“Mr. McCoy! Over here!”
“Logan, who’s your date?”
“Mac, look this way!”
The week since I asked Reese to come with me has been a blur of practices, film, and a couple of quiet nights at my place. Now, at the entrance to the Chicago Grand Ballroom with photographers tracking every movement, reality hits. This isn’t dinner on my couch. This is a headline waiting to write itself.
“You okay?” Reese whispers, her thumb brushing my knuckles.
I nod, not trusting my voice. She looks unbelievable—dark curls swept up to expose the curve of her neck, that gown fittinglike it was sewn on her. The sight should settle me. It doesn’t. It just raises the bar for how I want to show up with her on my arm.
We move through the gauntlet, my hand at the small of her back. Inside, crystal chandeliers pour light over black tuxedos and jewel-toned gowns. Old Chicago money mingles with new money in borrowed tuxes. Ice sculptures drip at the edges. Someone decided we needed life-size crystal hockey figures; they’re losing a slow fight against the room’s heat.
“It’s beautiful,” Reese says, taking it in. Her quiet wonder steadies me.
“Not as beautiful as you,” I say, and it’s not a line. Her cheeks warm, a quick pink.
“You clean up pretty well yourself, Handsome,” she says, straightening a bow tie that doesn’t need it. The touch snaps my focus back where it needs to be.
The team’s PR director beelines over with a clipboard. “Logan, you’re table one with ownership and Coach Martinez. Speech at 8:45, right after the main course.” Her gaze lands on Reese. “And you must be…”
“Reese Thompson,” I say before she can turn it into a quiz. “My date.”
There’s a flicker—surprise, realization, then a professional smile. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Thompson. We’ll update the place cards.”
As she pivots away, Reese squeezes my hand. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“First wave,” I say, smiling. “There are always more.”
We head to the bar. I order a scotch, get Reese a chardonnay. The first sip warms my throat and then settles in my chest. Across the room, my guys are packed in near a floral arrangement that looks like it could eat someone. Benny spots me and elbows Kovy, and now the whole pack turns.
“Here we go,” I murmur. “Meet the children.”
Reese smiles. “I manage actual children. This should be a breeze.”
They descend in a cheerful wall of cologne and chaos. Benny gets there first, clapping my shoulder hard enough to slosh my drink onto my hand.
“Mackie finally brings a date,” he announces. “Ben Peterson, but it’s Benny or Petey to everyone with good taste. As you can see, I’m the best-looking one.”
“Delusional,” I tell Reese.
She shakes his hand, unbothered. “Reese. And I’ve seen the team photos. There’s competition.”
The guys howl. Kovy slides in, tux a little too tight on purpose, grin sharp.
“You are brave woman,” he tells Reese, in his Russian-English way. “This one will sweat through tux before speech. Always.”
“That was one time,” I say. Heat crawls up my neck anyway. He’s not wrong.
“Try not to puke on your shoes, Mac,” Schmitty calls, pantomiming a faint at an invisible podium. The circle erupts.
“My money’s on mild collapse,” Petey adds, checking his watch. “T-minus forty minutes to eloquence.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches up. Schmitty catches it and doubles down. "Remember when Mac tried to give that speech at the Boys and Girls Club dinner? Sweated through his jacket like he'd been on the ice for a triple-overtime." Reese's eyes dance between us. She leans in, voice dropping conspiratorially: "So what you're saying is I should've packed him an extra shirt tonight?" Kovy snorts his champagne and Petey high-fives her without hesitation. Five minutes in, and they’ve adopted her like a little sister.
Pride pushes the nerves to the back row. Watching her with them, easy and quick, I realize how much I’ve kept lines betweenworlds. I’ve never invited anyone to stand in this circle and be seen.
Across the ballroom, the coordinator taps her watch at me. Time. The relief evaporates like it was never here. Reese notices. She threads her fingers through mine.
