Familiar.
The kind of gesture that fit neatly into our routine—sweet, practiced, safe.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said as he stepped back. “Promise. I’ll be at the gala.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You said that last year.”
“This time I mean it.” His grin widened, boyish and sure, like that settled everything.
He jogged off across the lot, waving once before turning the corner, sunlight flashing off the windshield of his car as he disappeared from view.
I sat there for a while after he left; the bleachers cooling under the fading sun.
The kids were still running drills, laughter echoing across the field.
And I told myself it was fine—that this was just who we were now.
But even as I smiled, I couldn’t shake the thought that distance didn’t always come from miles.
Sometimes it came from silence.
But here, silence never lasted long.
Naomi gave me a sympathetic look from the base of the bleachers. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” I said, though my voice came out quieter than I intended. “Just business as usual.”
She nodded, reading more than I wanted her to. “I’ll email you about the invoice,” she said, retreating with an understanding smile.
I sat back down, letting the hum of the field fill the quiet he left behind—the thud of soccer balls, the laughter of kids, the faint scrape of wind through the banners.
Kyle always left like that—warm, smiling, promising he’d be back soon. And every time, I told myself I understood. That his dream needed room to run, and I was lucky just to be near it.
But watching him go, that same old ache tugged at me—the kind that never really went away. The kind that came from loving someone who was always halfway gone.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to look forward again, toward the kids chasing the ball under the late sun.
At least they were still here.
And so was the work.
When I stepped back inside, the cool air of the office hit me like a wall—and so did Naomi’s expression. She was leaning against the counter, arms folded, one brow arched in that I know more than you want me to kind of way.
“Don’t start,” I said, dropping the clipboard onto my desk.
Naomi tilted her head, all faux innocence. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I gave her a look.
She smirked. “Okay, fine. I was definitely going to say something. He’s sweet, Ellery. But he’s got the emotional attention span of a puppy.”
I straightened a stack of papers that didn’t actually need straightening. “He’s just focused,” I said, more defensive than I meant to sound. “This is a huge opportunity for him.”
“Sure,” Naomi said easily. “Just make sure you still get to be part of his story, not just cheer from the sidelines.”
I forced a smile, the practiced kind I’d perfected for donors and reporters alike. “I’m fine, Naomi.”
Her eyes softened. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “You keep saying that.”
