Page 143 of Uncoachable

God, that sound alone could undo me.

“You’re staring, Callahan,” she murmurs. She doesn’t even turn her head to look at me, but I can hear the amusement in her voice.

I huff a quiet laugh. “Hard not to. You’re a very distracting view.”

She tilts her head back slightly, just enough so I can see the corner of her mouth curve into a real smile. “At least pretend you’re being subtle. You’re supposed to be a professional athlete; work on your poker face.”

“Subtlety has never been my strong suit, Ivy. You of all people should know that by now.”

She shifts against me, a small and deliberate movement that presses her even closer. I feel the contact everywhere—the warmth of her skin, the steady, rhythmic pull of her breathing, and the quiet trust in the way she leans back into me without a single hesitation.

It hits me then, sharp and sudden, how incredibly easy this feels.

I’m not just talking about the physical attraction, though that is a constant hum in my blood.

It’s the being here part.

There is a softness to her that I don’t see at the rink or in the film rooms. I don’t see it when she’s facing down the media or standing her ground against her father with her chin lifted and her jaw set.

She lets herself melt into me as if she trusts that I’ll hold her together, and I realize in that moment that I want to be the place she lands every time the world tries to knock her down.

I dip my head, brushing my lips against her temple. “You okay? Truly?”

“Yeah. I am. I really am.”

She turns in my arms then, fully facing me on the narrow cushions. Her knee slides over my thigh, and her hand comes up to rest against my chest, her palm flat over my heart.

“You’ve been… dangerously quiet today,” she says softly.

“I’m just being observant,” I reply, trying to keep the mood light even as my heart starts to pick up speed.

She rolls her eyes, but her thumb starts tracing slow, agonizing circles over my collarbone. It wrecks my concentration instantly.

“That isn’t an answer, Cal.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting until you stop distracting me with your hands.”

She freezes for a heartbeat. “I’m not—”

I know I should joke. I should tease her or deflect with some comment about the game. But the truth is pushing up against my throat so hard that I can’t stop it.

“I love you.”

The words land between us, soft but incredibly heavy, vibrating in the narrow space of the dim apartment. Her breath catches, a small, uneven hitch in her throat that makes my pulse spike.

For half a second, a cold flash of fear flickers through me. I’ve given her the one truth she could use to dismantle me, to turn the Captain of the Reign into nothing more than a ghost in the executive wing.

Then she smiles.

It’s not the sharp, professional curve of her lips I see behind the bench. It’s a slow bloom that reaches her eyes, softening the rigid lines of her face until she looks entirely new.

It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

“You beat me to it,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

She nods, her eyes shimmering. “Yeah. I love you. Probably since the third time you argued with me about a power play drill and I realized you were the only person in this building who wasn’t afraid to look me in the eye.”