You're slipping.
My knuckles went white around the keys.
I'd spent fifteen years building distance. Maintaining control. Keeping everyone at arm's length because closeness meant vulnerability and vulnerability meant losing the only thing I still had—my ability to function.
One morning with Olivia Bennett and the walls were cracking.
I couldn't afford that.
Couldn't.
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, eyes closed, breath shallow.
The smart move was obvious: avoid the café, ignore her existence, let her build whatever life she needed without my ghosts dragging her backward.
My hand tightened until the keys bit into my palm. But the man's face wouldn't leave my head.
Chapter 7
Olivia
I pushed through the side exit into cold that hit like a slap. My shoulders sagged the second the door clicked shut behind me.
One week down.
The thought felt too big to hold. Like if I examined it too closely, it might dissolve, prove itself false, reveal that none of this had actually happened.
But it had.
I'd survived five shifts. Learned the espresso machine without scalding myself again. Memorized which players wanted foam and which ones acted like you'd insulted their mothers if you dared add any. Started recognizing faces—Ben's easy grin, Jenna's perpetual exhaustion, the way certain coaches moved through the building like they owned the air itself.
My feet ached. My lower back throbbed from hours standing on concrete. The smell of burned coffee clung to my hair and clothes no matter how many times I washed the apron.
I loved it.
Every sore muscle, every coffee stain, every moment of controlled chaos proved the same thing: I'd done it. Left. Started over. Built something that belonged only to me.
Not getting fired still felt like a miracle I didn't deserve.
The memory of Rhys's office made my stomach flip—his unreadable expression, the careful way he'd told me accidents happened, the silence that felt heavier than any lecture. I'd walked out of that room convinced I'd blown everything on day one.
But I hadn't.
I'd learned. Adapted. Got faster at taking orders, smoother with the register, better at reading when someone wanted conversation versus when they just wanted their drink and their space.
I can do this.
The parking lot stretched before me, mostly empty now, my beat-up sedan waiting three rows back. I dug keys from my pocket and started walking, boots scuffing against asphalt still damp from afternoon rain.
Tomorrow loomed large in my mind. My first game shift. Jenna had warned me—controlled chaos became actual chaos when the arena filled with fans. Lines out the door, players moving faster, everyone wanting everything now.
Nervous energy sparked through my exhaustion. Not the panicked kind that made my hands shake, but something sharper. Anticipation mixed with dread mixed with determination.
I'd survived this week. I could survive tomorrow.
One foot in front of the other. Same as always.
I reached my car and paused, key halfway to the lock.
