Page 16 of The Embers That Remain

“I’m not a teenager,” I said, forcing a small laugh as I tried to pull the conversation somewhere lighter than the place my thoughts had taken me.

Soren only raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“That’s debatable.”

I shoved him toward the doorway before he could enjoy the satisfaction of being right, and he laughed as he stumbled into the hallway. For a moment, the sound reminded me that life outside my own head was still moving, that the world hadn’t stopped just because someone from my past had suddenly stepped back into it. He paused at the doorway and looked back at me, the humor fading from his expression.

“Just call if you need to talk, okay?”

I didn’t answer because I wasn’t sure I could make that promise without breaking it. The meeting had been scheduled for a reason, or maybe two reasons if I was willing to admit the truth. I wanted answers. I wanted to understand why she left and why after all these years I still felt like I was standing in the middle of a story that had ended without a last page.

But I also wanted to see her.

I wanted to look at Cali Walton and know whether the woman walking back into my office was the same one who had once held my heart in her hands or if I’d spent all these years holding on to a version of her that no longer existed.

And I needed to do it alone.

Not because I didn’t trust Soren, but because I wasn’t sure I could find the words with someone else there. I wasn’t sure I could sit across from her, with all those years of questions and hurt pressing against my ribs, and only talk about her son.

Eleven

Cali

Thursday came too fast. The ER had been steady all week, the kind of busy that kept us moving without tipping into chaos. The shifts that kept your mind occupied as much as necessary that you didn’t have to think too hard, but somehow, I thought about him anyway. About Lane. His name hadn’t passed my lips in years; it felt foreign there.

By the afternoon, I changed out of my scrubs into jeans and a lace blouse that looked effortless without looking careless. Why did I care? I didn’t. That was what I told myself. But some part of me still wanted to look put-together, even though I knew I meant nothing to him anymore.

My hands shook anyway as I rebraided my hair, trying to tame the copper wisps falling around my face. This wasn’t about us—this was about Jace. That was the boundary. The caution tape keeping the heartbreak contained to one small manageable area. The only reason I was stepping foot inside that building again.

The drive to Kennedy High School left my stomach twisted into knots. The faint smell of cut grass and adolescence still lingered in the air. I hadn’t walked those halls in over a decade, and somehow, my body remembered every inch of them.

The school secretary, Alicia, glanced up when I stepped inside.

“Can I help you?” Her dark copper curls barely brushed her shoulders.

“I’m here to see the football coach.” The words felt distant, as if they were coming from someone else’s mouth. I had spent years believing I would never see him again, and now I was standing in the school he apparently coached in, walking toward a meeting with him.

“Sure thing. What’s your name?” she asked with a freckled smile as she carried a stack of files over to the desk behind the counter.

“Cali Walton.”

Recognition flickered over her face, and I thought I remembered a younger version of her from high school. She had always been involved in community volunteering and choir, if I remembered correctly. We had never really been close, but she was always someone who seemed genuinely kind, which had stood out back then.

She picked up the phone, her gray-green eyes glancing toward me. “Coach? Ms. Walton’s here.” A pause.

“He says you can head to his office. Just down the hall to the right,” she said with another smile.

Of course he’d expect me to come to him. The walk through the hallway felt longer than it should have. The trophy case gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights—the scent of floor cleaner mixing with old memories. My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I searched the office doors for his name.

LANE MASSEY

Head Football Coach

The name on the plaque looked wrong and right all at once. My hand lifted slowly, hesitating before knocking.

“Come in.” His voice was deeper and rougher than it used to be, but just as recognizable.

My hand trembled as the door opened, and there he was. Lines etched faintly into his tanned skin around his eyes only intensified the green I remembered. His sandy-blond hair was longer. His shoulders filled out the polo, and I hated how easily I noticed. He was older, but there was a hardness around him now that I didn’t remember. But his eyes were the same. Those same stormy green eyes locked onto mine, and the air disappeared from the room.