Page 110 of Worth the Shot

“No,” she repeats, firmer. “You don’t get to tie your worth to how you play and then drag Delaney into that with you.”

My jaw tightens.

“She was there, wasn’t she?” Katie continues. “After the accident. When you were stitched up, bruised to hell, barely able to breathe without it hurting?”

“Yeah.”

“She saw all of that,” she says. “And she stayed. She took care of you.”

I stare at the floor, my chest pulling tight.

“That’s not someone who’s waiting for you to be impressive again,” she says, softer now but just as certain. “That’s someone who already chose you.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

“She’s not your ex,” Katie adds, more protective now, like she’s guarding something for me. “She’s not going to disappear the second things get hard or you’re not playing at your peak. She already saw you at your worst, Bren, and she didn’t go anywhere.”

I swallow, my grip tightening around my phone.

“So what if I can’t get back there?” I ask quietly.

“Then we figure it out,” she says immediately. “You don’t shut down, you don’t spiral, and you definitely don’t start pushing her away because you’re scared.”

I close my eyes.

“You hear me?” she presses.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” she says, softer now. “Because I like her. And I’m not watching you mess this up because you got in your own head.”

A small breath leaves me, something in my chest loosening just a little.

“And for the record,” she adds, a hint of her usual tone coming back, “you’re going to be fine. You always are.”

I let out a quiet huff. “Thanks, Katie.”

“Anytime,” she says. “Now stop dodging my calls.”

“I wasn’t⁠—”

“You were,” she cuts in. “And next time, I’m showing up in person.”

I shake my head, a small smile pulling at my mouth. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“And Brennan?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop acting like you have to earn something she already gave you.”

The line goes quiet, but her words don’t. As soon as I set my phone down, the bedroom door creaks open.

“Bren?” she says softly, like she’s not sure what she’s walking into.

“Oh—hey. Did I wake you?” I ask, suddenly worried that she may have heard some of that. Or worse, all of it.