Page 76 of The Last Five Yards

“…Something like that,” she manages.

Maren’s laugh floats across the pool like a ripple of warm water. Rowan looks between them with a narrowed, suspicious gaze, like she knows she has stumbled onto an inside joke she is not old enough to decode.

Closing time sinks into the deck in familiar sounds. Kick boards stacked. Water settling. Locker room chatter echoing down the hallway.

Maren presses the last kickboard into place using her hip. Reese steps up beside her, helping without a word.

Maren brushes her hair back with her good hand. “Are you heading home?”

It is simple. It is not simple at all.

Reese hesitates. This time the pause is not fear or caution. It is something hopeful.

“Not if you do not want me to.”

The answer blooms in Maren before she even speaks.

“Stay.”

The word leaves her gently, without apology or nerves. It feels like opening a door she has waited years to unlock.

Reese’s smile is small and stunned. Beautiful in its sincerity.

Somewhere down the hall, Rowan laughs at something in the locker room. Overhead, the lights hum in their steady rhythm.

Maren looks at the fresh signature on her sling. Reese looks at her like she is seeing her clearly for the first time all over again.

The space between them settles into a new truth.

And the world shifts toward everything still waiting for them.

28

The Quiet Part

Maren reaches over and turns the radio down as her tires crunch over the gravel. The frost has settled hard this week, and somehow, even the sound of driving feels sharper, like the cold has its own register. The heater is pushed high, but her shoulder still throbs. Cold is always the thing that wakes it up. She glances into the back seat just to be sure she remembered her jacket.

She parks beside the empty bath house and steps out. Down the beach, a ranger is staking in the orange snow fencing, the signs warning people off the shelf ice. Maren opens her back door and pulls out her jacket, easing it on to keep from irritating her shoulder. She laughs quietly at herself. She used to be the person who swore December didn’t touch her, wandering around town in shorts and a hoodie like she was immune to winter. Today she is in three layers, and the wind still finds its way in, sharp as a reminder that morning comes with teeth now.

She starts down the familiar path. The dune grass rattles, half frozen, whispering along the sand. The lake is calm, flat as a pane of glass, the early light too thin to catch on its surface. It looks muted, settling into its winter quiet, the kind of stillness that feels like holding its breath.

At the bottom of the path, she sees Reese on their driftwood log, tucked into her jacket, worn beanie, and mismatched mittens. Maren smells the coffee before she reaches her. Two steaming cups sit beside her, both stamped with the Red Cup logo.

“Well look at this. The one and only Reese Callahan beat me here. And with coffee,” Maren calls.

“You thought you knew all my tricks, didn’t you,” Reese says with a giggle. “I’m capable of being on time. Heck, even early. But don’t get used to it.”

Maren lowers herself onto the log next to Reese, the wood cold even through her layers. Their knees brush as she settles in, familiar enough now that neither one of them shifts away. Reese passes her the coffee without looking, like this is something she has practiced. Maren looks down at her cup, seeing the familiar script with her name written and the little heart at the end. She shakes her head; some things really don’t ever change.

The sky is only just beginning to lighten. A thin wash of pale yellow presses at the edge of the horizon, more suggestion than sunrise. Steam curls from their cups and drifts between them, fading as quickly as it forms in the sharp air.

“Colder than I thought it would be,” Maren murmurs as she pulls her coat tight around herself.

Reese takes a slow sip. “I like it like this. The lake gets honest when it’s cold.”

Maren lets out a quiet laugh. “Honest, you say? Are you ready to talk about that shark yet?”

They both laugh before falling into soft, easy silence. Reese’s shoulder brushes hers every time she breathes, a steady rhythm that Maren finds herself leaning toward without thinking. Down the beach, the ranger’s hammer thuds once, then again, then stops. The sound carries across the frozen air like it has nowhere else to go.