“And that’s the third time this season SWM Storm’s fiery forward loses his cool?—”
I grabbed the remote and killed the volume before they could finish dissecting my humiliation.
The silence afterward was worse.
The folder Cam had given me sat on the kitchen counter, Ellery’s foundation logo staring back in calm, storm-blue ink: a soccer ball surrounded by stars. A neat, hopeful little universe where no one ever got suspended for caring too much.
I flipped it open again without meaning to. There was a flyer for the gala tucked inside—Building Futures Through Sports.
Across the bottom, in looping handwriting, was a quote:
“Sports teach us to fight for each other, not against each other.” — Ellery James
I scoffed, but the words lingered anyway, like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.
Fight for each other.
Yeah. Easy to say when you weren’t the one losing everything you’d fought for.
I dropped the flyer on the counter and opened the fridge. The light flickered across the empty shelves before settling on the one thing that never judged me—a cold beer. I twisted off the cap, leaned against the counter, and took a long drink.
The fizz burned just enough to feel human again.
My eyes drifted back to the folder, to that logo, to the neat handwriting and the promise I didn’t believe in.
“Guess we’ll see how long she lasts,” I muttered, voice low in the empty kitchen. “Before she gives up on me too.”
The city outside was quiet, the lake gone dark. Somewhere out there, Ellery James was probably planning her perfect little gala, blissfully unaware that the league’s favorite disaster was about to show up and ruin her week.
And for reasons I didn’t want to admit, the thought didn’t make me feel as good as it should’ve.
Chapter 3
Ellery
The office was already buzzing by the time I got in—phones ringing, the printer spitting out last-minute table assignments, the smell of fresh coffee battling with the faint scent of permanent marker from the seating chart I’d updated three times since sunrise.
Naomi was hunched over the guest list, highlighter in one hand, croissant in the other. “We’re officially at capacity,” she announced, sounding both thrilled and terrified.
“Good,” I said, balancing my phone between my shoulder and ear while scrolling through the silent auction spreadsheet. “Now we just have to make sure everyone who RSVPed actually shows up.”
The voice on the other end of the line was bright and professional—Cam Hunter, SWM Storm’s PR director. I’d spoken to him a few times before when the team had donated equipment for our youth league. He was always charming, always efficient, and always trying to make his team look like saints.
“Ellery,” he said cheerfully. “The Storm is sending over one of our players to help with your event. Great photo ops for everyone.”
I froze mid-scroll. “That’s… generous, but we’re pretty covered?—”
“It’s already arranged,” Cam cut in smoothly. “He’ll report this afternoon.”
I blinked, staring at the color-coded schedule open on my laptop. “This afternoon?”
“Yep! Should be a great fit. You’ll see.”
“Who exactly are we talking about?”
But the line had already clicked dead.
Naomi looked up. “Everything okay?”
