Page 81 of The Last Five Yards

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Reese grins, reaching out to tug gently at the hoodie string near Maren’s collarbone. “You get bossier every season.”

Maren rolls her eyes, but her cheeks pink a little, and Reese knows she loves the teasing. She always has.

Maren moves past her into the living room, setting her mug on the coffee table as she starts gathering the blankets Reese folded earlier. Reese follows with her own cup, watching the familiar rhythm of Maren’s morning, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way she checks the clock twice in a row without thinking, the way she hums under her breath when she’s replaying a meet schedule in her head.

“Did Rowan pack her meet bag?” Maren asks, eyes narrowing with coach-mode precision.

“Define… pack,” Reese winces. “If you mean a bag explosion all over the kitchen table, then yes, she is ‘packed’”

Maren turns, leveling a look at her. The same look she gives freshmen who try to skip warm-ups. “Reese.”

“I checked the goggles at least,” Reese offers, lifting her mug defensively. “One pair, and they are more than likely hers.”

Maren shakes her head, but she’s smiling, the quiet I love you smile she never quite hides. “Go wake her up. And make sure the suit is in the bag this time.”

Reese stands up out of her chair with a sigh that is only half exaggerated. “Yes, Coach.”

Maren’s hand catches her wrist before she gets far. Reese stops, turning back. Maren stands up, sliding her fingers up the hem of Reese’s shirt, warm against her skin, grounding in a way that still hits Reese square in the chest.

“Thank you,” Maren says softly, as she leans in and gently kisses her on the cheek. “For getting up early. For all of this.”

Reese leans into the kiss. “I like taking care of you.”

Maren closes her eyes for just a moment, letting them both just exist.

The house stays quiet around them, the soft calm of their morning stretching like it always does, warm and familiar.

“Go get our kid,” Maren whispers.

Reese nods, finishing the last sip of her coffee before heading down the hall toward Rowan’s door.

Reese taps lightly on Rowan’s door with the back of her knuckles. There is no response, which is not surprising. Rowan has always been a deep sleeper on meet mornings. All nerves, all adrenaline, none of it showing until she hits the pool deck.

Reese cracks the door open.

Rowan is a tangle of blankets and limbs, one arm thrown over her face, hair everywhere. Her phone is plugged in on the nightstand, the alarm silent, turned off at some point that Reese is certain Rowan will deny.

“Kid,” Reese says quietly. “Morning.”

A muffled groan answers her.

Reese steps closer and nudges the edge of the blanket. “Rise and shine. You have a meet today. First high school meet. Big stuff.”

Another groan, longer this time. Rowan pulls the blanket over her head like she is attempting to disappear.

Reese bites back a laugh. “If you hide, I still have to tell your mother you were late. And I’m not dealing with Coach Callahan-Clarke before she finishes her coffee.”

The blanket shifts. Rowan peeks out with one eye, squinting like the room is too bright even though the curtains are closed.

“I was awake,” Rowan mumbles.

“You were not,” Reese replies. “Your alarm is off. Your hair looks like you got in a fight with a ceiling fan. And your meet bag is attempting an expressionist art piece on my kitchen table.”

Rowan pushes herself upright with a sigh that sounds entirely too dramatic for seven in the morning. “I was going to fix it.”

“Sure,” Reese says. “At some point. In theory.”

Rowan narrows her eyes, but there is no real heat behind it. “You are annoying in the mornings.”