Page 139 of With the Assist

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Yeah. Okay.”

I fumble with my door, hands unsteady. He steps back, giving me the space that I asked for, but it feels wrong.

“Good luck,” he adds. “Let me know how it goes.”

I nod, unable to trust my voice.

We both know I won’t.

This is it. Missing this session is exactly why I never wanted this to become more than an arrangement. This is what happens when I let myself get distracted and forget that everything I want is one mistake away from slipping out of reach.

I slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. My hands are still shaking as I start the car. The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the space, tires crunching softly against the concrete.

At the ramp, I glance up into the rearview mirror.

Nathan is still standing there watching me leave. My throat tightens, but I don’t stop.

I drive out into the morning light, heart pounding, knowing with painful clarity that last night was real. It was the most real thing I’ve ever felt, but it might’ve cost me everything I’ve never been able to afford to lose.

I make it to Harborlight Stadium in fifteen minutes.

I don’t remember most of the drive, other than the gas station two blocks from the stadium, where I climbed into the backseat, shedding my dress to pull on my backup gear.

By the time I pull into the stadium lot, my hands are sweating on the steering wheel. As I pull into a parking space, I see them.

Coach Folley is walking out of the stadium doors, coat already on, with his phone in his hand. Coach Bennett is beside him, mid-sentence, both of them slowing when they spot me sprinting across the lot.

“Coach,” I call, breathless. “Coach, I’m so sorry.”

They stop.

I skid to a halt in front of them, words spilling out before I can slow them down or make them sound composed.

“My phone died. I swear it was charged when I went to bed, but then my alarm didn’t go off. I know that sounds like an excuse, but it’s not. I’ve never missed a session. I take full responsibility.”

Coach Folley looks at me. His expression is calm, but his mouth is pressed into a thin line that tells me he’s already decided how he feels. He glances at his watch, and my chest hollows out.

“That may be,” he says evenly. “But this was important.”

“I know, and I’m ready now. I will take any time you have. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Anything.”

Coach Bennett stays quiet beside him, her presence suddenly heavy.

He exhales through his nose and shakes his head once. “I have a flight to catch. I can’t stay.”

Dizziness clouds my vision, and my hands tremble at my side.

“I understand.” My voice is tight, and I barely hear it over the roaring in my ears. “I want you to know how seriously I take this camp. This opportunity means everything to me. I assure you that despite today, I’m locked in.”

His arms cross over his chest as he studies me for a moment longer.

“I hope so, because focus and preparation are not optional at this level. Come camp time, I expect better.”

That’s it. He’s made up his mind about me, and it’s not positive.

He nods once to Coach Bennett and turns toward his rental car, suitcase rolling behind him.

I stand there and watch him go.