Page 66 of The Coach

Her voice is quiet.

“Then don’t say anything yet.”

I nod once.

She takes a deep breath, like she’s bracing herself.

And then she finally looks at me.

Her eyes are soft. Vulnerable. Scared.

She watches me carefully, like she’s gauging my reaction.

Her fingers fidget with the napkin in her lap.

“But don’t walk away from this, either,” she says softly. “Can we just at least keep an open dialogue? Be friends? Or… something?”

Something in my chest cracks open.

And for the first time since she walked in, I know exactly what to say.

I reach across the table, palm up, open. A silent gesture.

Take it. Trust me.

She hesitates for a beat, then slowly places her hand in mine.

I curl my fingers around hers, grounding myself in the warmth of her skin.

My voice is low. Steady.

“I won’t.”

For a second, everything else fades.

Soft voices, clinking glasses, a distant melody—background noise to the only thing that matters.

It’s just us.

Ivy blows out a breath, her shoulders relaxing just slightly.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

But I know one thing for sure—I’m not letting her do this alone.

Her eyes flick down to our hands, then back up to mine.

“Okay,” she whispers.

It’s not a solution.

It’s not a plan.

But it’s a start.

And right now, that’s enough.

I take a deep breath and look at the young woman across the table from me.

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