Page 41 of The Last Five Yards

“Maybe you were right.”

Reese speaks slowly. “I wasn’t right about everything.”

That catches Maren off guard. She looks over. Reese is watching the water again, jaw tight in a way Maren knows all too well.

“I thought staying in North Carolina would help you focus,” Reese says. Her voice is steady, but it carries a kind of old exhaustion. “You were drowning in pressure, and I thought my stepping away would make it easier for you. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You thought wrong.”

It comes out before Maren can stop it. Not sharp. Not bitter. Just the truth.

Reese closes her eyes. “Yeah. I did.”

Maren presses her thumb into the paper sleeve of her cup. “I didn’t need you gone from my world. I needed you with me. Even if it was messy. Even if I was hard to be around.”

“You needed anchors,” Reese says quietly. “And I needed air.”

Maren’s breath stutters. That is it. The root. The simple truth that hurt them both in equal measures in the end.

Reese pulls her knees up, resting her chin on them. “I felt like I was losing pieces of myself back then. Like everything was about diving and scholarships and expectations. And you were carrying so much. I did not know how to be with you without adding weight. To either of us.”

Maren nods, staring at the tile, tracing the lines with her fingertips. “And I didn’t know how to let you in without feeling like I was failing. How to let you see my mess.”

They sit there in the strange stillness of the pool, emergency lights flickering across the water’s surface, everything quiet except for the hum of the pumps.

“I loved you,” Reese said suddenly. Barely a whisper.

Maren’s breath catches. She looks over. Reese is staring straight ahead.

“I loved you,” she repeats. “But I handled it badly.”

Maren’s chest tightens. “I loved you too,” she says. “I probably still do in some way.”

Reese nods once. A small, almost broken gesture. “Yeah. Me too.”

The silence that follows is softer. Not heavy like before. Not sharp like the years between them. It was almost forgiving.

Reese uncurls slowly, setting her empty cup aside. She reaches into her sweatshirt pocket and pulls out a small scrap of paper, folding and unfolding it with her thumb.

“I do not know what is meant for us,” she says. “But… in case my phone number was stored on that laptop of yours.” Reese nods toward the massive bag of rice sitting on the bleachers.

She holds the paper out.

Her number. Written cleanly. Without a heart this time.

Maren looks at the number again. Then at Reese. The ache inside her feels a little less like she is drowning.

“Neither do I,” she says.

Reese stands slowly. She hesitates, just for a moment, like there is something else she wants to say. Something she is not brave enough to reach for yet. Then she gives a small, tired smile.

“I will see you around, Maren.”

“Yeah,” Maren whispers. “You will.”

Reese walks toward the door, her reflection trailing across the water.

Maren stays seated on the tile, the scrap of paper held gently in her hand. The lights ripple across the pool, bending and shifting in quiet waves.