Page 51 of The Last Five Yards

Behind her, quiet footsteps move across the sand. She does not turn. She already knows who it is.

Reese.

“I am sorry,” Maren says. Eyes on the Chicago skyline softened by morning haze. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Reese lifts her arms overhead in a slow stretch. The movement pulls the last of sleep from her shoulders. Maren glances over. Of course she looks beautiful.

“You didn’t,” Reese says. “I think my body is still on East Coast time.”

Maren steps back from the water and finds a piece of driftwood. She sinks down against it, wondering if this is the same one they sat against years ago. Reese settles beside her, close enough that Maren can feel the heat coming off her body but not touching. She pulls her knees tight and tugs her hoodie down over her bare legs.

“Do you think we could get Red Cup to deliver out here?” Reese quips. The question sounds almost sincere.

“I think we would need to bribe them with my whole paycheck for that to happen.” A quiet laugh slips out of Maren before she can stop it.

“Maybe if we tell them, it is an emergency. My legs are about to freeze off.” Reese rubs her hands over the outside of her hoodie, trying to warm her bare legs.

Maren rolls her eyes. “You sound very dramatic for someone who has survived the Great White Lake Michigan shark, you know.”

Silence settles around them as the lake laps closer along the sand. The light has finally lifted over the horizon, and the first beams catching the mist, turning the shoreline into something soft and shimmering.

Maren lets out a long, steady breath. Without thinking, she shifts toward Reese. It is only when their shoulders touch that she realizes where her body has leaned.

Reese tenses for a moment, caught off guard by the touch. Then she releases a slow breath, almost without thinking, the way Maren used to teach her. The tightness in her shoulders fades, and a small smile slips across her face.

“We always end up right back here, do we not. This town, this lake, this log.” Reese’s voice is quiet, almost like she is speaking to herself.

Maren watches a seagull swoop low over the water, searching for breakfast.

“Maybe we were always going to end up right here,” Maren says. “I just do not know what to do with that anymore.”

Reese keeps her eyes on the water. Her smile fades, not in a dramatic way but in a quiet, worn one. She rubs her fingers over the strings of her hoodie, a small nervous habit she has never really outgrown.

“I didn’t make that weekend easy for you,” she says. “I know that now.”

“I kept thinking you were disappointed in me,” Maren says. “And I did not know how to fix it. Everything was just so big for me.”

“I didn’t realize how big it felt. I just wanted to share my new life with you,” Reese says. “I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you to love my life as much as I was trying to. Because if you loved it, maybe I could figure it out myself and not feel so lost.”

The words hit Maren like wind straight off the lake, cold and sharp. She feels it through every bone in her body. For a moment, she cannot process any of it; she only stares out at the waves, counting each one as it rolls in.

Still watching the water, Maren shakes her head softly. “I wish I had known you felt lost. I was just reaching for something to steady me.”

Reese reaches down and hooks her pinky around Maren’s. “You were right about needing something to hold on to.”

Maren looks over at Reese, feeling the warmth of her hand next to hers. “I think we were both pretending everything was fine, and neither of us was telling the truth.”

Reese takes a deep, steady breath. Maren notices the way she still uses the breathing tools she taught her years ago, back when Reese would get nervous before a dive.

“I should have told you I was struggling,” Reese says. “My life was a giant mess, and I was doing everything I could to hold it together.”

“I should have told you I was overwhelmed instead of shutting down,” Maren replies. She hesitates, then adds, “After that weekend, I thought you did not want anything from your hometown anymore. Everything was so new for you. New school, new city, new friends. You didn’t need your old co-captain hanging around.”

Reese’s fingers tighten slightly around Maren’s. She keeps her eyes on the water, as if saying it directly would be too much.

“I was afraid you would see how messy I really was,” she says quietly. “I thought if I stayed away, I could protect you from that.”

Maren’s breath catches. She does not look at Reese. Instead, she focuses on the slow rise and fall of the water, but the truth settles in her chest with a weight she cannot push aside. A single tear slips down her cheek before she even realizes it is there.