Just as I hit the tunnel, Coach’s voice cut through the post-game noise. “James. Got a sec?”
I hesitated. My hand was already pushing the door open. “Uh…yeah. Of course.”
He nodded toward his office with a tight smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it quick. Gotta get you back to Ellie, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, trying not to bounce on my heels.
He stepped inside, leaving the door open, and I followed. The office still smelled like turf and sweat, the way it always did after a win.
“Hell of a game tonight.” He leaned against his desk. “That fumble recovery? Great job.”
“Thank you. Right place, right time.”
He gave me a look. “That wasn’t luck, James. That was you seeing the play before it happened. Don’t downplay it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Still sure you want to hang up your helmet after this season? We’d love to keep you on.”
“I’m sure. It’s time for me to settle down.”
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I understand. We will be losing a hell of a player, but you deserve it.” He crossed his arms, tone shifting slightly. “Gotta say…whatever this thing is between you and Ellie, it’s been good for the team. The press can’t stop talking about it. Whether it’s real or not, I don’t care. Good job.”
He gave me a knowing smirk, and I tried not to flinch.
“Yeah, appreciate that, Coach,” I said carefully.
“Keep your head straight. Don’t let it mess with your focus. You’ve always been the guy I could count on to do his job and keep the locker room solid. That matters more than the media.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t let it get to me.”
He gave me a nod like that was the right answer. “Good. Now, go. I know you’re waiting to see her.”
I didn’t even try to deny it. Yeah, he was right.
The game was over, but my heart was still in the stands—or wherever the hell she was.
SIXTEEN
Ellie
My security teamled Rachel and me through the stadium’s lower levels: concrete walls, flickering fluorescents, and the distant echo of the crowd. We moved past the security checkpoint outside the locker room. I could hear voices from inside—celebratory chatter, bursts of laughter, the occasional cheer.
Some of the players had already wandered by with pads slung over their shoulders and wet hair. A few of them did a double-take when they saw me, offered small smiles, and kept moving.
The door opened again. Sawyer—gorgeous, disheveled, and stupidly handsome in a way that should have been illegal—had his head down, thumbs flying over his phone, completely unaware.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out.
Hey. You still here?
I grinned and typed back.
Look up.
When he did, his whole face changed.
“Ellie,” he breathed.
