“Just—uh, give me one second,” she said, voice steady but tight, eyes flicking between them.
She wasn’t panicking. Not really. But there was that split second where she looked—human. The kind of tired that didn’t show up on camera.
I stopped mid-step, towel still hanging from my shoulders.
For a moment, I just watched.
She moved through the chaos with that same kind of energy she always had—focused, relentless, but softer around the edges now that the cameras weren’t rolling. Her blazer was gone, replaced by a simple T-shirt and jeans, hair pulled back into a loose knot that kept slipping as she leaned over to sign something.
No audience. No speeches. Just her, trying to keep everything from falling apart.
That flicker hit again—the one I didn’t like. The one that made something twist under my ribs. Recognition, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.
She was out here doing all this—for kids who’d never know her name, for sponsors who’d forget her face after the gala, for a team that probably saw this as another PR stunt.
And she still gave a damn.
I didn’t understand that kind of drive.
Didn’t trust it, either.
But I couldn’t look away from it.
She finally hung up the phone, rubbed her forehead, and turned toward the sponsor board, still juggling questions from both volunteers. Her voice was calm again, decisive. “Backdrop first, then the sponsor board. And I’ll sign the invoice in five.”
They nodded, scurrying off, and she exhaled, clutching the clipboard like it was the only thing holding her together.
I took a step forward before I could stop myself, then paused.
I wasn’t here to help. That wasn’t what people expected from me.
Still, the words came out before I could swallow them. “You running a foundation or a circus?”
She looked up, startled, then rolled her eyes when she saw me. “Funny. I didn’t realize sarcasm counted as volunteering.”
“Guess I’m a natural,” I said, walking closer.
Her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile, but she didn’t give me the satisfaction. “You’re late.”
I shrugged. “Coach ran drills long.”
“And yet, somehow, you’re still standing.”
That earned her a smirk. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she turned back to her clipboard. But I caught the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth.
And damn it, that same flicker hit again—stronger this time.
I didn’t know what to call it, but it felt a lot like trouble.
I heard the crash before I saw it—one of the tables near the gym wall shuddered under the weight of a stack of promotional boxes, all teetering on the edge.
Before anyone could react, instinct kicked in. I crossed the floor, caught the pile mid-slide, and hauled the whole thing back upright.
Cardboard scraped against my palms, one of the corners catching my sleeve, but I managed to stack them neatly again.
Ellery turned at the sound, eyes wide. “Oh! Thanks. You didn’t have to?—”
