“I’m terrified,” she admits.
“Me too.”
“What if we ruin everything?”
“What if we don’t?” I lean my forehead against hers again. “What if this is the best decision we’ve ever made?”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I know that I haven’t felt this alive in years. I know that when I’m with you, I’m not just Carter Storm, quarterback. I’m just… me. And that’s enough.”
Her breath hitches. “Carter—”
“Tell me you don’t feel it too. Tell me this kiss didn’t change everything. Tell me you can walk away right now and not look back.”
Silence.
Then, so quietly I almost miss it: “I can’t.”
Relief floods through me, so intense it’s almost painful. “Then don’t.”
“But—”
I kiss her again, softer this time. A promise. A plea.
When we part, she’s crying in earnest now, and I don’t know if it’s from fear or relief or both.
“We have to be smart about this,” she says. “No one can know. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, Carter. If Mark finds out, if the press gets wind of this—”
“We’ll be careful. I promise.”
She laughs wetly. “Your promises aren’t very reassuring, Storm.”
“Fair.” I smile, brushing another tear away. “But I’m making it anyway.”
For a long moment, we just stand there, holding each other in the fluorescent glow of a parking garage, the weight of what we’ve just done settling over us.
“I should go,” she finally says, but she doesn’t move.
“Yeah.”
“Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel like taking a risk is worth it.”
My chest tightens. “It is. I promise.”
She pulls away reluctantly, and I let her go even though every instinct screams to hold on tighter.
