I startled a little, realizing how long I’d been sitting there. Beckett stood immediately, stretching his arms before following her to the hallway. His sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, tattoos catching the pale light, and for a second, I just… watched him go.
He helped Naomi carry the boxes back in — two at a time like they weighed nothing. When he passed my desk again, he set a familiar paper cup beside my hand without a word. Steam curled up in the air.
I blinked. “You remembered.”
He shrugged, already walking back toward the banners. “You yell for it every morning. Hard not to.”
I stared down at the coffee. My coffee — oat milk, one pump caramel, extra hot. No one ever got it right unless I told them.
I caught myself smiling before I could stop it. “Thanks.”
He didn’t look back, just lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “Don’t mention it.”
As I sipped, something inside me shifted — subtle, unsettling. Kyle forgot small things like this all the time. My coffee order. The kind of pen I liked. The way I triple-checked details before an event. He was never unkind about it, just… oblivious. Busy.
Beckett, though — he noticed without trying. And that realization felt dangerously like a crack in my carefully built walls.
I set the cup down, focusing hard on the sponsorship forms in front of me, as if paperwork could silence the thought. It didn’t.
By the time the office emptied that night, the sky outside had turned lavender-gray, the kind of color that made the world feel suspended. I gathered my things, checked the door locks, and finally sat in my car, phone in my hand.
My fingers hovered for a second before I typed:
Hope dinner went well.
I stared at the screen, the three dots that never appeared. The message stayed delivered, unread.
I swallowed the small sting of it. Told myself it was fine. He’d answer later. He always did — eventually.
I scrolled through my notifications, desperate for a distraction, when another alert popped up — the foundation’s group chat.
Still standing. Like you said.
Attached was a photo of the repaired display board he’d stayed late one night to fix — the “Building Futures Through Sports” one. The edges were still a little uneven, the tape a little crooked, but it stood proud in the gym lights.
I stared at it, warmth creeping into my chest. He didn’t have to send that. Didn’t even have to remember what I’d said.
Without thinking, I typed back a single emoji — — and hit send.
Then I sat there, phone in hand, the faintest smile tugging at my mouth.
The ache in my chest eased — not gone, just… softer.
Maybe it was just exhaustion. Or gratitude. Or maybe it was something I wasn’t ready to name.
Either way, for the first time all day, I didn’t feel completely alone.
Chapter 10
Beckett
The field was still damp with morning dew, the air cold enough to sting my lungs. I didn’t care. I’d been running drills for nearly an hour before the rest of the team even showed up. No music. No banter. Just the sound of my cleats tearing into the grass and my heartbeat pounding like a war drum.
Every sprint, every kick — sharper, faster, harder. I wanted it to burn. Needed it to.
By the time the sun started pushing through the clouds, I was drenched in sweat. My shirt clung to my back, my lungs ached, and I still couldn’t stop.
Coach Lawson’s voice cut across the pitch — dry, calm, that half-asleep tone that somehow made everything hit harder. “You trying to prove something or kill yourself, Mason?”
