Page 19 of The Last Five Yards

Reese leans in even closer; their shoulders brush again. “Are secrets going to be our thing?” She teases and smiles. “Yes, I want to know your secret.”

Maren breaths in again. One, two, three, four. The air tightens in her chest. “I’m scared of the ‘what’s next’ part,” she admits. “I don’t really know what I want to do or how to do it. I’m scared of what happens when I don’t have everything laid out. You know, the same routine, the same order. The same as yesterday.”

Reese is quiet for a long time. The noise of the bus fills the space between them. Maren starts to wonder if maybe she has said too much, if she should have just kept that part tucked away. Then Reese’s voice comes soft and steady.

“I think that is fair,” she says. “It’s hard when everything changes at once. People make it sound exciting, but it’s terrifying too.” She glances toward the window, her reflection layered over Maren’s. “You spend years learning how to do one thing really well, and then it’s just over. Everyone expects you to already know what comes next.”

Maren nods. “Exactly.”

Reese looks back at her, eyes catching the faint light from the emergency exit door. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be one big answer. Maybe it’s just small things at first. Like showing up, or helping someone, or figuring out what makes the day feel a little more like yours.”

Maren lets the words sit there for a moment. She wants to believe them. “You make it sound simple.”

They fall quiet again. The bus leans through a curve, headlights flashing across their faces. Reese’s hands rest on her legs, close enough that Maren can feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

“I used to think that if I just kept busy enough, I wouldn’t have to think about the future,” Maren says finally. “But lately it feels like it’s all anyone talks about.”

Reese’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Then maybe tonight, we don’t talk about the future. Maybe we just let this be enough.”

Maren lets her body relax as the tension starts to ease. “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe we do.”

Maren leans her head against the window, the cool glass grounding her. The bus feels softer now, wrapped in the peace that they have built between them. Outside, the world passes in streaks of yellow and white. And for the first time, she does not try to count the lights or time the turns. She just watches. The space between towns feels endless, but not in a bad way. It feels like breathing room, like the kind of silence that asks you to listen instead of filling it.

The bus slows as they turn off the highway, the familiar pattern of the drive breaking into smaller jolts of streetlights and stop signs. Maren blinks against the change in the light as they roll through town. The stores are dark, the sidewalks wet from the rain. The smell of it drifts through the vents, clean and heavy with earth.

By the time they pull into the school parking lot, most of the team is stirring. Bags rustle. Someone yawns loud enough to make the seat in front of them laugh. Reese stands up in the seat and stretches. “Guess this is our stop.”

Maren nods, her voice caught inside of her again. The night outside looks darker than it did when they left Marquette, the lights of the bus cutting through the mist.

They move with the others, stepping down onto the slick pavement. The cold hits instantly, sharp and clean after the warmth from the bus. Maren dares her parka tighter around her shoulders and looks across the lot. Headlights flash as parents pull in and out, tired voices of her teammates calling goodnight to each other.

Reese waits beside her car, keys turning over in her hands. “You heading home?” she asks.

“Yeah. You?”

Reese nods, her breath visible in the light from the lamp above them. “Probably stopping gas on the way. Otherwise, straight home. Mom’s rules.”

The mist turns into rain, the drops falling heavily on them. The parking lot is almost empty with only their cars and Coach Hensley’s left in the lot.

Maren breaks the silence, “Thanks for sitting with me.”

“Anytime, Mini-Coach.” Reese smiles, that small, real kind of smile that starts in her eyes.

There is something like a hesitation between them, a pause that stretches longer than it should. Reese steps forward, close enough that Maren can once again feel her warmth, even in the night’s chill. Reese’s fingers brush lightly against Maren’s sleeve, then slip lower, finding Maren’s hand for just a moment. Her skin is warm and damp in the mist.

“You really did great tonight,” she says, voice soft but sure.

Maren looks down at their joined hands, then back up. “You, too.”

Reese lets go, her hand falling away. “See you Monday?”

“Yeah. Monday.”

Reese gives a small nod, then steps back and climbs into her car. The headlights flare as she pulls away, the sound of tires cutting through the shallow puddles as she fades into the dark.

Maren stands there a little longer, watching the empty spot where Reese’s car had been. Her fingers still tingle from the touch. The scene replays in flashes that feel too sharp, too close.

She climbs into her car, shutting the door against the rain. For a second, she just sits there, staring at her own reflection in the windshield. The heater kicks on, slow to warm, and her pulse feels too fast. It hits her all at once, the quiet, the closeness, the touch. The small, impossible truth was that she liked it.