Page 124 of Coach's Temptation

This is about proving to them, and to myself, that I am not like them.

That I will never make Natalie feel like she has tofightfor love ever again.

I settle in the seat across from Harold, meeting his gaze directly. Martha hovers by the doorway, hands clasped like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Your daughter," I start, my voice rough with emotion, "is the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I need you both to understand exactly what that means."

Harold exhales through his nose. “And what exactly does that mean,Coach?”

I grit my teeth at the nickname. NotHunter.Notthe man who loves your daughter.JustCoach.

Martha’s lips press together. “You know she deserves more than being stuck in a small town forever.”

The words sink like a stone in my gut.

BecauseI knowwhat she’s really saying.

I'm just another thing holding her daughter back.

I lean forward, locking horns. “You know shelovesit here, right? This town? Her home?"

My glare could melt ice.

"If you both took a second to really see her here, you'd understand that. That’s why I’m not asking her to give up anything. I'd never ask her to leave Iron Ridge, because despite what she's been put through, she still loves it here.”

Harold sets his coffee down with a quiet clink. And finally, for the first time since I walked in, he really looks at me.

His sharp, assessing gaze flicks from my face to my fists, curled tight like I’m gearing up for a fight. Because I am.

Because Natalie is worth fighting for.

“What are you asking, then?”

I reach into my pocket. Pull out the small velvet box.

Martha gasps. Harold stiffens.

“I’m asking you to trust that I’m never going to let her feel alone. That I’ll fight for her, every day. Because she’s it for me. Always has been.”

Martha’s jaw firms, but there’s something in her eyes—something glassy, something breaking open.

Still, she squares her shoulders.

“If I say no…” she says, treading carefully. “…will you just steamroll ahead anyway?”

I smirk. “Absolutely. One hundred percent, ma’am.”

Harold makes a low sound, half a scoff, half something that almost sounds like a laugh. And then, without a word, he reaches across the table and takes his wife’s hand.

And fuck me. That's the first time I’ve ever seen them touch.

Martha exhales, blinking hard before disappearing into the pantry as she dabs at her eyes like a mosquito just flew in them. When she returns, she’s holding a dust-covered box and her face is all red.

“This was my mother’s china,” she says, setting it on the table. “She wanted Natalie to have it, but we just... never got around to giving it to her.”

Then, after a long pause, her fingers brush over the lid. She opens it, revealing something small, delicate.

Inside, nestled between old porcelain, is a ring.

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