Her voice doesn’t waver, but her fingers do.
They tighten on the edge of the iPad for just a second before smoothing out.
Scottie and Gabriela line us up shoulder to shoulder.
Jake’s arm slides back around her waist automatically, but she slaps his chest and laughs.
“Not on the team, not in the picture,” she teases, stepping out of the shot.
The photographer waves us in closer. “All right, big smiles! One, two?—”
For a split second, before the flash goes off, my eyes flick toward Scottie’s to see her looking at me. Her smile is tight enough that I can read the apology underneath.
Then the cameras pop. Flashes of white light bright enough to stay in my vision even in the setting sun.
The moment the photographer waves us off, Jake’s back by Scottie’s side, whispering something against her hair. She grins, and it’s a wonder no one else can see how fake it is.
Fake or not, my stomach bubbles with jealousy so thick, I could choke on it.
I start toward the clubhouse doors, ready to grab my bag and call it a day. I need to get out of here before Jake’s hand finds her back again and I have to watch her not move it.
“Lucas.”
Her voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t have to be.
I stop.
Jake’s closer than I’d like, but Scottie’s already stepping forward, iPad back in place.
“Tomorrow,” she says briskly, like she’s addressing the room instead of just me. “You’ve got the youth clinic. Be downstairs at eight a.m. sharp. And you’re staying after for the Q&A.”
I blink at her, confused. “I am?”
“You volunteered,” she says, though I don’t think I did.
Jake snorts. “Of course he did. All the young chumps love signing up for youth clinics.”
She gives him an elbow, but her eyes are on mine, almost pleading.
“Right,” I say slowly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good,” she says. “Because I need you there.”
Need.
With Jake standing just behind her, she’s able to quirk her lips to the side in a smile that doesn’t reach me like I wish it would.
“I’ll be there,” I say.
She nods, and I turn before I can watch Jake’s arm snake back around her waist.
I walk back toward the clubhouse at a pace that saysnothing happened hereand try to believe it myself.
But I’ve been watching Scottie hold it together for weeks, and I know what it looks like when the seams are starting to show. The way her fingers tightened on that iPad wasn’t professionalism. The smile she gave Jake wasn’t performing.
It was surviving.
And the thing about Scottie is she’s so good at surviving that no one notices until she’s already gone.
