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But wasn’t that what I’d always done with every person who’d made me feel like wanting them was the mistake?

My phone buzzed. Patty checking in. Then Haley. I silenced it.

“He’s in the locker room right now,” Crim said quietly, “convinced you’re going to walk away. That tonight proved you should.”

“I don’t know what to say to him,” I said.

“I think you know what to say.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You always do.”

After he left, I stood in the hallway for a long time. Laughter and celebration spilled from the family lounge not far away. In thirty feet, I could be out the exit.

I could send him a text later, something casual that gave us both an out.

At first, my feet wouldn’t move toward either option. And then, they did. I walked to the locker room, finding the door open. Brashe wasn’t inside. Had he left already?

Lost and unsure what to do, I left through the side exit.

Most of the fans had gone. Only staff and family remained inside, celebrating or doing whatever they did after games.

My car sat three rows back. I walked slowly, tugging the hoodie tight against the cold.

“Ellie.”

I spun around.

Brashe stood a short distance away, wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, and an unzipped team jacket. His hair was still damp from the shower. He looked wrecked. Exhausted. And beautiful enough to make my lungs ache.

“Hi,” I said, because my brain had given up on sophisticated vocabulary.

We stood under the security lights. Car engines rumbled in the distance and voices echoed from the arena. But here and for now, it was just us.

“You left,” he said.

“I looked for you but couldn’t find you. I decided to go home.”

His gaze fell to the ground. “I get it.”

Silence stretched between us.

I pulled at the hoodie hem. “You played⁠—”

“Like shit. I know.”

“I was going to say nervous.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not.”

A car passed, headlights sweeping over us. I squinted against the glare. When it had left the lot, I found him closer. Near enough that I could read the exhaustion in his eyes and the tight set of his shoulders.

I shoved my hands into the hoodie pockets so I wouldn’t reach for him. We’d been so careful about this during treatment, only touching when we had a reason. Now there was no reason except wanting to, and that felt more dangerous than anything we’d done in the pool.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I do. You came to watch me play. I didn’t show up. I had one thing to prove, and I couldn’t do it.”