. Surprise melts into something softer. “You’re a day early.”
“Couldn’t wait.” I don’t give her more than that before I’m pulling her in, crushing my mouth to hers.
