The truth was, I hated this kind of work. The fake niceties. The polite small talk. The careful phrasing that made favors sound like partnerships. But I’d done it anyway—because I’d told her I would.
And maybe because I couldn’t stand seeing her look like that again.
That quiet kind of defeated, the one you didn’t show the world because you were too busy holding it together. I knew that look. I’d worn it for years.
I’d told myself this was about fixing a PR mess, about balancing the scales after too many screw-ups. But when I pictured her—bent over a stack of paperwork, brow furrowed, still fighting even when the odds weren’t fair—it hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
She’ll never know how much calling in those favors cost me, I thought. But hell, it’s worth it if she stops looking like she’s about to break.
The phone buzzed again—probably Adam ready with another sarcastic comment. I ignored it this time.
Instead, I grabbed a marker from the coffee table and scrawled a note on the back of a crumpled takeout receipt: Still standing.
I wasn’t sure if I meant her foundation or myself. Maybe both.
Either way, I wasn’t planning to stop.
The next morning hit like a punishment. The air was sharp enough to sting, the drills relentless, and Coach Lawson looked like he’d skipped breakfast just so he could yell louder.
We were halfway through sprint sets when my phone buzzed again. I slowed, thumb already swiping to the notification—one of the new sponsors confirming a meeting. Good. Another small win.
“Mason!” Lawson’s voice cracked across the field. “You gonna run or text your way into shape?”
I called back, “Give me one sec, Coach.”
He muttered something about unbelievable and stalked off. Fair. I deserved that one.
I was about to pocket the phone when I heard Kyle from the other side of the field. “What’s with you lately? You’ve been glued to that thing all week.”
“Business,” I said, not bothering to look up.
“Since when do you have business?”
I almost laughed. “Since Ellery’s sponsor bailed. I’m trying to help her replace it.”
Silence. The kind that didn’t belong on a training field. Even the sound of the ball stopped.
When I finally looked up, Kyle was staring at me like I’d just confessed to murder.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “What?”
I frowned. “You didn’t know?”
He jogged closer, brows drawn tight. “No, I didn’t know. She didn’t say anything.”
I shrugged, pretending that didn’t hit weird. “Guess she didn’t want to worry you.”
He looked thrown off—confused, maybe even guilty. I turned back toward the track before he could say anything else.
“Beckett,” he called after a moment. “You’re helping her?”
“Trying to,” I said, stretching my shoulders. “You got a problem with that?”
“No, I just—” He shook his head, frowning. “I didn’t expect it from you.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Join the club.”
Lawson blew the whistle again, saving us both from finishing the conversation. We lined up for another sprint, but the back of my neck was burning. I could feel Kyle’s eyes on me even after we started running.
