The File

The manila folder sits on my desk like a bomb with a broken timer.

I've been staring at it for seventeen minutes. I know this because I've checked my watch eight times. The coffee next to me has gone cold. My hand hasn't moved toward the folder.

Open it, I tell myself. It's just a resume. You've reviewed dozens of coaching candidates.

But the name on the tab isn't just any candidate.

Jamie Collins.

Eight years since I've seen those two words together. Eight years since I deleted his contact, burned the photos, moved his boxes to the curb while my sister held me as I sobbed.

Eight years since a text message ended everything.

"I can't do this. Don't contact me."

No explanation. No phone call. No chance to ask why.

One day we were picking out kitchen tiles for a house we hadn't bought yet, arguing over baby names that wouldn't matter for years. The next, he was gone. Vanished. Like I'd imagined all of it.

I didn't imagine it.

My phone buzzes. It's Councilman Richards.

"Claire, did you get the Collins file? Athletic board wants to move fast on this. The guy's a hometown hero, played ten years in the NFL, won a Super Bowl. Having him coach the high school team would be huge for the program."

"I got it."

"Great. Interview's scheduled for Thursday. You'll be leading it since you're over the athletic committee."

My pen slipped off the desk. "I'm sorry, I'll be what?"

"Leading the interview. School board protocol, remember? Athletic committee chair handles coaching hires."

Right. The position I fought for. The responsibility I wanted.

"Richards, I need to..." I stop myself.

Need to what? Tell him I can't do my job because my ex-boyfriend is applying? Tell him I've spent eight years rebuilding myself from the wreckage Jamie Collins left behind, and now I'm supposed to sit across from him and pretend I'm a professional?

I am a professional.

"Thursday," I say. "I'll be ready."

I hang up and finally open the folder.

His face stares back at me from the headshot.

He looks different. Older. The boyish softness is gone, replaced by hard-earned lines around his eyes and a leaner face. His hair is shorter. There's a scar above his left eyebrow that wasn't there before.

But his eyes are the same. Dark brown, almost black. I remembered exactly how they'd looked at me once, like nothing else in the room registered.

I hadn't earned a backward glance when he walked away.

My hand trembled. I flipped the photo face-down and read the resume instead.

Ten years as NFL quarterback. Three Pro Bowl selections. Super Bowl LIV champion. Career ended 2024 due to shoulder injury. Completed coaching certification at USC. Assistant coaching experience at...

It goes on. Impressive credentials. Exactly what our struggling football program needs.

The school board will want to hire him. He's the golden boy who made it out of this small town and actually succeeded. Parents will love it. The athletic department will love it. The kids will worship him.

And I'll have to work with him.

My phone buzzes again. Owen.

"Aunt Claire! Did you hear? Jamie Collins is trying to coach at the high school! THE Jamie Collins! Can you believe it?!"

My nephew. Sixteen. Star of the junior varsity team. The only reason I attend football games anymore.

I type back: "I heard. We'll talk at dinner."

"This is HUGE. He's literally my hero. I've watched every highlight reel like a million times."

Of course he has.

I close the folder and put it in my bag. I have work to do, budget meetings, curriculum reviews, the thousand small tasks that keep a school district running. I don't have time to unravel over a man who forgot I existed.

But as I walk to my car, I can still feel the weight of that photo in my bag.

That scar above his eyebrow I'd never seen before.

The man who destroyed me is coming home.

And somehow, I have to sit across a table from him and keep my voice level.