Page 40 of The Last Five Yards

“You did not have to come back,” she says softly. The confusion is there in her voice, no matter how she tries to hide it.

“Would you not do the exact same for me?” Reese asks.

Maren does not answer. She does not have to. They both know the answer already.

She never would have left.

They sit in a small pocket of silence. Comfortable is not the right word. Familiar is closer. The kind of pause that used to live between them when everything mattered too much to say out loud.

Reese leans her head back against the wall. “The alumni were still buzzing when I headed out.”

Maren groans. “Of course they were.”

“One of them tried to start a relay using kickboards,” Reese says. “He declared himself team captain and immediately fell off the block.”

Maren huffs a quiet laugh. “That makes more sense.”

“It was chaos. But Coach Hensley handled it. I promise.”

Maren looks down into her cup. “I’m sorry I disappeared on you guys this afternoon. Feels like everything I touched today went wrong.”

Reese’s voice softens. “It didn’t.”

Maren does not look up.

Reese nudges her knee gently. “Your laptop may have hissed, though.”

“It did,” Maren says. “I think it cursed me.”

“Oh, it did,” Reese says with mock solemnity. “Ancient pool spirits. Very dramatic.”

Maren snorts into her coffee, a sound that feels like it has not existed in her in a long time. Reese smiles at that, small and warm.

The banter eases. The quiet shifts. Not awkward. Just waiting.

Reese lowers her cup, turning it slowly in her hands. “Can I ask you something?” She says, voice softer than the room.

Maren’s pulse flickers. There it is. The turn.

“Yeah,” she says.

Reese does not look at her at first. She watches the water instead, the way the lights ripple across the surface. “Were you actually okay today,” she asks, “or were you just pretending you were?”

Maren swallows hard. Her throat feels tight. “Pretending,” she finally says. “Mostly.”

Reese nods like she already knew. She always knew.

They sit with that for a beat. Then another.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” Maren adds. “I just… needed a second. Everything felt like it was slipping out of my hands.”

Reese turns her head. “Yeah. I could see that.” Her voice is soft, not judgmental, not pity. Just real.

The quiet stretches out again.

Maren stares at the cup between her hands. “You used to tell me I bottled everything up. I didn’t believe you.”

“You never did,” Reese says with a faint smile.