She pushed off the counter, heading toward the hallway, leaving me alone with the hum of the lights and the faint echo of laughter from outside.
I sank into my chair, staring at the open spreadsheet on my laptop without really seeing it. The cursor blinked accusingly, waiting for me to type something useful.
I’m fine.
But I wasn’t. Not really.
Not when every conversation with Kyle felt like balancing pride and loneliness. Not when the life I’d built—this foundation, these kids, this purpose—felt like the only thing tethering me to the world we used to share.
And for the first time, I wondered how long fine could hold before it cracked.
As I gathered my things, the office had mostly emptied out—just the faint sound of music from the field and the hum of the vending machine in the hallway. I was halfway to shutting down my laptop when a flicker of movement outside the window caught my eye.
Curious, I stepped closer.
Out on the practice field, Beckett Mason was surrounded by a small cluster of kids. He stood with his hands on his hips, shouting instructions about penalty kicks, his voice carrying easily through the glass. Even from here, I could tell he had no patience—too loud, too blunt, barking corrections like they were seasoned players instead of ten-year-olds.
And yet… the kids were laughing.
One of them took a wild shot that missed by a mile, and Beckett groaned dramatically, ruffling the boy’s hair when he doubled over giggling. Another kid copied his stance, mimicking his “game face,” and Beckett actually laughed.
I found myself smiling before I caught it.
“He’s impossible,” I murmured under my breath. “But at least he’s here.”
The thought hit wrong—too soft, too forgiving—and I immediately pushed it away, annoyed at myself for even noticing. This wasn’t the time to get sentimental. I had a gala to finish planning, sponsors to confirm, and a thousand things I couldn’t afford to feel right now.
I turned off the office lights, the field outside dimming into silhouettes and shadows. The flutter in my chest—I told myself it was just fatigue.
The room fell quiet, that strange, end-of-day silence that always seemed louder than the noise that came before it.
I sat down again, just for a minute, letting the weight of the day settle over me. My phone sat face-down beside the computer. After a moment, I picked it up and swiped through the photos—donor meetings, last year’s fundraiser, the kids with their mismatched medals.
Then one photo stopped me.
Kyle and I at last year’s gala. His arm around my waist, both of us smiling like we’d already made it.
I stared for a moment, thumb hovering, then swiped past it quickly.
“This year will be different,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure what I meant.
The gala.
My relationship.
Me.
Maybe all of it.
The shadows stretched long across the office floor as I finally stood and gathered my things again. Outside, the faint sound of Beckett’s laughter drifted through the open window—low, unguarded, real.
I turned off the last light and left it behind.
Chapter 6
Beckett
The building was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every sound feel louder than it should. Most of the lights were off except for the ones spilling from the gym—soft and gold, cutting through the dark hall. Boxes were stacked against the walls, banners half-unrolled, folding tables waiting to be set up.
