It's going to burn me in the end, but I don't let that stop me. Pretty sure I'd walk across a pit of asps if it meant being closer to Scout.
StatMan12
That isn't the reason why I can't meet you. I want to. God, I want to. I have to keep my face private because of my job, but never doubt that you're beautiful and perfect. It's because of work, sweetheart. Not because I don't want to be seen with you.
I wait. The three dots appear, then disappear. Then nothing.
She doesn't answer. I pick up my phone again and type before I can stop myself.
StatMan12
You're not just beautiful. You're everything. And someday, when I can, I'll show you. I promise.
Send.
I don't expect a reply. Hell, after feeding her more lies wrapped up as promises I might never keep, I don't deserve one. My phone buzzes a minute later.
Yoga4Lyfe
We’ll see.
I close my eyes and let the shame wash over me in waves. She'll wait and hope and believe my lies until she finally figures out the truth. And when she realizes I've been lying to her this whole time, playing with her through a screen while living in the same space, she'll leave.
I set my phone on the nightstand and scrub my hands over my face. The guilt sits heavy in my chest.
But it’s not heavy enough to make me slow down.
Chapter Fifteen
Scout
The arena buzzes with post-practice energy. Today marks my first full mobility class, and excitement thrums through my veins as the players filter in. They're sweaty and tired, muscles warm and pliable. Perfect for mobility work. Mini-bands and lacrosse balls fill my arms as I move through the training room, helping where I can.
Connor hunches on the bench, wincing every time he tries to roll his neck. The pattern screams levator scapulae, tight from looking down at his phone too much.
"Hey." Setting my supplies down next to him, I offer a smile. "Mind if I help?"
Surprise flashes across his face, but he nods fast. "Please. It's killing me."
I guide him through a doorway stretch that takes seconds. Then I hand him a lacrosse ball to use against the wall for trigger point release. His relief comes, immediate and vocal.
"Holy shit, Scout." A grin splits his face, genuine gratitude lighting up his features. "How'd you know exactly where it hurt?"
"Kinesiology degree." Warmth creeps into my cheeks as Ismile back. "And lots of practice. Keep doing that twice a day. And maybe look up from your phone more often."
Laughter bursts from him, and he gives me a two-fingered salute. "Yes, ma'am."
Two more players drift over, asking for help with tight hips and sore shoulders. Working with them comes naturally, patient and thorough, explaining each stretch and why it matters for their game. "This opens your hip flexors, gives you a longer stride off the line. This one improves your thoracic spine rotation, helps with your shot mechanics and passing accuracy."
They listen, actuallylisten. Then they thank me. Delight floods through me as they ask follow-up questions like I'm someone worth learning from.
For the first time in months, my brain gets used for something that matters. No more fetching coffee or running copies or making myself useful in ways anyone could do. This work feels specific and valuable, something only I can offer.
I feel eyes on me from across the room that make my skin prickle. Glancing up, I catch Silas watching. His face stays blank, unreadable, arms crossed over his chest in that way he does when he's judging something. No words come, just that intense stare.
People call him Ice Man. And right now, the nickname fits perfectly. He looks cold. Distant. It seems like he might be evaluating me from behind a wall of ice I'll never crack.
But the wall comes down sometimes. The way he defended me from Enzo proved that. Those flashes of heat in his eyes when he thinks I'm not looking tell the real story. He's not actually cold. Everyone just thinks he is because that's what he lets them believe.
