"There." His baritone voice was closer than she expected. "Now I can steal your flags."

She turned.

He was still close.

"Try."

His eyebrows lifted.

"You sure?" He stepped back and held the ball out to her. "Quarterback drill. You take the snap. I rush. You move before I reach you."

The words settled over her skin. Move. Her hand tightened on the ball.

She remembered being too scared to move.

"No bubble wrap face."

His jaw closed.

Good.

She was not doing fragile today.

She was not giving Bianca that. Or Steve. Or her own stupid nerves.

"I’m serious," she said. "If you ask if I’m sure again, let’s stop."

Zac stared at her for a long second.

Then he nodded.

"Fine." His voice dropped into something lower, rougher. "Eyes up. When pressure comes, move first. Don’t wait for it to touch you."

Her chest tightened.

"Move where?"

"Open space."

"That is vague."

"You’ll feel it."

"I hate athlete nonsense."

"You are an athlete."

"I’m a cheerleader."

"That’s an athlete."

He said it immediately. Roxie blinked. Most people wouldn’t put cheer leading as athlete.

He moved a few yards away and crouched slightly.

Even when he was holding back, Zac looked different when he came at her. Fast. Focused. Body lined up with purpose.

Roxie held the ball near her chest.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No."

"Go."

He rushed.

Slow at first.

Her feet stuck.

Annoying.

Zac stopped before he reached her.

"Again."

She did not know how many times they did it, but she was going to get it right.

She slipped past him and ran.

For one bright second, she was clear.

Then Zac caught her flag.

The tug spun her off balance.

Roxie grabbed the front of his shirt.

Zac caught her at the waist.

They stopped hard, breathing close.

Neither of them moved.

Roxie’s heart pounded so loudly she was pretty sure the booster club could hear it from home.

Zac looked down at her.

"You moved," he said.

His voice had gone dark and rough. Like the words came from somewhere he did not usually let out in public.

Roxie swallowed. "You pulled my flag."

"That’s the game."

"You cheated."

"I won."

"You’re proud of beating a beginner?"

"I’m proud you moved."

That ruined her comeback.

Zac’s eyes stayed on hers, and suddenly the whole field felt too open and too private at the same time.

Roxie loosened her grip on his shirt but did not step back.

There was something there now. Something from Friday night. Something from the window. From the corner. From him seeing her at her worst and still looking at her like she was not less.

"I saw you freeze," he said quietly. "I don’t want that to be the only thing your body remembers."

Roxie’s throat tightened.

She hated it.

She loved it.

She wanted to shove him and maybe hug him and maybe scream at him for saying the exact thing she had been trying not to think about.

So she did what she did best.

She got difficult.

"Then coach better."

Zac’s mouth curved, but his eyes stayed intense.

"Yes, Captain."

The title hit differently that time.

His hand flexed once at her waist before he let go.

Roxie missed it instantly, which was extremely inconvenient.

She stepped back and pointed at the flag in his hand. "Again."

Zac tilted his head. "Again?"

"Yes."

He rushed.

This time Roxie moved before he reached her.

One step back, quick shift left, then right.

She slipped past him clean enough that satisfaction shot through her chest.

"Ha," she said, turning.

Zac reached for her flag and missed.

Roxie grinned. "Too slow, Prescott."

His eyebrows lifted. "That was one rep."

"It was a winning rep."

"It was decent."

Roxie stopped.

"Decent?"

Zac’s mouth twitched. "You heard me."

She stared at him.

Then she handed him the ball. "You’re going to regret that."

Before he could answer, she lunged.

Zac barely had time to laugh before Roxie grabbed at his waist and drove into him with all the graceful aggression of someone who had decided dignity was optional.

"Roxie—"

He stumbled backward.

His cleat caught in the grass.

Then they both went down.

Hard enough to make Roxie squeal and Zac let out a shocked laugh as they hit the field in a tangled mess of limbs, football bouncing uselessly away across the grass.

For one second, Roxie only registered sky.

Then warmth.

Then the fact that she was half on top of Zac, one hand braced on his chest, one knee trapped beside his hip, her hair falling into both their faces.

Zac stared up at her.

Roxie stared back.

His breathing was rough from practice and laughing.

So was hers.

"You tackled me," he said.

There was a smile in his voice, but it had gone lower now.

Darker.

Roxie pushed hair out of her face. "You were being smug."

"I was coaching."

"You were annoying."

"That doesn’t usually end in assault."

"It does if I’m involved."

His hand settled at her waist automatically, steadying her like he thought she might slip again.

That made her go still.

Zac felt it.

His fingers flexed once against her side.

Neither of them moved.

The field had gone quiet in that weird way it did when the world was still making noise somewhere far off, but nothing close to you seemed real anymore.

Roxie could feel his chest rising under her palm.

Could feel how close their faces were.

Could feel that if she moved even a little, she would slide against him.

Her pulse started acting stupid.

Zac’s eyes dropped to her mouth and came back up.

"You going to get off me, Captain?" he asked.

His voice was rough enough to make her stomach flip.

Roxie lifted an eyebrow even though her face felt hot. "Do you want me to?"

That made something change in his expression.

Fast.

"Yes," he said.

His hand stayed on her waist.

The answer should have made the moment funny again.

It didn’t.

Because his voice was too low, and her hand was still pressed to his chest, and the field around them felt too quiet for a place that had been loud ten minutes ago.

Zac looked at her mouth once.

Only once.

But Roxie felt it everywhere.

Then he shut his eyes for half a second, like he was forcing himself back into his body.

"Rox," he said, rougher now.

She swallowed. "Yeah."

"You should get up."

The words landed soft, but serious.

Roxie stood and brushed grass from her shorts because her hands needed a job.

Zac got up too.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

The football sat several feet away, abandoned in the grass.

Zac walked over, picked it up, and turned it in his hands once before looking back at her.

"You’re done," he said.

Roxie lifted her chin. "I decide when I’m done."

"You tackled me."

"You survived."

"Barely."

He tried for a smile.

It came out faint.

Roxie tried to give one back.

Hers did not do much better.

The air between them had changed too much. The tackle had started as pride, irritation, stupid competition. Now her skin still remembered his hands at her waist. Her palm still remembered his chest. His voice still sat low in her stomach.

She hated that she did not know what to do with any of it.

Zac tossed the ball lightly in his hands. "One more clean rep."

Roxie blinked. "What?"

"One clean rep," he said. "Then I drive you home."

The word home should have ruined everything. But then she looked at Zac standing on the field, still watching her like he was ready to stop the second she asked, and something in her stiffened.

No.

She was tired of every place turning into a crime scene inside her head.

Her room was hers.

Her body was hers.

Her fear did not get to own the whole map.

"Fine," she said. "One clean rep."

Zac nodded.

He walked backward into position.

Roxie held the ball near her chest and breathed in.

Her foot moved back. Her shoulders turned. She saw him coming, but she did not stare at him. She looked past him, saw the open space to his left, and moved before he reached her.

Move first.

She cut away, kept the ball high, and threw.

The ball flew cleaner than anything she had thrown all afternoon.

Zac turned and watched it land near the cone.

Then he looked back at her.

For a second, his face did something that made her chest hurt.

Pride.

Relief.

Something too personal to name out loud.

Roxie put both hands on her hips. "Obviously."

His mouth curved then.

Small.

Real.

"Obviously," he said.

That was enough.

They packed up without turning it into a performance. Zac gathered the footballs and cones while Roxie untied the flag belt from her waist. Neither of them joked about his hands fixing it earlier. Neither of them mentioned the grass stains on his shirt or the fact that her knee was damp from landing on him.

Some things were louder when ignored.

At the truck, Zac opened the passenger door.

Roxie stared at him.

He stared back. "I know you can open your door. I like acting as your slave."

Roxie rolled her eyes, but she got in.

When they pulled up in front of her house, the porch light was off.

The yard looked normal in the worst way.

Zac cut the engine.

Roxie stayed still.

Roxie looked toward the side of the house. Her window was just out of view from the truck.

Her stomach tightened, but it did not fold her in half this time.

"Okay," she said.

They got out.

The house was quiet. Claire’s car was gone. Steve’s truck was gone too, which was the only useful thing Steve had done all week.

Zac grabbed a small tool kit from behind the truck seat without telling her. She watched Zac stand under her window, fixing the thing that had failed her.

He tightened screws. Forced the bent latch back into place. Found a piece of wood in the side yard and cut it down with a small folding saw from his kit, then wedged it into the window track from inside.

Her room felt smaller with him in it.

The bed was made badly. The chair was pushed near the door. The knife was gone now, tucked away where she did not have to see it unless she needed to.

Roxie stood near the doorway while he checked the window from inside. He pushed against it once. Twice. The frame rattled but did not rise.

"No one’s opening this from outside tonight," he said.

The words moved through her slowly.

No one’s opening this.

Tonight.

Roxie walked closer and touched the edge of the window frame.

Her fingers did not shake.

She noticed that before anything else.

Zac noticed too.

Of course he did.

"You’re okay?" he asked.

"I’m okay," she said with a breath.

Zac stood beside her, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed hers.

"You don’t have to stay here tonight."

"I know."

"You can still come with me."

"I know."

His jaw tightened. "Roxie."

She turned to him.

There it was again.

The worry.

The carefulness.

But this time it did not make her feel breakable.

It made her feel like someone was standing at the edge of the field, watching in case she needed the next play.

"I can stay," she said.

He did not answer right away.

So she kept going before the silence got too heavy.

"I won’t freeze."

His eyes stayed on hers.

Her voice came out steadier than she expected. "Maybe I’ll get scared. Maybe I’ll hate every noise this stupid house makes. But I won’t freeze."

Zac’s throat moved.

"And," she added, lifting her chin because she needed at least a little attitude to survive the honesty, "you’re a call away."

His face softened in a way that almost hurt to look at.

"Always," he said.

The word was quiet.

He packed his tools slowly, like he was looking for reasons to stay. Roxie let him take his time. She did not say that out loud either.

At the door, he stopped.

"If anything feels wrong—"

"I call."

"If you hear something—"

"I call."

"If you change your mind—"

"I call."

He looked at her. "Lock the door behind me."

"Yes, Coach."

The title came out softer than she meant.

Zac heard it.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then he stepped closer and lifted one hand.

Slow.

Giving her time to move away.

She did not.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair back from her face. He tucked it behind her ear like he had done it before, like he wanted to do it again.

His hand dropped.

"Goodnight, Roxie."

Her chest tightened.

"Goodnight, Zac."

He left.

Roxie locked the door behind him.

The click sounded loud in the quiet house.

She stood there for a second, hand still on the knob, waiting for the panic to rush in.

It came close.

It circled.

It tried.

Then she looked toward the window.

The wood sat firm in the track.

The latch held.

Outside, Zac’s truck engine started.

Roxie walked to the window and looked through the glass.

He was in the driveway, headlights cutting through the dark. His truck did not move until he saw her standing there.

She lifted one hand.

So did he.

Then he backed out slowly and drove away.

The room was dark.

The window was locked.

And for the first time since Friday, Roxie closed her eyes without feeling trapped.