Page 10 of Hometown Touchdown
I let out a long breath and close my eyes.
Cedar Falls isn’t big. I’ll see her again, probably sooner than I want to. That’s just how this town works. I could turn a corner and she could be there, standing in line at the coffee shop or waving to someone across Main Street.
But I’m not letting her twist me up like she used to.
I’ve got too much on my plate. Loving her once nearly wrecked me. I won’t make the mistake of handing her the pieces just so she can walk away with them again.
I’ve got a football program to run. Kids who look to me to lead. A career I’ve worked damn hard to rebuild after everything else in my life shifted. That’s what I’ve built since she left—something solid. Something that doesn’t crumble just because she’s back in town with glossy hair and regrets she won’t say out loud.
So let her keep whatever polished version of herself she found in Seattle. Let her smile like nothing happened and act like we’re strangers. That’s fine.
I turn over, punch my pillow once, and close my eyes. But it’s no use. Because even after everything—even after years of silence and all the reasons I should dislike her—I can still see her eyes. And they still look exactly the same.
Chapter five
Brynn
Afterthismorning’semotionalmess from trying to recover from seeing Knox last night, I need caffeine and a familiar face with the same urgency I need oxygen.
The bell over the door jingles, cheerful and familiar, and the scent of espresso and cinnamon rolls hits me square in the chest as I step into Cedar Perk.
Cedar Falls might be small, nosy, and entirely too informed about my love life or the recent lack thereof, but this coffee shop? It’s a sanctuary. Warm and familiar, with air that practically sparkles from the steady drip of caffeine and comfort.
Even after everything that went down last night, I feel lighter. A little fragile, but almost okay. Steady enough to pretend I’m not one emotional jostle away from falling apart.
I stayed at Gordy’s long after Knox stormed out—dripping wet, broody, and gorgeous in that aggravating way he pulls off so effortlessly. Kinsey handed me a whiskey and withheld the sympathy, which, honestly, was exactly what I needed. Nothing like being beer-soaked and insulted to remind you that you’re still breathing.
My heels tap a steady rhythm on the vintage tile as I make my way to the counter, feeling the faintest flicker of myself again.
From behind the espresso machine, a voice floats out, equal parts sass and sunshine. “Well, well. If it isn’t our very own drama queen, freshly steeped in scandal.”
I grin before I even see him. “Good morning, Levi.”
He steps out with his arms spread wide, like we’re in the middle of a soap opera reunion. Levi has owned Cedar Perk since I was a senior in high school. He quickly became a second dad to Kate, Kinsey and I, even if he was only seven years older than us. “You’ve been back what, twenty-four hours? And you’ve already resurrected the town Facebook page. That’s impressive.”
We hug, and something in me settles just a little.
“I can’t decide if I’m flattered or horrified,” I say.
“Oh, you should be horrified. Definitely horrified. Pictures and videos are already making the rounds.” He flicks on the grinder, tossing me a look over his shoulder. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please. Double mocha. And do you have that apple crumb cake I love?”
“For you? Always.” He glances toward the pastry case. “Are you eating your feelings or celebrating your triumphant return?”
“Why not both?” I ask, pulling out my phone.
And there it is on the town Facebook page—already waiting for me. A grainy, overly zoomed-in photo of Knox, beer-soaked andmid-glare, storming out of Gordy’s like a linebacker who lost his shampoo endorsement deal.
The caption reads:POOR COACH.
I blink at the screen, incredulous. “Poor Coach? I’m the one who got verbally suplexed with a side of nostalgia and beer spray.”
Levi slides my coffee across the counter, barely containing his laugh. “Honey, he’s the high school football coach. During football season? He’s basically royalty. Might as well be the Pope.”
I groan and take my drink like it’s the antidote to small-town drama. “Do you think anyone would notice if I disappeared into thin air?”
“Yes,” he deadpans. “And they’d livestream the fog you left behind.”
