“I didn’t say I’mgoodat it,” he counters. “I still like order. Still need routine. But I’m not holding on so tight anymore. I’m learning when to let go.”
“So…” I trail off, dragging a piece of bacon through syrup. “What’s next? Coach turned bartender turned…?”
He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Still figuring that out. But I finished the certification for sports psych. Started shadowing some people. Might open up something part-time with the school.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, meaning it. “You’d be really damn good at that.”
His eyes flick up to mine again, lingering. “You think?”
“Of course,” I say, nudging his foot under the table. “Anything you put your mind to, you do well. Overachiever energy. It’s practically written in your aura.”
That earns me another soft laugh. “You still believe in auras?”
“I’m open-minded,” I say with a smirk, then sip my coffee. “Also, I’ve had enough concussions to justify believing in just about anything.”
He shakes his head, fond. “Youreallyhaven’t changed.”
“I mean, IhopeI have,” I say, grinning. “I like to think I’m a little wiser now. A little less reckless.”
Silas’s eyes drift across my face like he’s memorizing the updated version. “Still gorgeous, though.”
I raise a brow. “You flirting with me, Coach?”
“Not a coach anymore,” he murmurs.
I lean forward, chin propped on my hand. “So youareflirting.”
He flushes a little but holds my gaze. “Maybe.”
“Well,” I say, dragging out the word, “in that case, I’ll allow it.”
That makes him smile—but then something shifts. His fingers drum once against his mug, then still. His expression softens, lips parting like he’s working through a dozen things before settling on the truth.
“Luke,” he says, low and steady. “I miss you.”
I blink. My heart stutters, but I mask it with a grin. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”
“Not like this,” he says, voice just above a whisper. “I miss you in my life. The texts. The chaos. The way you made everything brighter, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry.
Silas exhales slowly, as though it costs him something just to say it. “Do you think there… could there be a second chance? Is there something I can do to fix what I broke?”
And just like that, everything inside me goes still. I stare at him, this version of Silas that can wreck me just by existing. But he’s softer now. Less guarded.
And I’m not that shattered kid anymore either.
“I don’t need you to fix anything,” I say, voice quiet but sure. “You broke my heart, yeah. But I put it back together—my way. And I like how it beats now.”
Silas flinches, just barely, as if he wasn’t expecting honesty thatsharp.
“But,” I add, nudging my plate aside so I can rest my elbows on the table and lean in, “you’re part of my story, Silas. The messy middle. The ache and the after. You’re also the reason I figured out who I am when no one else is watching.”
I take a breath, watching his eyes track every word.
“And that version of me? He doesn’tneedyou.”
Silas’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t look away. He’s ready to accept rejection.
