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“And I’m not thrilled about my thirty-two-year-old quarterback sleeping with my twenty-two-year-old daughter.”

I wince. “I figured that was coming.”

“Don’t look so surprised. You had to know I wasn’t going to make this easy on you.” Coach shifts the practice sheet against his thigh. “She’s an adult, Jubal. I don’t have to like it, but who she loves is her choice.”

My next breath comes easier. I don’t need his permission, but fuck, I want him to be okay with us. I want to bring Calliope home without watching his face change when I touch her. I want dinners at his table where I can reach for her hand instead of pretending I don’t know exactly how it feels in mine.

“What I need time with is what happened between us. I need you to let me be angry without deciding what my anger means for me.”

My grip digs harder into the facemask as every question I’ve been holding back threatens to come out. I want to know if we’re going to be okay. I want him to tell me that whatever I damaged yesterday isn’t big enough to take this away completely. More than anything, I want something certain enough that I won’t walk into the building tomorrow and start searching his face all over again, but I make myself leave every question where it is.

“I can try.”

Coach nods, and his attention drops to my right shoulder. “Ice that before you leave. If it’s worse tomorrow, tell me before you throw.”

The casual certainty of tomorrow hits harder than anything else he’s said. I look at him, waiting for the hesitation that should come with it, but he’s already turned toward the facility like checking on my shoulder in the morning is as ordinary as it was yesterday.

My throat burns, and I drop my gaze before he can see how much that gets to me. I spent the entire morning terrified of losing something I didn’t know how to name until he called me his friend. Now I’m standing here wanting to grab onto one word because it’s the first thing that hasn’t felt fragile since he walked into the backyard yesterday. I force my fingers to loosen around the facemask and follow him toward the facility.

He reaches the door ahead of me, but instead of going inside, he catches one and holds it open. His eyes meet mine as I approach, still carrying the hurt I put there, but he doesn’t look away or let the door close between us. I hesitate with my hand against the edge of the door, because some part of me is still waiting for him to change his mind. Coach only shifts his grip higher and keeps holding it, leaving me nowhere to look but at him as I finally step through.

Chapter Thirty

Calliope

Olivia nearly walks into me when I stop at the bottom of the stairs. “What the hell?”

I don’t answer because Dad is sitting at the kitchen table. He looks up from his coffee, and Olivia goes quiet behind me. I expected him to be gone already. It’s Saturday morning during football season, which usually means I’m lucky if I see him long enough for him to steal something off my plate before disappearing into whatever the Valor need from him. But they can survive without him for a few hours this morning, and the realization knots my stomach because I know exactly why he’s still here.

We were supposed to talk yesterday. I spent most of the day waiting for it, but he came through the door looking exhausted enough that I couldn’t bring myself to ask if now was the time. I told myself one more night was probably better for both of us. Now, with Dad watching me over the rim of his coffee mug, I wish I’d known this was coming before I walked downstairs.

Dad’s gaze moves from me to the overnight bag hanging from Olivia’s shoulder. “Leaving already?”

“I’ve reached my annual limit for human interaction.”

Dad’s mouth twitches, and some of the tension between my shoulders loosens. “You know you’re welcome to stay.”

“I do.” She adjusts the strap on her shoulder. “But I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours with more people than I usually willingly see in a month. I need silence before I become unpleasant.”

Dad smiles this time, and I catch myself watching him instead of Olivia. Seeing something familiar on his face makes it easier to pull in a full breath. She catches my eye before she heads toward the front door, and I follow her. I knew she was leaving this morning. I even agreed she should after she admitted she wanted an entire day where nobody talked to her unless the house was on fire, but that was before I came downstairs and found Dad waiting.

Olivia stops with her hand on the knob and turns back to me. “Are you going to be okay?”

Dad is close enough to hear her, so there’s no pretending she means anything else. I can feel him behind me without looking, and the answer I would normally give Olivia dies before it reaches my mouth.

“I think so,” I mumble as she opens her arms, and I step into them.

She squeezes me tightly, and I hold on for an extra second because she’s the only person who knows about the score waiting upstairs in my bag. For two days, she’s been the only person I haven’t had to pretend with when my brain circles back to that number.

“I’ll text you when I get home. And remember, you don’t have to figure anything out today.”

I pull back enough to glare at her. “You were doing so well.”

“I know. Ruined it right at the end.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it, and Olivia smiles like that was exactly what she wanted. I want to be annoyed with her, but I’m too busy trying not to ask her to stay five more minutes.

“Drive safely.”