Page 67 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

“Someone got in trouble at school today,” she announces, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork.

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? What happened?”

She leans in like it’s a big secret. “James tried to hide a frog in his desk. It jumped out during math, and Ms. Connors screamed soooo loud.”

I grin despite myself. “That’s pretty funny.”

Ellie nods with a grin. “It was. But he got sent to the principal’s office. I hope the frog is okay.”

I chuckle, shaking my head, and for a moment, it’s almost normal. Almost like I haven’t spent the last twenty-four hours wondering if I still have a place here.

Sam evades my looks.

I try not to let it get to me, but it does.

Dinner moves along in quiet spurts of conversation, most of it led by Ellie. Sam is polite but distant, a version of herself I don’t recognize, and by the time we’re clearing the table, the weight in my chest feels heavier than before.

How much longer am I supposed to fight for this?

Ellie hugs me tight before heading off for the night, her little voice soft against my shirt.

“I missed you.”

I close my eyes for a second, steadying myself before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I missed you too, kid.”

She scampers off, leaving me alone with Sam.

The silence stretches into a minute but it feels like an eternity.

She turns, movingtoward the sink.

“Are you going to talk to me, or are we just going to pretend none of this happened?”

Then she sighs, setting a plate in the sink before finally—finally—turning to face me.

Her expression is tired, but not angry.

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” she says quietly. “I’m new to this.”

“To what?” I ask confused.

“To dating, to being a single mom dating who’s dating, to be precise. I know I need to compromise,” she says softly. "I know I need to let go more. But it’s hard, Jake. It’s hard when the only person I’ve ever been able to count on is myself.”

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. “Is that it, or is it the fact that you never ask anyone for help, Sam? I’m not asking you to give up control. I just want to be here. I want you to let me be here and involved.”

She swallows. “It’s tough for me to be vulnerable.”

Her voice cracks just enough that it hits me deep.

I nod slowly, my chest loosening—but only a little.

“I get that. But we need to figure this out,” I say. “Because I’m not going to keep fighting to prove that I belong in your life if you continue to push me away.”

She looks down, fingers twisting together.

“If I push too hard or if I’m moving too fast, tell me. Because I don’t know how much longer I should stay if you’re not interested.”

Her breath catches, and I know she feels it—the weight of this moment— of what’s at stake.

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