I look up just in time for a blur of motion to launch itself across the table. My favorite little superstar player is staring back at me, grinning ear to ear. He holds out his mini stick and a Sharpie like it’s Excalibur.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemaker,” I say, taking the stick from Connor and signing it. “You ready to take my job yet?”
He beams. “Not yet. But maybe soon.”
That cocky confidence, that little half-smile, God help me, it feels so familiar. I’ve definitely got a soft spot for this kid.
“Can I get a picture?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say, crouching beside him while his mom digs through her bag for her phone. I raise my eyes to scout out Connor’s dad but instead my gaze lands on the woman pulling her phone from her purse and fuuuck me…
My world halts.
My pulse slams in my throat as she straightens and holy shit it’s taking everything in me not to lose my balance and fall on my ass. Honey-brown hair pulled into a loose knot. The same chocolate brown eyes I used to lose myself in. The faint scar above her right brow from when she fell off my longboard sophomore year.
Harper.
My heart damn near stutters to a stop.
She freezes too, that same recognition flashing across her face before she schools it behind a professional smile.
“Hey,” I manage, my voice rough as gravel.
“Hi, Harrison.” She says my name quietly, like she’s testing it on her tongue for the first time in years and fucking hell, hearing her voice makes my chest burn. The noise of the arena fades out, replaced by the deafening echo of my heartbeat. She looks older—stronger, sharper—but still so goddamn beautiful it hurts to breathe.
I can’t move.
Can’t speak.
Connor tugs at her sleeve, breaking the trance between us. “Mom, can you take our picture now?”
“Uh…yeah, sorry. Of course, honey.” She lifts her phone with hands that aren’t quite steady and it takes everything in me not to jump up and cover them with mine to steady her the way I used to. I force myself to smile, resting a hand on Connor’s shoulder as Harper snaps a few pictures.
“Thanks, Coach!” Connor says. “You’re, like, my favorite player ever.”
I laugh softly. “Thanks, kid. You’ve got good taste.”
“This is my mom. She’s a big fan of yours too just like me!” Connor grins and takes his mom’s hand, looking like the proudest kid in the room and leaving me face-to-face with the woman I once dreamed of spending the rest of my life with.
Up close, the years melt away and suddenly my throat tightens, my pulse hammering.
I can’t believe she’s fucking here.
Standing right in front of me.
“Hi…Mom—” I start, but the words die on my tongue.
“Hello,” she says, with a small, guarded smile. Her hand reaches out, my eyes following her movement, and she clears her throat. “I’m Harper. Connor’s mom.”
Oh, so she’s pretending not to know me.
That’s how she’s playing this?
She knows damn well who I am.
She knows everything about me.
I know she remembers.
