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“There are a few things I want to walk through with the line before we put them in.”

“That’s what they’re here for.” Coach puts the binder back in front of me, then glances toward the hallway. “Come see me when you’re finished.”

He leaves, and I turn back toward the screen while JJ pulls up the next clip. For the first time since Houston called to tell me I was no longer their quarterback, I'm not trying to figure out where I’m supposed to be next. I’m already there.

We work through the remaining protections until the questions I wanted answered turn into adjustments all three of us can live with. When we finally close the binder, I tuck it beneath my arm instead of reaching for the next piece of film. Before today, I probably would have kept going until I had everything perfect, but now I trust no one will look down on me if I come back to it later.

I follow Coach Quinn’s instructions and head toward his office. Denise looks up the minute I walk through the door.

“Anything I should know before I go in?”

“If there were, I’d charge you for it.”

“Good to know where your loyalties are.”

“With whoever brings me better snacks.”

I’m still smiling when I knock once against the open door and step inside. Coach Quinn sits behind his desk with his glasses low on his nose, reading through something on the tablet in front of him. He finishes whatever line he’s on before looking up.

“How’d it go?”

“Whit only told me I was wrong twice.”

“He must like you.” Coach sets the tablet aside and gestures toward the chair across from him. “Sit down.”

I do so without the familiar tightening in my stomach.

For most of my career, being called into a head coach’s office meant mentally retracing every throw and conversation before I made it through the door. Even when I knew I didn’t do anything wrong, some part of me still arrived prepared to defend what I’d done.

“How are you feeling about the offense?”

“Better than I did on Friday. The terminology is still slowing me down in a few places, but once I get past that, most of it makes sense.”

“It’s Monday. You don’t need to apologize for not knowing a playbook you got three days ago.”

I lean back in the chair, not quite ready to admit he’s right. “Occupational hazard.”

“Break yourself of it because I didn’t bring you in here to quiz you.”

That should probably make me curious, but nothing in his expression gives me a reason to brace for whatever comes next. I settle farther into the chair while Coach glances toward the door, expecting nothing more complicated than whatever he plans to put on my schedule next.

A knock sounds against the open door before Coach can tell me what he wants. “Come in.”

“Please tell me you have five minutes because Denise just informed me you’re apparently incapable of answering a text.”

My fingers tighten around the coffee cup because I know that voice. I keep staring at Coach for another second, searching for any explanation that makes sense before I finally look toward the door. I’ve heard that voice laugh against my mouth in the dark when neither of us had a reason to be anything other than honest.

She steps into the office with her attention on the phone in her hand, and every question I’ve carried out of Houston disappears the second I see her standing ten feet away from me. Her braids are pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s dressed for a Monday morning instead of a night neither of us planned, but none of that matters because it’s her. The woman I’ve been trying not to wonder about every time my fingers find the ring resting against my skin.

Her gaze moves from Coach to me, the phone in her hand lowering slowly as her eyes lock onto mine, and the recognition there sends relief through me before I have time to question it. She remembers me. She’s standing right in front of me, and I didn’t lose the only chance I had to find her when I left Houston.

Except none of this makes sense.

My eyes drift back to Coach as he reaches for something on his desk, completely unaffected by the fact that a woman I met a thousand miles away just walked into his office.

Did she know I was here?

I search her face for some sign that she expected to find me sitting here, but she’s staring at me like I’m the last person she thought she’d see. Her fingers curl around the phone while mine lift instinctively toward the chain beneath my shirt. I stop myself before I touch it, but her gaze follows the movement and stays there for a beat too long.