I'd failed her once.
And now she stood here terrified, waiting for me to react.
I tightened my jaw. Only movement I allowed myself.
Then I stepped back.
Her eyes locked with mine.
Every instinct I'd honed over decades screamed at me to move—react, speak, do something to diffuse the tension crackling between us. But I stood there, muscles locked, coffee dripping from my hoodie onto the floor in steady drops that counted the seconds.
My jaw tightened. Only tell I allowed.
Something else stirred beneath the surface—dangerous, unwanted. Heat that had nothing to do with the coffee soaking through my clothes. I killed it. Buried it so deep she'd never see the flicker of awareness that threatened to surface.
She needed to fear me. Needed to believe I was every bit the cold bastard my reputation suggested.
Safer that way.
For both of us.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Voice breaking. "Please, I didn't mean?—"
I stepped back before she could finish. Turned. Walked.
The café door swung open under my hand. Cold air hit the wet fabric clinging to my stomach, but I didn't slow. Didn't look back. Just kept moving through the concourse with measured steps that gave away nothing.
Silence protects.
The words settled into my chest like a mantra I'd repeated too many times to count. If I'd spoken, I would've acknowledged her. Would've confirmed whatever suspicion lived behind those fierce eyes. Would've opened a door I'd sealed shut years ago for good reason.
She didn't need me in her life. Didn't need the weight of my attention or the complications that followed.
And I sure as hell didn't need the complication of her.
My loafers echoed on the concrete. Empty hallway. No witnesses. Just me and the coffee burning through layers of fabric, reminder of how badly I'd miscalculated by walking into that café.
I shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have let myself get close enough to see her. Shouldn't have felt the pull low in my gut when our eyes met—recognition that went both ways, whether she understood it or not.
I pushed through the door to the coaching offices. Let it slam behind me. Stood in the dim hallway and pressed my palm flat against the wall, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.
I'd forget this moment. Lock it away with every other mistake I'd made. Move forward like I always did—controlled, disciplined, alone.
But even as I formed the thought, I knew the truth.
I wouldn't forget her face. Wouldn't forget the fear in her eyes. Wouldn't forget the way something in my chest cracked when she whispered that apology.
Damn it.
Chapter 3
Olivia
Jenna's hand clamped around my arm hard enough to bruise. "What the hell was that?"
I couldn't answer. My lungs wouldn't expand. The air turned thick, suffocating, pressing down on my chest until black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I blinked hard, trying to force oxygen through the constriction in my throat.
"I—" The word came out strangled. "I tried to?—"
