Page 114 of The Assist
It’s real.
“Getting comfortable, are we?” I tease, nudging his knee with mine.
He leans in, his voice that familiar low and rough tone that undoes me. “With you? Always.”
Heat blooms under my skin, spreading from my cheeks to the tips of my toes. God, how did I get so lucky?
We drift after that, the conversation turning lazy and soft with plans for his next away game, me promising to stock up on his favourite cereal, and him pretending to be horrified that I don’t own a coffee machine.
Every now and then, his fingers find mine under the blanket, just a quiet brush of skin on skin that saysI’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
When the creditsroll and the apartment falls quiet except for the hum of the heating kicking on, my phone buzzes against the coffee table.
I groan and reach for it, expecting it to be Sophie sending some ridiculous meme.
But the name on the screen makes my stomach lurch.
Coach Bentley.
Frowning, I swipe to open it.
Coach Bentley: Please attend a meeting tomorrow morning at 10am. Myself and Team Manager Mike will be present.
Before I can even process what that means, Dylan’s phone buzzes too.
I watch him stiffen slightly as he checks it, his easy, sleepy grin fading. He lifts his head and meets my eyes across the couch, tension snapping between us like a live wire. “You got one too?” he asks, voice low.
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. “What do you think it’s about?” I ask, already knowing. Alreadyfearing.He doesn’t answer right away.
Just reaches for me, pulling me into his side and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “We’ll deal with it,” he says quietly. “Whatever it is.” But his arms tighten around me like he’s bracing for a storm.
And somewhere deep inside, I feel it too, the first crack in the world we’ve been trying so hard to protect.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
DYLAN
The smell of old coffee and cheap aftershave overwhelms me when I enter the meeting room. Coach is already seated, arms crossed, and his jaw tight. I can see the tick of his muscle from across the room. Mike’s beside him with that bland, unreadable expression that never bodes well.
I nod a greeting, trying to play it cool. “Morning.”
Mike gestures to the seat across from them. “Have a seat, Dylan.”
As I lower my body into the chair it creaks under my weight, and the silence feels like a noose tightening around my neck. My stomach knots and an overwhelming sick feeling settles there. I haven’t felt this level of dread since I dislocated my shoulder and knew something was badly wrong.
Jonno’s not here, which somehow makes it worse. I kinda think he’d be more understanding, maybe even onourside.
“We’re going to get straight to the point,” Mike says, sliding a folder across the table. “Take a look.”
I flip it open. Inside is a printout of a blurry but unmistakable photo.
It’s Mia and me at the seaside. We’re standing really close. She’s laughing, my hand’s brushing her hip. The nextimage shows us kissing, slightly turned away but very clearly not just teammates having a day out. It’s intimate and if it was in different circumstances, I’d love the photo. It captures everything I feel for Mia. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to crack them wide open.
Mike keeps talking. “That photo was posted on a fan blog alongside you posing for a photo. A passerby must’ve snapped it while you were taking that photo with the kid.”
“Fuck.” I exhale, gripping the edge of the table. “I didn’t think…I wasn’t hiding anything that day.”
“No,” Coach cuts in, his voice hard. “You weren’t.”
