We split into sides, the kids giggling as they picked who’d join who. Olivia served first, a gentle rally meant for the kids to jump into, but our shots started finding rhythm in between their interruptions, quick, playful exchanges tucked between laughter and mini chaos.
“Nice shot, Coach Olivia!” one of the kids yelled after she sent me chasing the ball.
“Oh, coach now?” I raised an eyebrow, flicking the ball back into play.
Olivia chuckled, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Temporary title. Until someone takes it from me.”
There was something easy in the way we moved. Something I didn’t want to look at too closely. And maybeshe felt it too, because when our eyes met for just a second too long after a rally, her smile faltered just enough to feel real.
She glanced away first.
“You do this a lot, don’t you?” she asked as she bent to pick up another ball, voice casual but eyes a little too curious.
“With the kids?” I nodded. “Yeah. When I’m not training or traveling. They keep me honest.”
She smiled at that. “You’re good with them.”
And then she turned away to wrangle a group of kids who’d wandered off. The words lingered longer than they should’ve.
We kept playing, laughter spilling across the court as the kids invented ridiculous point systems that made no sense at all.
Olivia and I were on the same side of the net now. Then Olivia clapped her hands once and grinned. “Alright, bonus round. First to hit Alex wins five points!”
I gasped in mock betrayal. “Excuse me?!”
The kids erupted into giggles and chaos. In seconds, I was under fire from all directions. I dove for cover, volleying back with over-the-top dramatics. “Mutiny! I’m surrounded!”
Olivia laughed, that bright sound that hit me square in the chest. She and I dodge stray balls like a two-person survival team. I caught her eye mid-laugh, both of us breathless, still moving, and then it happened.
Our shoulders brushed, and before I could react, her foot tangled with mine. The world tilted.
“Whoa—” she gasped, grabbing my arm.
We went down hard, her body colliding into mine with a soft thud and a sharp exhale. I twisted mid-fall out of instinct, hitting the court on my back with a dullthunk.
Olivia landed right on top of me. For a split second, everything stilled.
Her palms were braced on my chest, her breath hot against my collarbone. A stray lock of her hair tickled my jaw. Her weight, warm and solid, pressed into me in a way that short-circuited every coherent thought.
“Oh my god—are you okay?” she breathed, her voice softer now, worried but threaded with something else.
I swallowed, eyes locked on hers. Her pupils were wide. The world felt like it had narrowed down to the space between us.
“I’m... alive,” I managed, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Might need emotional support, though.”
That made her laugh the kind that slipped out before she could stop it. But she didn’t move. Not right away.
Our eyes held longer than they should have. Her heartbeat was pressed against mine, for a second, I swore she could feel how fast mine was going too.
Her gaze flicked down, just barely, to my lips. It lit a match somewhere in me I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there.
I wanted to close the distance, just a fraction, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because if I did, there’d be no taking it back, and it would be wildly inappropriate.
So I forced myself to stay still, to remember that this (whatever was crackling here) was mine alone to manage. Something that would have to stay in my head, where it was safer. So I stayed still.
Then she blinked, like she’d just remembered gravity, and rolled off me, clearing her throat.
I sat up too quickly, brushing dirt off my elbow, my heart hammering. The laughter of the kids came back into focus, completely oblivious to the quiet chaos that had just taken place between us.
