Page 13

Lyla

I ’m finishing up tutoring one of the mentees—whose athlete didn’t show up today—when Drake Blythe appears in the doorway of the lounge, leaning against the frame like he has all the time in the world.

That’s already a bad sign. Nothing good ever follows that look.

“Got a minute?” he asks, and for once, he actually sounds . . . not cocky.

“I’ll be back,” I tell Tina, the mentee. I sigh, standing up from the table and making my way over to Drake. “Depends. Is this about your next PR move? Because if you’re about to ask me where to buy more overpriced memorabilia to bribe LJ, I don’t have time.”

His mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smile. “No, I’m done with that. Lesson learned.” He steps into the hallway, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look, I need your help. You know LJ better than I do. What’s it gonna take to win him over?”

I blink, surprised. I wasn’t expecting him to ask. I definitely wasn’t expecting him to look like he actually wants an answer. I was ready to shut him down. Mock the attempt.

But instead, something in me softens—just enough to listen.

I glance back into the room to make sure no one’s listening to us. “You really want to know?”

“Yeah.” His voice is steady, his gaze locked on mine. “I made a list of things I can do to prove to the team that I’m not the selfish guy they think I am. But LJ’s different. He’s not a teammate—I can’t win him over by running extra drills or taking hits in practice. So . . . what works?”

I study him for a second, waiting for the usual smirk, the usual deflection. It doesn’t come.

He’s serious.

“Fine. You want the answer? Here it is. Show up. Consistently. Not just when it’s convenient for you.”

His brows pull together. “I—”

I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “LJ doesn’t care about your money.

He doesn’t care about jerseys or fancy tickets or whatever grand gesture you think will win him over.

You want to prove something? Be there when you say you will.

Listen. Pay attention. Show him that you actually care about what matters to him, not what you think should impress him.

And don’t expect it to happen overnight—he’s not going to make it easy. ”

Drake exhales, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “So, what, I just keep showing up until he stops hating me?”

I shake my head. “No, you keep showing up because that’s what a mentor does. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when he doesn’t care if you’re there or not. Even when you don’t see results right away. Because that’s what he needs—someone who stays, even when things get hard.”

He watches me for a long moment.

I wait for the argument, for the smart remark, for the easy way out.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, he nods, slow and thoughtful. “Alright,” he says. “I can do that.”

I arch a brow. “You sure? Because if that sounds like too much work, feel free to quit now. It’ll save us both some time.”

His lips twitch again, but this time, there’s something different in his expression. Less amusement, more determination.

“Nah,” he says, pushing off the doorway. “Not quitting.”

And for the first time, I think I believe him.

Which is either a really good sign—or a really dangerous one.