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“So what do you want to do about it?”

And yep, there it was. The million dollar question.

It wasn’t that hard, actually, to answer it for himself. Harder to say it out loud.

Harder to know if he should do it.

Gavin took a deep breath. “I don’t want to live here anymore. I don’t want to do nothing anymore.”

“There you go,” Jon said, and now he did sound pleased. “What else?”

“I want . . .I want to take the job. I shouldn’t want to. I shouldn’t—”

“What do we say about shouldn’t ?” Jon interrupted.

“That this space is a place where we’re honest, regardless of anyone else or what they’d think,” Gavin repeated dutifully. He’d probably said it hundreds of times during over four years of therapy.

“The job, huh? Talk about diving right into the deep end.” Jon didn’t sound angry about that, though, or worried even, just contemplative .

“It’s what I want. You asked me what I want.” But there were caveats, too. Not just the worry about what he should do, but the whole thing with Zach.

If he took the job, how many more moments would they experience, just like the couch? He could be careful. Keep Zach scrupulously at arm’s length.

But how long would that work?

How many times would he be tempted to cross the line that he’d sworn he’d never cross again? Nevermind with a guy. A guy who’d been one of his players.

“If you want it, that’s important, Gavin,” Jon said. He didn’t need to add that Gavin hadn’t wanted anything in a long time. But then he didn’t know about the couch, either.

He wet his lips. “There’s one other . . .complication.”

They’d only talked about this once, about a year ago, when Jon had started making noise about Gavin getting out of the comfort zone he’d constructed here.

When he’d brought up dating again.

Jon had defaulted to women as an option, and Gavin shouldn’t have bothered to correct him. After all, it didn’t matter if Jon believed he was straight, because he wasn’t going to ever date again. Anything in him that might be good for someone else had died with his wife.

But he had because it suddenly had felt very important that he wasn’t straight.

“Hmmm?”

“Zach, who’s going to be the assistant coach . . .I think there was . . .I don’t know what to call it . . .but there was a . . .moment, I guess, for lack of a better word. When we were sitting on the couch together.”

It was galling how unsurprised Jon looked. “You said he grew up.”

Of course, he’d remembered what Gavin had said about Zach to begin with. One of the best—and worst—things about Jon was that his mind was a steel trap and he never forgot a goddamn thing.

“He did. He’s . . .well, it’s four years since I’ve seen him.”

“And he’s attractive.” Jon paused. “Attractive to you ?”

God, Gavin wished he’d asked an easier question. “Yes. No. It’s . . .it’s complicated. I think it was just that I hadn’t hung out with anyone in a long time, and we’d had a few beers and it was hot and late, and well . . .” He was only fucking human, okay?

He’d been convinced his libido had died with Noelle, but that wasn’t how it worked, was it? He’d been regularly jerking off again, for the last eighteen months.

That was one of the reasons Jon had brought up dating again, because they’d worked through the guilt Gavin felt imagining someone else in his head when he touched himself. He couldn’t think about Noelle—it always made him sad. Too sad to do anything about his bodily urges.

“Well?” Jon looked at him expectantly. “What are you looking for here, Gavin?”

“A reality check.”

“You mean, a reminder that he’s off-limits? Or a plausible explanation for why you had a ‘moment’ on the couch even though you’re not attracted to him?”

“You suck,” Gavin ground out .

“I think you want both.”

“If I take this job, I’m not going to touch him,” Gavin said.

“And you want me to agree with that assessment?”

Gavin nodded. He respected Jon’s opinion—after all, he’d gotten him through the worst of the grief. Helped him build his numbness and then rightly pushed him when he’d gotten too used to it. He hadn’t necessarily liked the process, but he couldn’t deny how good at this Jon was.

If Jon told him he shouldn’t—that he couldn’t— do anything with Zach, then he’d believe it.

“I don’t know him, so it’s impossible to say what the right course of action is,” Jon said.

Gavin ground his teeth together. “You don’t have to know him. You know me . You know I can’t.”

“Why? Because you wanted to believe you were dead too? You’re not. You’re coming back to life—leaning into it. Why not this too?”

“Because it’s . . .because it would be wrong. So fucking wrong.”

Jon tilted his head. “Because he’s younger than you? He’s twenty-seven and seems to have a decent head on his shoulders. Is he your direct report?”

Gavin shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter. I can’t date again. I can’t . . .I just can’t.” Gavin’s throat closed over, panic streaking through him at even the idea of it.

“You did say that. Many times,” Jon said. “Maybe it’s not that you can’t, it’s not that you shouldn’t , it’s that you’re not ready to take that step. ”

“Right, right. No.” He wouldn’t ever be ready, but maybe that was enough to keep himself in check. A necessary and vital reminder that nothing could ever happen, if he was tempted.

Jon shot him a look, and Gavin forced himself not to squirm on the stool. “Why do I sense that you’re not really agreeing with me?”

“I don’t know why you’d say that,” Gavin protested.

“Right.” Jon leaned a fraction closer to the screen. “I think this is going to be good for you. But it’s going to be a shock to your system.”

“Are you talking about Zach or the job?”

Jon looked unimpressed, like he’d figured out that Gavin had just been looking for another excuse to say Zach .

“I’m talking about rejoining the land of the living,” Jon said.

“Yeah. Right. Well . . .how about I promise not to be a stranger this time?” If he went back and took the job, well, he’d need support. Maybe that was why he’d really emailed Jon. He’d already known he wanted to take it. Why else hadn’t he been able to throw out that card Zach had left?

He’d even gotten jealous over whatever other coach they’d offer the job to next.

He should’ve realized all of these things. So much for all the work he and Jon had done on knowing himself.

He hadn’t even realized what he wanted.

“That sounds good,” Jon said.

That was the moment it hit him.

Other coaches.

Zach and Sidney Swift could’ve already offered the job to someone else. Six days later the deal could already be done .

Oh, God.

If Gavin had been looking for more proof he actually wanted this, that he wanted it badly , how terrible the realization was that he might’ve missed the chance was enough.

“Hey, I have to go,” Gavin said hurriedly. Five minutes wouldn’t change anything, but maybe if he knew, one way or the other, that feeling of being squeezed until there wasn’t any breath left in his lungs, might ease.

“Sure,” Jon said. “And email me your new schedule when you know it.” He paused. “Good luck. I think this is a great move for you, Gavin.”

“Me too. Thanks.” He signed off and the next moment he was grabbing for his phone and for the business card. Pristine, uncreased, still, because he hadn’t even had the courage to touch it.

His fingers were shaking when he dialed the number.

Zach picked up on the fifth ring. “Hey?” he asked.

“Zach, Zach ,” he said breathlessly. He sounded like a heroine in a romance novel. Gavin cleared his throat. “It’s Gavin. Gavin Blackburn.”

Zach chuckled, and frankly it was hilarious. Of course he knew who Gavin was. He’d come and tracked him down, hadn’t he?

“I admit I’m surprised to hear from you,” Zach said.

Don’t say it. Don’t say you hired someone else.

“I . . .uh . . .” Gavin cleared his throat again. “I wanted to ask if the job offer was still open.”

There was a long interminable silence .

Surely Zach could hear his heartbeat rabbiting from wherever he was.

“You . . .you want the job?” Zach sounded shocked, and frankly, that made two of them.

“Yes,” Gavin said, trying to sound as certain as he felt, deep down.

“Wow,” Zach said.

“Is it . . .is it still available?”

Zach laughed. “Swift told me I was crazy.”

“ Zach ,” Gavin pressed.

“I’ve been putting him off. For six days.

I . . .I just left Florida. Put it off forever.

Hayes finally kicked me out, told me I had to face reality.

Face whoever the coach was gonna be if it wasn’t gonna be you, and I’d just accepted that.

Landed in Portland this afternoon. Was going to go see Swift tomorrow morning. And here you call me.”

“Sounds like it worked out.” Gavin took a breath and then another. The bands over his lungs seemed to be loosening.

“Yeah, I think so,” Zach said. He sounded delighted. Surprised, maybe, but delighted.

“You left your card for a reason. You knew I’d . . .” Gavin swallowed. “You were right.”

“I think I should record you saying that,” Zach teased gently.

“Probably,” Gavin admitted. He didn’t admit he was wrong very often. “Guess uh . . .I’m going to be flying to Portland now, too.”

“Guess so.”

Gavin told himself that Zach’s smug tone was not attractive. Because he wasn’t doing this. They weren’t doing this .

“Good, uh . . .tell Swift to send me the contract. I want my lawyer to look over it.”

“Will do,” Zach said. Then the smug amusement bled into something sweeter. “I’m really glad you changed your mind.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I had even made it up, not til today,” Gavin said.

“I’m gonna remind you of that, every chance I get.”

That was fair. Gavin had almost fucked this up. But he wasn’t going to come close to making any of those same mistakes again.

“And while you’re at it, send me all the game tape you can get your hands on,” Gavin said. “Especially everything with McCoy and Jones.”

“Sure.” He could hear the smile in Zach’s voice. “Glad you’re back on board, Coach.”

“Me too,” Gavin said and knew it was true.