Him.
Not in the dramatic, fairy-tale way Tessa kept teasing me about. Just… him.
The more I replayed everything, the more it lined up too neatly. He’d been at the fire. He had the access, the resources, the reach. And whoever sent those things knew my life. Knew the difference between thoughtful and performative.
And that irritated me, because he shouldn’t have fit anywhere in my world. And I knew I didn’t dare fit into his. I tried to talk myself out of it. He had a whole career. Cameras in his face daily. Women practically diving in front of him. Why would he be checking for me? Remembering my schedule? My injuries? My damn bagel order?
It sounded ridiculous.
Until it didn’t.
And the truth I didn't want to say out loud sank in deep… if it was him, I wouldn't even mind. That realization made me feel slightly giddy.
I slid deeper into the water, trying and failing to escape my own thoughts. Every time I blinked, he was there. Broad shoulders. Deep bronze skin catching light like it had its own shine. Beard framing thick lips that stayed in an arrogant smirk. He was exactly who he thought he was, what the blogs said about him if you paid enough attention. His commanding aura was why a whole crowd moved for him at the fire without a second thought. They were afraid of him. Afraid of what he could do with his platform.
He looked menacing.
But I knew better, and I didn’t give a damn. Who he was didn’t change the job.
I finally climbed out of the tub before I drowned in all that thinking. I lotioned up, tied my hair, and tugged on a T-shirt without looking. When thefabric settled over my stomach, I caught sight of the front—his number, his face. The oversized fan tee I always claimed was just comfortable.
I stared at it, a laugh slipping out of me before I could stop it.
I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Whatever was happening had already slipped past every wall I’d built. I wasn’t imagining it. I wasn’t spiraling. Something—or someone—had already gotten in.
Two weeks on the road felt like two years. Back-to-back games, flights, hotels, and press conferences all blurred together. I was still hooping, still producing, but my head wasn’t locked in the way it usually was. My body did the work, automatic at this point, but my mind was somewhere else. My mind was with her.
Road games always drained me, but this time it felt different. I wasn’t just tired from flights and practices, I was restless. I’d built a rhythm around her without meaning to. And being gone this long knocked me off it. I didn’t like that shit one bit.
Being gone fucked me up. Some nights, I just searched the hashtag—#FireAndFineShyt—and sat there watching the same clips over again like a fool. I knew it sounded crazy. I knew if it was anybody else, I’d clown them. But it wasn’t obsession for obsession’s sake. It was me making sure she was good. It was my attempt at not rushing what I couldn’t afford to fuck up. I’d already lost one woman who meant everything. I wasn’t about to risk another.
But somewhere in those two weeks, something in me started cooling off, too.
Not on her. Never.
On what I was doing. Yeah.
I’d slowed up on the gifts. Slowed up on pulling up to her spot. I’d slowed up on the breadcrumbs. It wasn’t fear. It was clarity. Cassie was still out there, and until she was caught, I couldn’t drag Halo into this mess, even unintentionally. I’d already done enough by even putting her on Cassie’s radar.
By the time we landed back home, I wasn’t thinking about sleep or recovery. I damn sure wasn’t thinking about the next game. My mind was right back where it always went:
Her.My Halo. My Angel in disguise.
As soon as I got in the car, Langston sent me a video from her derby match. That shit…did something to me. Halo flying down the rink, aggressive and fearless, checking women twice her size like they were nothing. I’d known she was strong but watching her like that had me grinning like a fool.
I watched the fall happen and held my breath. Her skate broke, and she hit the floor hard as hell. Tension coiled in my gut, bunching my shoulders. It didn’t matter that it was a sport. It didn’t matter that she was used to taking hits. That shit bothered me at my core. Thoughts that didn’t even make sense flashed. Like tearing up a floor for fucking hurting her.
Nigga huh?
“Swing me by Angel’s place.”
Security and I had come up with that as a name for her in case some shit popped up. Her identity staying private was important to me because it was important to her. She didn’t even need to tell me that.
“She good. She got right back up, pissed,” Langston said, shaking his head. I appreciated him already knowing where my mind went and clearing it up.
“I know, but I wanna see for myself,” I muttered, still seeing red watching it.
Langston’s eyes met mine, and I think he thought I’d change my mind, but I had no intentions of doing that. I glared back at him, waiting for him to put this bitch in drive. It was simple.
