Page 71 of The Last Five Yards

For a moment, they both sit there, the night warm around them, their glasses barely touching. The past finally settling between them in a way that does not ache anymore.

Reese reaches out, just brushing her fingertips against the corner of the closed laptop. “I keep thinking about how easily things could have been different.”

Maren reaches out, resting her hand over top of Reese’s as she meets her eyes. “And how lucky we are that things went the way they did.”

Reese holds her gaze, something steady and unguarded, opening there. Something that feels like the start of a truth they have not touched yet.

The night settles around them, the kind of quiet that feels earned. The porch light flickers for just a moment, then settles back into its natural glow, casting soft circles across the table, across their joined hands, across the forgotten glasses of wine. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks once before falling silent. The world narrows back to the space between them.

Reese’s fingers shift under Maren’s hand, not pulling away, only turning enough that their palms fit more naturally together. There is no rush in the movement. No hesitation either. Just a quiet acceptance of the moment they have stepped into.

Maren lets her thumb brush lightly across Reese’s skin. It is the smallest touch, almost nothing at all, but Reese inhales like she feels it everywhere.

For a long time, neither of them speaks.

The yard is dim now, only the porch light holding back the dark, but Maren can still make out the folded blanket, the tidied picnic remnants stacked neatly by the fence, the faint shimmer of glitter catching in the grass. All the pieces of the evening are still here. Still real.

Rowan will come racing through this yard again in the morning. The clover will be taller next week. Practices will continue. Life will keep moving.

But this moment, this small pocket of honesty and peace, feels like something they will both return to.

Reese shifts a little closer in her chair, not enough to close the space completely, just enough to show she is not going anywhere.

“It feels different now,” Reese says softly.

Maren nods. “It does.”

Reese’s eyes meet hers, steady and warm, open in a way they have not been in years.

There is no declaration. No big request.

Only an understanding that the past has been laid down, finally, and something new has room to take its place.

Maren squeezes her hand once, a gentle promise.

The night air presses warm around them. The porch light flickers once again.

And for the first time in a long time, sitting beside Reese feels simple.

It feels like coming home.

IV

The Last 5 Yards

26

The Storm

The storm rolls in so fast that no one notices it at first. The windows along the far wall are just a shade darker, a shift from fall grey to something heavier. Practice moves in its usual rhythm. Splashes. Shouts. The steady growl of the ventilation system.

Maren looks out, tracking Rowan’s backstroke set, when a sudden crack of thunder interrupts her mid-lap.

It is not gentle. It is a cannon shot that rattles the metal bleachers and jolts the water like it has become alive with a mind of its own. A few kids yelp. One of the younger swimmers grabs the lane line so hard the floats clack together, the sound echoing through the pool area.

The lights flicker once. Then again.

For a heartbeat, the entire building halts.