“How’s that hill treatin’ ya?” I ask, stealing a sip of her shake. She doesn’t even flinch, just slumps deeper into her chair, arms crossed in surrender.
“That ref’s blind, I swear,” she mutters, inching forward like she can will the game to bend to her rage. I pat her on the back.
“You’re gonna microwave your brain,” I say, reaching under her chair and dragging it back toward me. The legs screechagainst the tile, and her body sways with it, but she doesn’t resist.
That’s when I notice it, that subtle shift again. The slight tensing in her shoulders. That faint crease in her brow returning. It makes my stomach sink and twist. Makes me want to trade places with her, so that she doesn’t have to hurt anymore. I would live every day of my life in pain if it meant Darcy didn’t have to.
Coach stands, pulling her purse over her shoulder. Her eyes land on Darcy and soften.
“I think she’s probably tired,” she says, voice gentle.
“I don’t want to go home yet,” Darcy replies quickly, shaking her head like even the implication of exhaustion is offensive.
Coach’s brows lift, her gaze snapping to mine, tinted with worry. I wave a hand.
“I’ve got her,” I say. “Don’t worry.”
She studies me for a long second, probably running through every argument Darcy and I have ever had. Every reason she shouldn’t leave her daughter alone with me. But when she looks at Darcy again, casually sipping her milkshake, scrolling her phone, Coach exhales.
“You’ll take care of her?” she asks, looking back at me. There’s something in her expression I can’t quite place. Something between a warning and a thank you.
“Coach,” I say, catching her eye. “I won’t let her out of my sight.”
She watches Darcy for another beat, then gives me one last look. One that seems to sayI’m trusting you, don’t make me regret it.
“Alright,” she says. “Butwatch her, Clarke. Or I’ll have your ass.”
I nod. “I haven’t had a sip of alcohol, and besides, she’ll probably be begging to leave in thirty minutes.”
Darcy shoots me a piercing look. “No, I won’t!”
Coach leans in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you. Call me when you get home.”
Darcy beams, big and goofy. “Okay Mom. Love you.”
Coach turns to leave, the rest of the team trickling out behind her, still exhausted from the game. Harlowe and Bailey whisper to one another, casting me matching glances as they step out the door. Honestly, I could pass out right here in this booth, but if Darcy wants to stay, we’re staying. Just before Coach hits the door, she spins around.
“Clarke?” she calls. My head snaps up.
“Yes, Coach?”
A subtle smile pulls at her mouth. “Thank you,” she says. Then she’s gone.
I glance back at Darcy, making good on my promise. She’s still glued to her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. I peek shamelessly. She’s texting Cleo.
“So, tough loss, huh?” I tease, and she just scowls.
“Do you actually think you’re funny?”
“Of course.” I grin. “But really, I just like making you mad. You’re really cute when you’re angry.”
A faint blush creeps into her cheeks as she tries to hold back a smile. “Whatever, Icarus. You’re obnoxious.”
“And an amazingly good kisser.”
The blush deepens. She scoffs, crossing her arms like a shield. “Whatever you’re trying to pull, it isn’t going to happen again,” she says firmly.
I can’t help it. I smirk. “Well obviously. You’re drunk. But you weren’t when you kissed me like you wanted it to.”
