Page 74 of The Last Five Yards

Maren laughs once, but it breaks almost immediately, more breath than sound. “You make it very hard to pretend I do not feel this.”

Reese leans in just slightly. “So, stop pretending.”

The space between them is small now, painfully small. Maren can feel Reese’s warmth. The drip of water down the back of her neck. The ache of everything she has held shut for years pressing at the edges of her ribs.

Reese lifts a hand slowly, giving Maren a second to move away. She does not. Her breath catches instead.

Reese’s fingers trace gently along the side of Maren’s jaw, soft and careful, like she is memorizing the shape of her. Maren feels herself lean into the touch before she can stop it.

Reese’s forehead touches hers. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just a point of contact that feels like an answer to a question neither of them asked out loud.

Maren closes her eyes. It is not a kiss. It is something quieter. Something steadier. Something that knocks the ground out from under her in a way the fall never could.

“I’m right here,” Reese whispers.

Maren lets out a shaky breath that feels like the first honest one she has taken in weeks. “I know.”

They stay like that for a long moment. Quiet. Breathing the same damp air. The storm above them. The thrum of the emergency light. Every barrier they have held between them is stripped thin.

Then a small voice echoes from the locker room doorway.

“Coach Maren?”

They both pull back at the same time, slow and reluctant.

Rowan stands in the open doorway, wrapped in a towel that hangs nearly to her ankles, hair dripping in uneven strands. Her face is full of worry.

“Are you okay?” Rowan asks. “You fell like the penguins at the aquarium.”

Maren cannot help it. She laughs, a soft, shaking sound that does not hide the relief. “I promise I am okay.”

Rowan rushes over and throws her arms around her. Maren folds into the hug with a wince and a smile.

Reese stands, stepping back just enough to give them space, but she does not look away. She does not hide the softness in her face now.

Maren feels it even while Rowan squeezes her tightly.

Something is different. Solid. Settled.

Rowan pulls back with a quick nod, satisfied she has confirmed Maren is still in one piece. She shuffles back toward the locker room, towel trailing behind her like a cape.

Maren watches her go, chest tight with something warm and aching.

When she turns back, Reese is already looking at her. The storm-light catches the water still clinging to her hair, to her cheekbones, to the curve of her jaw. There is no shield on her face anymore. No careful distance.

Just truth.

Reese steps close enough that only Maren can hear her.

“I am not going anywhere,” she says, voice low, steady, certain.

It is not a promise made in the heat of the moment or a flood of adrenaline. It is quiet. Real. Grounded.

Maren feels it land somewhere deep, somewhere she has not let anything settle in a long time.

She nods, unable to find her voice. Reese holds her gaze for a moment, then turns toward the locker room to check on the kids.

The thunder rolls again overhead, softer now, the worst of the storm already passing.