Page 114 of Reach Around

Brogan grins, the first real grin since he walked in. “Good to know.”

And then he’s quiet again, the moment stretching between us like a held breath.

“You really mean that, don’t you?” he says, voice full of awe.

“I do.”

He takes my hand, threading our fingers together. “You’re the only thing I’m sure about right now, Jojo.”

That nickname. God. It’s like hearing my own name spoken in a different language—one that means more, says more.

I squeeze his hand. “Then you’re doing better than most.”

He exhales slowly, and for the first time, I see the weight of years start to lift from his shoulders. He’s not the same boy chasing a dream that was never his.

He’s the man who just claimed a new one.

And maybe… maybe he finally knows it’s okay that the dream is me.

I look down at our linked hands, the rough pad of his thumb gliding slowly over my wrist. It’s steady. Reassuring. And also kind of unfair, how even his hands feel like home.

“I meant what I said,” Brogan says, his voice low and serious. “I don’t care if people think I’m crazy for quitting. Or if the team razzes me. Or if Bennett builds a bonfire out of my gear. I just want to be happy. Really happy. Not the ‘smile for the camera’ kind of happy.”

I nod slowly. “And the Mega Mites make you happy?”

“They do,” he says. “Even little Tommy, who wiped out seventeen times in five minutes and tried to tape his gloves to his stick. I look at those kids and see a chance to help them fall in love with the game the right way. With joy, not pressure. Not expectations.”

I blink away the sting behind my eyes. “God, that’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. Emotionally. Not just…” I wave at his face. “You know.”

He grins, cocky. “I mean, feel free to keep complimenting my face. I work hard on it.”

I snort, and it turns into a giggle that won’t quit. And for a second, it’s just the two of us laughing like idiots on my bed—no injuries, no secrets, no looming expectations. Just us.

When I finally catch my breath, I ask, “So, what’s next?”

He leans back and stretches one arm over the back of the pillows. “I talk to Duff. Let him know where my head’s at. I finish the season out strong. Maybe I talk to Pru about coaching. I keep working with the Mites. I look into training certifications.”

“And me?” I ask, trying to sound casual, even though my whole soul is holding its breath.

He turns to me fully, those stormy hazel eyes softening in a way that makes my stomach flip. “You,” he says, brushing a finger down my cheek, “are the part I’m most sure about.”

My chest goes tight. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I have it on good authority that I’m quite the emotional experience.”

I swat him with a throw pillow. “You’re anexperiencealright.”

We fall quiet for a beat. Comfortable. The kind of silence that speaks louder than words.

“Hey,” I say. “Wanna do something stupid?”

His brow arches. “Define stupid.”

“We drive to The Rock and paint ‘Coach Brogan rules’ on it in obnoxious neon colors.”

He laughs. “Are you allowed to climb anything with a busted ankle?”

“Nope,” I say. “But you are.”

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