Page 3 of Trade It All

She curls forward, pressing her hands to her face as sobs tear out of her chest.

I hesitate in the doorway. Coach. Employee. This is a line.

But she’s shaking so hard the bed moves beneath her. Instinct wins. It always does.

I sit beside her and pull her gently against me. Her arms wrap around my middle like she’s been waiting for it. Her face presses against my chest.

And she cries. Minutes pass. Then more. Eventually, the sobs quiet. Her breathing slows. She falls asleep against me. I stay there longer than I should. Just holding her.

Morning sunlight filters through the blinds when I step into the kitchen. I’m halfway through making coffee when I hear quiet footsteps behind me. Maddie stands in the doorway of the kitchen. She looks better than she did last night. But not by much.

“Morning,” she says softly.

“Morning.”

For a moment neither of us speaks. Then she walks toward me.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do.” She stops in front of me. Close. Closer than she should be.

Her eyes flick down to my mouth. And before I realize what she’s doing, she leans up. Her lips almost touch mine. I catch her gently by the shoulders before they do.

“Maddie.” She freezes. Reality rushes back into her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers quickly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” But I still step back. “We can’t.”

Her brow creases. “Why?”

“Because you work for me.” The words taste bitter. “You’re staff. I’m the coach.”

Understanding slowly settles across her face. She nods once. “Right.”

A few minutes later she grabs her phone. “I called an Uber. I’ll see you at the arena.”

I walk her to the door. Then she’s gone.

Later that afternoon, when I go to straighten up the spare room, something small catches my eye. A black hair tie sits on the nightstand. I pick it up. Turn it between my fingers. I should throw it away. Instead, I slide it around my wrist. Then I pull my watch back over it. Hidden. Where no one will see it. Where it will stay. Because some lines you don’t cross.

Chapter 1

Maddie

Theconcreteiscoldbeneath my knees. I barely feel it. My hands are already moving. Blood. There’s so much blood.

“Luka!”

My voice cracks across the empty parking lot outside the arena. The night feels wrong. Too quiet. Too still. Luka lies on the pavement in front of me, his body twisted at an angle that makes my stomach lurch.

“Hey—hey—Luka, look at me.” I drop beside him, pressing my hands against the side of his head. Warm. Wet. My palms slide.

“No… no, no…”

The blood keeps coming. I shove my hands harder against the wound, trying to remember the basic emergency training the team made all staff take at the beginning of the season. Pressure. You apply pressure. I press harder. It pours through my fingers anyway.