Page 72 of The One Night Dash
I open my mouth to deflect, to joke, to push it off. Except, I don’t. I don’t deny it. And her jaw drops like she’s been waiting for that silence.
“Oh my God. I knew it. Iknew it!”
I rub my forehead, muttering, “Briar, I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait!” she yelps, leaning closer to the camera. “Don’t you dare. You need to know—she’s at Harbor Point Festival. Right now.”
“What?” I ask.
The call doesn’t last much longer, but the tightening in my chest over it gets heavier and heavier.
I call Joel. “Where is she?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Harbor Point. Told me to head back to the city. I didn’t.”
“Good man. Keep it quiet.”
“Boss,” Joel says, “you’re insane.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, “I’m aware.”
I pocket my phone and stride straight to Coach D’s. She’s still in her blazer and heels, arms folded like she’s been expecting me.
“I may have thought I was full of shit when I told you it was a family issue,” I say, “but it turns out it was actually a vision.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Sterling, one more line of that poetic garbage, and I’ll bench you, even after that seriously epic game.”
Hours later,Harbor Point is quiet under the November dark. I stand in the yard, phone pressed to my ear, staring up at the row of windows.
She answers on the third ring, groggy. “Dash?”
“Turn on your bedroom light, sweets,” I say, exhausted and looking up at the second story, “so I don’t Spiderman my way into the wrong room.”
A pause. Then muffled laughter, like she’s trying not to wake the house. “You’re like seriously deranged.”
“Insanely determined,” I counter. My eyes never leave the row of windows, waiting. “So? Light, please. Give me a sign.”
Another pause, longer this time, like she’s weighing whether to hang up on me or play along. My stomach knots—ridiculous for a guy who just scored a hat trick—but then, finally, the soft glow of a lamp flickers on.
Second window from the left, curtains shift. And there she is, framed in pale yellow light, hair mussed, face bare, wrapped in something that looks too much like my shirt for me to think straight.
My chest tightens. She’s perfect like this—unguarded, real.
“See?” I murmur into the phone, gaze locked on hers across the dark yard. “Found you.”
She presses her lips together, shaking her head at me, but I catch the small smile she can’t quite swallow.
“I have not stayed here in this house more than a handful of times. The last was the night of my father’s funeral.”
“Yeah.” I run my hand through my hair. “Sorry, gorgeous. I wanna hear all about it. I need to talk to you about something, too.”
She walks away, not saying anything, but I hear her breathing. Then I see a door open, and she leans out and waves me in.
“You just fucked up my grand gesture.”
“I just saved you from your season ending early,” she says, then hangs up the phone.
The front door creaks just enough to make me hesitate before I slip through the hallway like I belong here. The house smells like cedar and something faintly floral.
