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When it came to relationships, that approach wasn’t even on my mind.

“See? You know I’m right.” She laughed. “What I’m trying to say is that you owe Theo the same courtesy. Yes, those conversations will hurt, but you can’t escape that. The reality is that you and Theo are probably more on the same page about this than you think, but you owe him the chance to have that conversation. And if you aren’t? If you do break up? You’ll survive, Rho. It’ll hurt, it’ll suck, I might have to go all Wiley E. Coyote on his ass, but you’ll survive, and you’ll grow from it.”

I repeated that last sentence in my head to make sure I’d heard her right.

“Did you just threaten him?” I demanded.

“I did. I’d just be fulfilling a promise,” she retorted and changed the subject. “But arguing with yourself and worrying about what might happen if you have that conversation won’t help.”

I sank farther into my chair. Unfortunately, neither would sitting in my office pretending like I had things to keep me occupied.

“I hate you,” I mumbled.

“Not as much as I hate you,” she teased, and I grinned slightly.

Before I could respond, a knock made my gaze snap toward the door. I expected to see Theo. Instead, Dean Wirtz stood there with his hands in his pockets and an easy smile. I kept my face carefully composed. There were very few reasons for the dean to show up at my office this late.

“I need to let you go,” I said.

“Oh, sure.” She drew out the word. “I clock your ass, and you hang up on me.”

“I have an unexpected meeting I need to take,” I explained as diplomatically as possible. Under my breath and hoping the dean wouldn’t hear me, I added, “The dean is standing in my doorway, and I have to go.”

“Oh, Rho-Rho is in trouble,” Sariah sang a little too happily. I resisted rolling my eyes as I hung up and quickly got to my feet.

“Dean Wirtz,” I said. “You’re here late.”

“As are you,” he replied. “I was just showing our new coach around the building and saw your light was on.”

The new coach comment didn’t escape me.

“I’m just catching up on a few work things—my other job,” I explained and closed my laptop. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like you to meet James Peterson, our new head coach,” Wirtz began, stepping further into my office and gesturing for the man to join us. I straightened slightly as a man who couldn’t be much older than me—late thirties, early forties at most—walked in. His age surprised me, considering most career coaches were significantly older. He grinned as he crossed the room, hand extended. “James, this is Rhodes Kennedy, our interim coach.”

“It’s good to meet you finally,” James said.

“It’s good to meet you too,” I told him in earnest, shaking his hand briefly.

“I do mean that,” he continued. His tone was genuine, with none of the posturing I was used to from people in football. “I’ve poured over the film and reports from this season. What you’ve done with this team is impressive. I think there’s a real chance they could win the championship this year.”

“They’re a great group of guys.” I meant every word of it. The pride that stirred in my chest had very little to do with me and everything to do with them. They’d earned every bit of what they were becoming. Hearing someone else recognize that made me happy, especially if this was the team I was leaving him.

“I’m hoping we can sit down sometime soon,” James said. “I’d love to hear about the team and the players. I’d really love anything you’re willing to give me before I start changing things.”

The word changing felt more uncomfortable than it should’ve. Of course things would change. James would have his own systems and his own way of leading them. I’d known from the beginning that this team was only mine for one season, but hearing the transition spoken about so casually made the ending feel suddenly real.

“Yeah,” I answered slowly. “That sounds good.”

“James, will you give us a few minutes?” Wirtz interjected.

“Of course!” James said. Before he left, he looked at me and added, “I’m so excited to take over this season. And I just need you to know that I’ll be poking you with all my questions. Get ready for me to be irritating.”

This season.

The words caught me off guard, and I didn’t hear anything else he said. I managed a polite smile, but my attention shifted to Wirtz. That wasn’t what we agreed to. When I took this job, I’d been very fucking clear about my terms: I would finish the season. However far the team went, they were mine until the final whistle.

Whatever pleasant expression I’d been wearing disappeared the moment he was gone.