The message landed clearly. This could stay contained—but only if nothing else happened.
That was the problem. Nothing about this situation was finished. And when it came to Mila, my choice had already been made. I would pick her over anyone or anything else.
“We want you here, Luke,” he added. “You earned your place in this program. Just make sure this is the last time I get a phone call about something like this.”
“Understood, Coach.”
“Good.”
The call ended a moment later. The room went quiet. I set the phone down slowly.
The letter on my desk hadn’t changed, but the feeling around it had.
Someone had placed those calls deliberately, given just the right details delivered to the right people. It was enough to introduce doubt and attempt to damage my reputation.
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. Whoever had started this wasn’t trying to destroy me outright. They were applying pressure, exactly where it would hurt and make me reconsider things.
My phone buzzed again.
Mila:Hey, you went silent. Everything okay?
I stared at the message.
Me:Meet me at the boardwalk tonight.
Mila:Of course.
The beach was quiet when I arrived. California winter meant the air cooled quickly once the sun disappeared, and the ocean never stopped moving.
The tide rolled in a steady rhythm beneath a darkening sky, the sound of waves breaking against the sand filling the quiet stretch of shoreline.
Mila stood near the edge of the water when I walked down from the parking lot. Her hair moved lightly in the coastal wind as she turned toward me. “You sounded serious in your text.”
I reached her and stopped close enough that the wind carried the warmth from her skin toward me. “I got a call from Coach Davidson at UM.”
Her brows drew together immediately. “Why?”
“Someone started making calls to the athletic department about the fight with Logan.”
Her eyes widened. “Already?”
“Yes.”
A quiet possessiveness coiled deep in my chest, instinct more than thought. Not the kind that tried to cage something rare but the kind that recognized its value and refused to let it be harmed.
The breeze lifted a strand of her hair across her cheek. I reached out without thinking and brushed it back behind her ear.
My thumb lingered as it passed her mouth, brushing lightly over her lower lip. The skin there was smooth now, the cut Logan had split open already healed.
The memory hit fast anyway—blood on her mouth, the sound her head made against the locker.
My jaw clenched before I could stop it. Even thinking about it made something dark stir in my chest. I still wanted another five minutes alone with him.
Her gaze stayed on mine the entire time.
She never seemed aware of what she did to a room. People noticed her the moment she walked in. Conversations slowed. Eyes followed her without meaning to. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though she was, in a way that made it difficult to look anywhere else. There was something steadier beneath that. Something genuine.
Mila moved through the world with a kind of quiet kindness most people had lost somewhere along the way.