Maddox
The next afternoon, after my workout with Oliver, I pull into the far side of the driveway.A taxi idles in front of the house.Nobody around here uses taxis unless they’re passing through or wants to make a statement.
A guy steps out.Tall, sandy-haired, with a polish to him that feels out of place—the kind of easy confidence that comes from never having to work too hard for anything.The type who’d flinch at dirt under his fingernails.
Behind him, the driver unloads an unusually large pile of bags from the van, most of them looking like equipment cases, while the guy stands there and watches.
Grace steps onto the porch and freezes, her expression cycling through surprise, dread, and something quietly resigned before she gets it under control.
That’s when I notice what she’s wearing—my old high school sweatshirt, one Mom must’ve unearthed for her to wear until she could get her things.I haven’t worn it since senior year.
But her things came yesterday.
It hangs loose on her, sleeves swallowing her hands, and something tightens low in my gut that I have no right to feel.
Did she keep the sweatshirt?
The thought lands somewhere it shouldn’t.She had every reason to give it back—every opportunity—and she didn’t.Maybe she just grabbed whatever was closest this morning, and I’m creating a whole story out of nothing.
No matter, I like it on her.Too much.
“Blane.”She manages a thin smile as her voice carries from the porch.
“Gracie.”He beams, striding up the porch steps like he’s already decided he belongs here, and pulls her into a hug, long, familiar, his hands sliding just a little too far down her back.
My jaw clenches.
None of this is my business.
She’s not mine.
She’s here to do a job, and this guy—whoever he is to her—is part of that world, not mine to have opinions about.Though it doesn’t stop the opinions from forming.
I repeat the words like a mantra, but they land false because when he leans in and presses a slow kiss to her cheek, something hot coils hard around my chest.
Before I’ve thought it through, I’m out of the truck and striding forward.Not fast, not aggressive, just present enough to make it clear I’m here.
“Everything okay?”Though appearing casual on the surface, I’m anything but underneath.
Grace steps back, flustered.“Maddox.This is Blane.He’s my colleague from the paper.He’s here to shoot photos and video.”
He turns to me, his hand already extended and smile already in place.“Blane Ross.You must be Coach Hartley.I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I shake his hand.Firm enough to earn a surprised wince before he schools his features back into his polished grin.“Can’t say the same.”
His smile wobbles before he recovers.“Grace’s stories don’t do you justice.”He glances around like he’s appraising the whole scene for a magazine spread.“And this place… Adorable.Perfect small-town charm.”
Grace’s arms fold over her chest.“Blane, what are you doing here?You said you’d be here tomorrow.”
“Snagged an earlier flight.Figured I’d surprise you.”
Lucky her.
The front door opens behind Grace, and Mom steps onto the porch, dishtowel in hand.“Well, hello there.I’m Meredith.”
Why does she have to sound so genuinely delighted to see this stranger?
The guy brightens like he’s been waiting his whole life for her approval.“Blane Ross.I’m afraid I wanted to surprise Grace—we work together—but don’t know where I’m staying.”