Page 133 of With the Assist

She smiles, but there’s steel under it.

“I mean, obviously I support him,” she continues. “But I’ve never met someone more dedicated to their team and their performance than Nathan. He puts in the work whether anyone is watching or not. It’s who he is, and that has nothing to do with me.”

Coach Bennett’s smile deepens.

“If anyone knows anything about dedication,” she joins in, motioning at Wesley, “it would be you.”

The tension loosens, the conversation shifting to Wesley’s suggestions for off-season training, but my thoughts circle.

My fear of the future strangles me quietly. Without her, I might slide back into the version of myself that was on his way to becoming a free agent at the end of the season.

Maybe it’s what I deserve.

Music swells suddenly, the tempo slowing, and the room adjusts as couples begin to move closer together. Conversations begin to trail off naturally as people drift toward the small open space that has become a dance floor.

Wesley turns to me, studying my face. “You’re somewhere else.”

I shake my head automatically. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t like that he implied that your success has something to do with me.” It’s not an accusation, just an observation.

“Would you like it if they said that about you?” I ask, tilting my head. It comes out icy, but I actually want to know.

She’s silent for a minute, as if thinking it through. “No, I wouldn’t.”

It doesn’t even matter anymore because she reaches for my hand.

“Dance with me.”

Out on the dance floor, the lights are lower, and the noise fades into the background. She loops her arms around my neck. I settle my hands at her waist, careful at first, then less so when she presses closer.

We sway. The two of us move slowly, her head tipping forward until her forehead rests against my collarbone.

I breathe her in.

For a few minutes, I let myself forget everything other than the warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of the music, and the quiet hope that maybe this moment can exist without costing either of us something later.

36

Wesley

The song is slow, but not sad.

It’s the kind of song that fills space rather than demands attention with low bass and a steady rhythm. Nathan’s hands rest at my waist, his thumbs tracing the fabric of my dress mindlessly. Anyone watching us would think we’re comfortable.

I feel the difference, though.

He’s here, but part of him is somewhere else.

I noticed it earlier, the moment Todd asked his question. Nathan’s entire body had locked up. It was subtle, but I didn’t miss it. I don’t miss anything about him. I watched his shoulders tighten, while the easy confidence he wears so well slipped for a second.

I’d stepped in without thinking, not because he needed me to, but because I hated the implication that his success belonged to me in some way.

Nathan doesn’t need anyone to make him better. He might’ve agreed to this whole charade for my help with cross-training, but I’m not foolish enough to think that he couldn’t have gone on long runs and done new agility workouts on his own. He didn’t need me. He still doesn’t. If anything, I’ve only made his life more complicated.

Now, on the dance floor, his grip is steady but careful. I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat under the music. The rhythm of it is sure to play on repeat long after tonight ends, so I let it imprint on me. It’s fast, too fast for someone who looks this calm.

I’m not sure how many songs play, but we dance through them all until last call sounds from the bar, and people start to peel out.