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Chapter Fifteen

Cole

T hree days.

That’s how long it’s been since I let Michele walk out of the training room without looking back. Since she left me standing there, heart in my throat, with no idea if she planned to ever come back. Three days of icy silences and half-glances that never land. Of pretending not to see her, even when my chest tightens just from catching the curve of her ponytail disappearing around a corner.

Three days of icy silences, empty glances, and pretending we don’t feel what we damn well know is there. She’s been avoiding me like it’s her job—turning in the other direction when she hears my voice, ducking into Parker’s office any time I step into the training room. And I’ve let her. Reminding myself that she asked for time to think. To decide if whatever this is between us is worth the risk.

But time has done nothing but feed this slow, gnawing ache in my chest. All my buried feelings of inadequacy bubble to the surface. I want to believe that she’s only scared of losing her job, but what if it's something more? I don’t have the best reputation, especially after what happened in Boise a few years ago.

I thought the locker room was empty—figured I could shower, change, and leave without the risk of seeing her again. It’s almost peaceful, the silence. My towel slung low as I dig into my bag for the tiny bag of pills, hoping not to think about her.

The air’s still damp from someone else’s steam, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and old sweat. I sit on the bench in front of my locker, towel slung low on my hips, and dig into my bag until I find the small plastic baggie. My fingers tremble as I shake a couple into my palm.

“Fuck.” I swear, popping them into my mouth. I’ve been using them a little more frequently than I expected, but I should make it through the rest of training camp. If not, I can always dig into my stash in the car.

I lean my head back against the locker and wait for the pills to take effect,but with everything that’s happening with Michele and training camp, life is slowly dragging me under the surface, and I need the pills to keep my head above water. I don’t have a problem, not like the junkies you see on television. I have everything under control and can't stop whenever I want. I just need to get through all of this, and everything will be okay.

I close my eyes and lean back against the cool metal of my locker, waiting for the numbness to settle in. But then I hear it. The soft, unmistakable squeak of sneakers on the tile as the locker room door swings open. My eyes shoot open, and there she is.

“Hello, Trouble.” She freezes the moment she hears my voice, her eyes widening in either horror or surprise. I’m not sure which one.

I sit forward, elbows on my knees. Watching her. Drinking her in. Like I’ve been dying of thirst and didn’t know it until now. She’s wearing that team hoodie she always hides in, sleeves pushed up, a clipboard tucked under her arm like armor. She turns to bolt back out the way she came.

“No, don’t leave,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “Please.”

I’m not above begging, and it seems to work because she stops, turning back around and eyeing me skeptically. I want to touch her, see if the way her skin felt under my fingers that night is the same, but I don’t. And neither does she.

“I didn’t think anyone was still here,” she murmurs, her voice low and guarded.

“Clearly.” I stand slowly, stretching tall, muscles flexing with practiced ease—not for her, not really, but I can feel her watching. Her gaze flicks down, then snaps back up before locking with mine, knowing she’s been caught. The corner of my mouth pulls up in amusement.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.” Her cheeks pink as she turns away from me, a clear sign she’s lying.

“You’ve been hiding .” I take a step forward, closing more of the distance between us. The air sharpens, tense and crackling with energy.

“I don’t owe you an explanation?—”

“The hell you don’t.” My voice echoes, low and steady, bouncing off the lockers. “You walked out like I was a mistake. Like none of it meant a damn thing. And now you won’t even look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” she snaps, stepping backward. “That’s the problem.”

The words land like a slap. I pause, letting them sink in before I move. Two steps. That’s all it takes to back her into the lockers. Not to intimidate her, but to stop her from running from me a second time.

“I tried to give you space,” I say. “I tried to be the good guy, the professional. But are you going to keep pretending this isn’t happening? That we aren’t happening? That’s what’s killing me.”

She opens her mouth, but I don’t give her a chance to deflect. I step closer to her, pressing my body against hers. I groan, burying my nose into her neck and inhaling her familiar scent. Her breath stutters, her clipboard digging into my chest as her fingers clutch tighter around it, but she doesn’t push me away.

“I know what’s at stake. You think I haven’t scoured the player handbook, looking for reasons we can’t do this? I found nothing. And even if I had…” My voice drops as I lean in, my forehead brushing hers. “I still wouldn’t care.”

I’m close enough to feel the warmth of her breath as she exhales softly. Her lashes flutter as I watch her chest rise with a shaky inhale. My hand finds her waist, tentatively at first, anchoring her in place, her body pressed flush against mine. “But ?the only thing worse than risking everything... is walking around like you never mattered to me.”

My hand lifts to the wall beside her head. I can feel her trembling. Her scent, clean skin and whatever soft perfume clings to her hoodie,pulls me closer. “You’re scared. I get it. So am I. But don’t lie to me, Michele.”

I drop my voice to a whisper. “You feel this. I know you do.”

She swallows, throat working as her eyes search mine like she’s still trying to find a reason to run. “Cole…”

“Tell me you don’t want me,” I say. “Tell me that, and I’ll let you go.”

She blinks, and her voice is barely audible. “I’m terrified.”

I exhale slowly, my thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. She leans into it—just barely—but enough to make my chest ache.

“I know,” I say, brushing my thumb along her jaw, the barest graze of skin on skin. She leans into the touch like she’s been starving for it. “So am I. But I’m still here.”

And that’s all the warning either of us gets before I kiss her. Not gently or slowly. I probably should’ve asked permission before I kissed her, but I couldn’t wait another minute to feel her lips pressed against mine.

I kiss her like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for this moment. Her clipboard clatters to the floor. Her fingers fist in the edge of my towel like she needs something to hold on to or she’ll shatter. Fear and desire and everything we were afraid to want—now burning too hot to ignore.

Her lips are soft, hungry, real , and everything I’ve been dying for since the second I met her. She’s fire in my arms. All the fear, the restraint, the tension—it ignites into something unstoppable.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know there’s no going back. But God, for the first time in days, I can breathe.