“That’s not usually how this works,” I said, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
He glanced at me, then back again. “How what works?”
“Support,” I replied. “It normally comes with strings.”
I’d learned early that approval wasn’t freely given. It was earned. Re-earned. And quietly withdrawn. My father was never in the stands. I learned not to look for him, not to expect him, not to build my sense of worth around whether he showed up. Connor wasn’t him, but he could still disappear without warning.
“There aren’t any strings, Teddy,” he said, voice softening.
I blinked away lingering emotion. “People always say that.”
“I know.” There was no impatience in his response. “But this isn’t about leverage.”
“Then what is it about?” I asked, still not looking at him.
He shifted slightly in his seat, one hand tightening on the wheel before turning toward the gates of the school. “Being present. Making sure you’re not alone.”
I nodded once, slowly. “I’m capable of standing there on my own.”
“I’ve seen that,” he said. “That’s not the point.”
“Which is?” I asked, feeling warm all over.
“That you shouldn’t have to.”
26
Connor
I knew many faces of Teddy Sloane.
When she was pissed off, her nostrils flared and she spewed venom at me during a class debate.
When she was happy that she’d won something, she used to blush the brightest shade of pink into her cheeks.
When she was frustrated or being a sad loser, she’d bite the inside of her lip and became quiet.
But right now, I didn’t know if I’d ever seen this look before. It was unguarded and devastating in its simplicity.
And yet Teddy Sloane was anything but simple. Her blue eyes held layers I didn’t have language for—darker at the edges, lighter in the center, steady and searching all at once. They didn’t dart or retreat. They stayed on me, clear and present, and it was like standing too close to sunshine. Did she know she had the ability to warm someone from the inside out? She might not have let many people see her like this, but she’s letting me, and I knew with unsettling certainty that I wouldn’t forget this moment.
Her shoulders shifted, just enough to tell me she was aware of the pause stretching between us, and if I don’t say something now, she’d armor back up on instinct alone.
“Come on, sunshine,” I said, pulling into the parking lot, then leaning closer. “Let’s go see those future captains in there and show you off.”
She exhaled through her nose, the smallest shake of her head mixed with a smile. Then she opened the door and stepped out, heat rushing around us the second our feet hit the pavement.
The school was alive. Girls in navy-and-white uniforms crossed the courtyard in clusters, bags slung over shoulders, voices overlapping. Heads turned because of her. Teddy Sloane walked like she belonged anywhere she put her feet.
Inside, the air cooled instantly from the AC. The scent of polished floors and sunscreen hung low, echoes of sneakers squeaking somewhere deeper in the building. A woman in a blazer was waiting just inside the foyer, hand outstretched, smile wide and practiced.
“Miss Sloane, Mr. O’Riley,” she said, eyes flicking between us with interest. “We’re so glad you’re here. I’m Headmistress Caldwell.”
Teddy slipped seamlessly into professional mode, voice steady, posture relaxed but commanding. I stayed back half a step, watching the way she held the space without effort, and how easily people fell into rhythm around her. “Good to meet you, Headmistress.”
We were guided through a corridor lined with trophy cases and framed team photos from all the teams within the school, then into the gym. It was cavernous and bright, team support banners tied from the rafters, the floor freshly waxed.
“The girls are getting changed,” Caldwell explained. “Mr. Perez will be here before to meet you. He’s the sports coach for this team.”
