The fundraiser wrapped up not too long after that. The sun had dipped lower, turning the pavement gold and making the water glisten like spilled glitter.
Most of the girls were chasing each other around with empty buckets, high on sugar and victory.
We had a great turnout, and they were proud of themselves. I leaned against the back of a car, wringing out a sponge into a half-empty bucket.
My shirt clung to my ribs, soaked through in most places. My cheeks were flushed—from the sun, from the effort, or from something I wasn’t willing to name.
Dom stepped up beside me, his hoodie slung over one shoulder now, the rest of his clothes as soaked as mine.
“You know,” he said, his voice deeper, quieter than before, “I’ve seen you light up before. On the court. When you’re pissed. But this? With them?”
He looked out at the girls laughing in the foam. “This is different. You’re good. With them, I mean. You make them feel seen. That’s rare. You don’t just coach. You believe in them. And they believe in you.”
I sucked in a breath and didn’t respond for a long moment. The butterflies in my stomach were going fucking crazy.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I murmured, refusing to look at him.
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me want to believe you.”
That stopped him. He froze, rooted to the spot.
I turned to face him, and something in his expression made my insides go all gooey. There was the familiar heat in his gaze, but underneath that was something more vulnerable, something soft.
He searched my face for something I wasn’t sure he would ever find. For a moment, though, I let him see me. I allowed myself to keep those walls down.
“You keep… showing up,” I said, my voice soft and husky. “In places you don’t belong. And the worst part was, it never feels wrong. It just feels easy.”
Dom seemed to consider my words for a second. “Maybe that’s because it is easy. You just keep trying to make it hard.”
Letting out a shaky breath, I shook my head and broke that connection to look down at my feet. “It scares the hell out of me how right this feels.”
He moved in closer, close enough that his voice was almost a vibration against my skin.
“Then stop running from it. Just for today. Let yourself have something good.”
My eyes flicked up to meet his again — and lingered.
“One day,” I admitted quietly, “you’re gonna walk away. And it’s going to hurt like hell. And I’m the one who let you in.”
He smiled, but it was smaller this time. Honest.
“I’m already in, Darlin’.”
Then, without ceremony, he reached under his arm and held out a folded shirt to me. Worn cotton, plain black, and still dry.
“You’re gonna freeze on the ride back,” he said, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t just pulled that out like he’d planned it.
I looked at it, then at him. “Did you seriously bring a spare, just in case I turned into a drowned rat?”
He smirked, one side of his mouth tugging up in that annoyingly charming way. “Maybe.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, snatching the shirt from his hand and turning away so he wouldn’t see the way my lips betrayed me with a smile.
My heart had no business skipping the way it did, but it did anyway, stupid thing.
I turned away to pull it on. After peeling off the sopping wet top I’d been wearing, I let the fabric slide over my damp skin.It clung in places, but it was warm — warmer than it should’ve been.
