After class, players linger. They don't rush off to showers or meetings. They stay, asking questions, wanting to know when the next session is, thanking me for teaching them. I’m absolutelyglowingfrom within.
Beck approaches while I'm rolling up mats. "This is good, Scout. Really good. The guys need this."
"Thanks, Beck."
"I'm serious. We're getting older, staying healthy is getting harder. Having someone who actually gives a shit about our long-term wellbeing?" He shakes his head. "That's rare. Don't let anyone make you doubt your value here."
The words land heavier than he probably meant them to. I think about Enzo, about all the years he made me feel like my work didn't matter. He had a way of making it seem like I was playing at having a career instead of actually building one.
"I won't," I promise.
After everyone leaves, it's just me and Silas in the empty studio. Afternoon light streams through the windows, making the hardwood floors glow. I sit in the middle of the room, legs crossed, just breathing it in.
Silas sits beside me. "You did it."
"We did it." I lean against his shoulder. "I couldn't have done this without you."
"Bullshit. You would've found a way." He kisses the top of my head. "But I'm glad I got to help."
"You paid for half of it."
"So? It's still yours." He tilts my chin up to look at him. "I don't need my name on everything I care about, Scout. Watching you teach today, seeing how much the guys respect you, knowing you built something that matters? That's better than any plaque or sign."
My eyes get wet. "You can't just say stuff like that."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes me want to kiss you in front of everybody. And we agreed to limit our PDA in work settings."
"There's nobody here right now." His mouth curves. "I’m just saying."
Leaning in, inhaling a deep lungful of his scent, I kiss him. Slow and deep and full of gratitude and love and the overwhelming feeling of having built something real. It’s not just the studio.
This relationship almost didn't happen because we were both too scared to be honest. I’m so fucking glad we both took a chance on each other.
When we break apart, Silas rests his forehead against mine. "I'm so proud of you, Pretty Girl."
"I'm proud of us."
"Yeah." He smiles. "Me too."
My phone buzzes and I see that Dad's texted a photo. It's me cutting the ribbon, Silas beside me, both of us grinning like idiots. The caption reads: "My daughter, the business owner. Your mother would be so proud."
I show Silas the text. He squeezes my hand.
"She would be," he says. "I'm sure of it."
For the first time in my life, everything feels like it's exactly where it's supposed to be.
Chapter Forty-One
Silas
Iwake up happy.
Not the manic happiness that comes from winning or the desperate happiness that comes from avoiding loss. This is something quieter, steadier. Contentment maybe, though that word feels too small for the warmth that's taken up permanent residence in my chest.
Scout's already up, because of course she is. She's probably in the kitchen making one of those green smoothies she swears taste good but definitely don't. Her yoga clothes are laid out on the dresser, which means she's teaching the early class at her studio. One year in and those words still make me stupidly proud.
