Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I pressed my fingers lightly against my wrist, feeling the dull ache there.
One does not cancel out the other, another small, stubborn part of me whispered.
I ignored it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out to find a text from Georgie.
Little Brother: Saw a clip of the event on social media. Wow, Sis. You really did your thing. Proud of you. Call me later!
My smile was so big it hurt my cheeks as I thumbed a reply, and then it was back to work.
By the time the scrimmage was over, the donation thermometer on the jumbotron had shot up higher than I dared to hope. The announcer made a big show of the final number: $76,208.
Our goal had been $25,000.
Kids screamed, fans cheered, confetti cannons popped. Ben and Daddy P did a victory lap with a pack of teenagers trying to keep up with them.
It was a huge win.
We did it.
The night wound down slowly, families heading out of the cold arena and into the warm Florida night. Volunteers folded tables, stacked chairs, and broke down signs. The soundtrack shifted from Christmas music to the hum of the Zamboni and the clattering of skates being boxed.
I moved through the concourse with my tablet tucked to my chest, checking boxes. Nathan had disappeared into the bowels of the arena with a man I didn’t recognize and a couple of executives a while ago, and I hadn’t seen him since.
My wrist throbbed when I try to lift a bin of packed-up supplies — tape, extension cords, LED lights, and the like. I should have been able to lift it no problem, but it sent a zing up to my elbow.
I breathed out slowly and sat it back down.
“You know there are interns for that, right?”
His voice slid over my shoulders like a warm coat.
Shane stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his team jacket, hair curling from under his beanie. He didn’t look like the coach I knew everyone else saw him as — that stern, dialed-in, unshakeable man.
He looked like the boy who once taught me how to skate backward on a frozen-over pond.
“I thought you’d left,” I said, fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
“One of the benefits of being an old man,” he said wryly. “Nobody expects you to stick around for the big clean up — especially after nine o’clock.”
I huffed out a laugh I didn’t really feel. “And yet, here you are.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I like defying expectations.”
His gaze traveled over the half-broken-down event — empty raffle tables, sagging banners, a few stragglers in Sweet Dreams shirts laughing as they carried supplies into the tunnel. When his eyes came back to me, they softened.
Stay away from him.
Nathan’s words echoed in my mind, but I shoved them right into the same attic I was forcing most of my thoughts into, adding to the list of warnings I chose to ignore.
“Gotta say, you blew away every expectation I had for tonight,” Shane said. “This was… huge, Ari. For the kids, for the foundation. For the team, too, whether they realize it or not.”
The compliment landed deep, under all the layers of numbness and performance.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “That means a lot.”
He took a step closer, enough that I could see the darker gray ring around his blue irises. My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
“How’s the wrist?” he asked.
The question was gentle, but it still felt like a spotlight. Instinctively, I tucked my injured hand closer to my body, my bracelets chiming together with the movement.
“It’s fine,” I said too quickly. “Just… sore. The pan was heavy.”
His brow lifted, the faintest hint of skepticism tugging at his mouth.
“Right,” he said. “The pan.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “What else would it be?”
His jaw clenched once, a tell I knew as well as my own reflection. “Nothing,” he said. “Just… maybe let someone else do the heavy lifting for a bit. At least until you can open a jar of pickles without swearing.”
A real laugh bubbled up, surprising both of us.
“There she is,” he murmured, so soft I almost didn’t hear it.
The bin on the table seemed to grow heavier just from looking at it.
“I should get this to the back before facilities locks up,” I said, wrapping my good hand around the edge again, like if I kept busy enough, Shane would go away, and I wouldn’t have to feel this pull between us.
Before I could get leverage, his hand came down over mine.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
For a suspended second, neither of us moved. My skin buzzed where we touched, his fingers brushing the inside of my wrist, just above the hidden bruise. I watched his gaze flick down, lingering on the flash of discolored skin peeking out from under my bracelet before dragging back up to my face.