Guess we’re about to find out.
The hallway stretches out ahead of me, all sterile light and clean lines, with framed jerseys and glossy photos from seasons before I was even born. Metal plaques glint under the fluorescents, each one stamped with proof that somebody earned their place. I pause for half a second, thumb brushing the strap of my bag.
I haven’t earned a spot on this wall yet, but I will.
A security guard near the end of the corridor looks up from his phone. Broad, mid-forties, beard just starting to gray. His eyes narrow for a beat before recognition clicks.
“Morning, Kyle.”
That catches me more off guard than it should. I’ve never set foot in this building before today, but apparently, my name beat me here.
“Guess word travels fast,” I say.
“Around here, it does.” He snorts, glancing back at his phone. “Also, you missed training, Rookie.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my thing. Gotta make an entrance.”
“Good luck explaining that to your brother.”
“Will you give me a character reference when I’m unemployed,” I mutter, adjusting the strap of my duffel.
He laughs, low and easy, and the sound follows me down the hall. It cuts through some of the tension in my shoulders, loosening a knot I didn’t realize I’d been carrying since draft day. I have a feeling I’m going to like that guy.
The elevator ride already feels like a glitch in the matrix, but my interaction with Alycia hangs in my chest like a song I can’t stop replaying. Months. That’s how long it’s been since I saw her at that party. The night that rerouted something inside me, and I haven’t been able to set it straight since.
Meeting her wasn’t an accident. It felt like a collision. Light and heat slamming into everything I thought I knew about control. The sound of her laugh,the curve of her mouth, the way she looked at me like she could see straight through the noise in my head and didn’t flinch. I’ve carried that night around like a secret ever since.
Now it’s layered with something new. The elevator and the startled look in her eyes when she saw me. The brush of her hand against mine. My number inked across her palm. The way her breath stuttered when I kissed her skin like I’d crossed a line she didn’t know she had.
She’s probably halfway across the city by now, already filing me away as a reckless moment she shouldn’t have let happen. Maybe she’s forgotten the way my name sounds in her mouth, or how her pulse jumped under my fingertips.
I haven’t. I’ve spent months trying not to replay that party in my head, and now she’s not just a memory or some unreachable what-if. She’s here. Real. Close enough to touch. I’m not letting it slip this time.
The thought settles in, heavy and certain, and carries me the rest of the way down the hall until I’m staring at a glass door markedPUBLIC RELATIONS. The plaque gleams in the harsh light, official and polished. The kind of door you only get when you’ve proven yourself.
I wait for someone to respond, but when nothing comes, I push the door open a little wider and step inside. The air inside is warmer than the hallway, touched with the faint scent of coffee and something clean. The chair is tucked neatly under the desk, apale cardigan slung over the armrest like it was forgotten as someone was rushing out for the day. A coffee cup rests beside a small stack of folders, a pen capped and resting parallel beside them. The entire space is in perfect order, ready and waiting for the owner to pick up where they left off in the morning.
I glance around for a nameplate, something to tell me who this office belongs to, but there’s nothing. Having no idea where the person I’m supposed to meet is, I pull my phone from my pocket and type out a quick message.
I think they left for the day.
It takes only a few seconds for the screen to light up again.
Annoying Big Brother
Makes sense since you’re late. Come to my office.
Great. I guess it’s time for my ass-chewing about professionalism from the man who still treats me like I’m sixteen.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and glance around one last time. The air carries a faint sweetness of vanilla, or something soft, that pulls at a corner of memory I shouldn’t still have. For a second, it feels like her. That split second of warmth and surprise that’s been sitting under my skin ever since. The thought lodges before I can stop it, but I shake it offalmost immediately. There’s no way. The universe doesn’t line things up that neatly.
“Get it together, Hendrix.” The words scrape out low and rough, like someone convincing themselves they’re fine when they already know they’re not.
But even as I turn to leave, that scent clings to the air like a secret I’m not supposed to find. And for the first time all day, I wonder if maybe the universe just lined something up anyway.
Chapter Four
Kyle
