Page 66 of Off-Limits as Puck

She’s right. I’ve mapped out every possible route through the building that minimizes the chance of seeing him. It’s exhausting, this careful choreography of avoidance.

“Did something happen?” Her voice goes gentle. “After your father’s visit? After Hendrix’s fight?”

Everything happened. Everything fell apart.

“I transferred him,” I say instead. “Like you suggested. Clean break. Professional boundaries restored.”

“And yet you’re acting like someone died.”

Someone did. The version of me who could pretend this was manageable. Who could sit in therapy sessions and maintain distance. Who could walk away from Reed Hendrix and mean it.

My phone buzzes. Jake, again.

Jake:Still no word about dinner? Starting to think you’re ghosting me.

I should respond. Should go to dinner, let him kiss megoodnight, try to build something normal from the ashes of my disaster. Instead, I delete the text.

“Okay, that’s it.” Maddy stands. “What’s really going on? And don’t say nothing because you just deleted a text from Nice Safe Jake without even reading it.”

“Maybe I don’t want nice and safe.”

“No shit. You want complicated and destructive wearing number seventeen.” She crosses her arms. “The question is what you’re going to do about it.”

“Nothing. I’m doing nothing. I transferred him, I’m maintaining distance, I’m being the professional my father expects.”

“Your father’s an ass.”

“Maddy!”

“What? He is. I’ve worked with him for three years. Brilliant coach, terrible human. And the way he talks to you...” She shakes her head. “That’s not love, honey. That’s control.”

“He wants what’s best for me.”

“He wants what’s best for him. There’s a difference.”

My office phone rings before I can argue. My father’s extension.

“Speak of the devil,” Maddy mutters.

I answer with professional calm I don’t feel. “Dr. Clark.”

“My office. Now.” He hangs up without waiting for confirmation.

“Sounds friendly,” Maddy observes.

“I should go.”

“Chelsea.” She catches my arm as I pass. “Whatever’s about to happen, remember you’re not alone. Despite your best efforts to push everyone away.”

I want to hug her. Want to confess everything—the midnight visit, the kitchen wall, the way I can still feel Reed’s hands on me.Instead, I straighten my blazer and prepare for another round with Chris Clark.

His office is a shrine to success—trophies, photos with legends, proof that winning matters more than anything. He’s standing behind his desk like a general preparing for war.

“Sit.”

I remain standing. “What’s this about?”

“The press event Thursday. You’ll be presenting.”

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