She’s softer. Brighter. Alive in a way that has nothing to do with that phenomenal dress she’s wearing, and everything to do with the weight she’s been carrying finally easing.
Heidi leans in and says something to her, and she laughs, her head tipping back. She takes another sip of champagne, then another, her cheeks a little flushed. She’s drinking more than usual, but she’s not sloppy. Just looser.
Relief will do that, too.
I don’t move toward her, even though every instinct I have wants to close the distance again, wants to feel the heat of her at my side and see if that almost-kiss would still be waiting for us if we tried again. I bet it fucking would, and I really want to test it.
But I don’t.
I lean back against a high table instead, folding my arms, keeping my feet planted. It’s deliberate restraint. She’s not my responsibility, and she doesn’t need someone hovering. She’s more than capable of handling herself, and she deserves the space to enjoy this night without me looming in her orbit.
Levi’s high-pitched, joyful laugh cuts through the room again, and my attention snaps there. He’s in the middle of it all, surrounded by players who’ve dropped to his level, who are listening to him explain mascots with the seriousness of a seasoned analyst.
His parents watch from nearby with their hands linked and eyes shining with something that looks close to relief. Or maybehope.
I make my way over.
“Hey, bud,” I say, and the kid lights up.
“Mr. Hutchison, did youseethem?” he asks, vibrating. “The mascots all dancing?”
“I did.”
“And Dynamite the Fireball did thefloss, and then Horton the Mustang, he dabbed, and it was so cool!”
His mom laughs, pressing a hand to her chest to try and keep from crying again as she steps toward me.
“We just wanted to say thank you,” she says quietly. “For all of this. You’ve made his night so special, and you didn’t have to.”
I glance at Levi, who’s now miming the entire mascot routine with wild, jerky arms.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I did.”
I make my way back over to the bar to grab another beer, leaning against it while I wait, my eyes sweeping the crowd once more.
Carina’s watching me, a soft smile on her face. A fresh bottle is slid into my hands, and I return her stare as I slowly raise the beer to my lips. I watch her eyes dart to my mouth, and back up again, holding mine until Heidi interrupts her.
The night’s getting late now, and once Levi and his parents leave, I make my final rounds—say hi to a few of the other guys from the Miners, thank the out-of-town players who showed up, shake hands with some of the clinic donors, and let Moreno parade me around to some of his associates.
I try my best not to think about how close her mouth was to mine earlier, or how she’s been avoiding me since. But every time I look up, I’m checking for her. She’s always in the corner of my eye, talking to someone. Laughing. Moving through the crowd with that cool, unbothered composure.
Until she’s not.
There’s a guy next to her now, not anyone I recognize. Someone from Moreno’s circle, maybe. He’s tall and polished,probably wearing cologne that costs more than I make in a week, and he’s talking and smiling and way too close.
My first reaction is irritation, then dismissal—this is not my business. She’s more than capable, and probably handled worse than a smooth-talking donor with shit cologne. And apart from that, she hasn’t looked my way, hasn’t asked for help, hasn’t given any signal that she wants me anywhere near this interaction. That matters.
I watch anyway, and I tell myself that whatever this tight, restless thing in my chest is, it’s mine to manage alone.
But then he touches her arm, and Carina steps back.
She shifts slightly, polite, but purposefully leaning away. Her smile’s tight, and she glances past him, her eyes landing on mine for a beat.
I tell myself to look away, but I don’t. I’m zeroed in.
Carina’s angled away now, shoulders squared, chin tipped just enough to stay civil. Her smile is back, but it’s the professional one.
I recognize that smile because I’vewornthat smile.
