It comes out sharper than I mean, and the kid shrinks down in his seat. I cap the marker harder than necessary and step back, letting the silence hang until the projector hum fills it.
Focus, Jace.
I should be breaking down tape, drilling them on angles, doing the job I’ve worked years for. But my mind keeps circling back to the Brew House. To the way Sarah’s voice wrapped around my name like it still belonged to me. To the look in her eyes when I told her not to look at me like that and the way it cut straight through me.
The sound of a whistle cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see one of the assistants motioning for me. “We’re set on the field,” he says.
“Right.” My throat’s dry. I grab my clipboard like it’s armor and head out, the cool bite of late fall air hitting me as soon as we push through the doors.
The field should center me. Green turf underfoot, chalk lines sharp against the grass, the snap of footballs hitting palms, this is supposed to be the place I can block everything else out. But even here, she lingers.
I bark orders at the defensive line, pacing as they run drills. My voice carries, steady enough, but under it all there’s this static I can’t clear. The way she stood too close to my table, the brush of her sleeve against mine, the sharp pull in my chest when our eyes met.
Like it meant something. God help me, it did.
“Coach Prescott!” one of the seniors calls out, breaking my trance. He’s standing by the sled, waiting for corrections. I realize I missed half the rep.
“Lower,” I snap, striding over. “You’re coming in too high. Again.”
He grunts and resets, and I force myself to watch every movement this time, to drill down on the details like I’m supposed to. Except all I can think is how many times I’ve said the same word,again, and how often it meant something else entirely with her.
‘Kiss me again.’
‘Let’s try again.’
‘One more time.’
Repetition that had nothing to do with drills or discipline and everything to do with want.
By the time practice winds down, my throat’s raw from shouting, though most of the noise is just me trying to drown out my own head. The players jog toward the locker room, clapping helmets, shoving shoulders, the usual. I linger by the sideline, clipboard loose in my grip.
The sun’s slipping low, shadows stretching across the field. Normally, I’d feel that good kind of tired, the kind that says I worked hard, got something done. Today, all I feel is restless.
Because the truth is, I’d gotten used to her not being here. Not in this town, not in my head. Not still lodged under my skin like no time had passed. But the second I saw her, it was like nothing had changed.
And that scares the hell out of me more than I’ll admit. And now she runs the Communications Department at my University.
I shove the clipboard under my arm and head toward the tunnel, telling myself tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I’ll lock it down, focus on the team, and stop letting one almost-touch undo me.
But the lie tastes bitter before I even finish it.
The weight of it sits heavy in my chest, the way it always does when Sarah’s name drifts through my head uninvited. No matter how many times I tell myself to leave it buried, the memories don’t stay put. They creep back in, sharper at the edges, pulling me under before I can fight it off.
And the one that never loosens its grip? The wedding.
Past — Wedding Day
The hallway outside the bridal suite smelled like hairspray and roses. Voices carried through the closed door, Sierra’s laugh, bridesmaids chattering, the rustle of gowns. I should’ve kept walking, should’ve been anywhere else but here.
But then Sarah stepped out of the adjoining room, and the world stilled.
She froze when she saw me, hand still on the doorknob, her dress catching the soft glow of the sconces. Not a bridesmaid’s dress, but something simple, understated, and somehow brighter than all the sequins and silk behind her.
“Jace.” Her voice was careful, clipped, like the name itself was dangerous on her tongue.
I swallowed hard, my collar already choking me though I hadn’t even put on the damn tie yet. “Sarah.”
Silence stretched, heavy with everything we hadn’t said in years. My palms itched to reach for her, to erase the space between us, but I forced them flat against my sides.
