The quiet that settles after that feels different. Not heavy, exactly. Full.
“What happens now?” I ask before I can talk myself out of it.
Her brows knit. “You mean, like, immediately? Because immediately, I’m thinking we should probably drink some water and maybe stretch, because I am not twenty-two anymore and my hamstrings are—”
“Not what I meant,” I cut in, laughing. “I mean… with us. Tomorrow. The next day. When the storm’s over, and the town goes back to gossiping about bake sales and who’s repainting their porch.”
“Oh.” She drops her gaze to our joined hands, thumb rubbing slow circles over my knuckles. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I know what I want, though.”
My heart climbs into my throat. “What do you want?”
She lifts her eyes again, and there’s no hesitation there now. “I want you,” she says simply. “In my life. For real. Not just as the guy I almost dated once upon a time. Not just as the brother of my friend. Not just as the football star who blew back into town with a bum knee and a hero complex.”
“Hey,” I protest. “My knee is very sensitive about that description.”
She smiles, then sobers. “I want you as my partner,” she says. “My person. The one I call when the roof leaks or the car won’t start or a book breaks my heart. The one whose hand I reach for first when something good happens, or something terrible.”
The room tilts for a second. “Bailey,” I manage. “You’re going to give me a heart attack before I even get to play another season.”
Her face falls a fraction. “Too much?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Not even close. I just… I didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”
“I’ve been ready for a long time,” she murmurs. “I’ve just been scared. And tired. And busy convincing myself that wanting you was the same thing as asking for drama.”
“And now?” I ask.
“Now I’m tired of being tired,” she says, eyes fierce. “I’m tired of putting myself last. I’m tired of deciding for other people whether or not I’m worth the trouble. If you think I am, then… I want to try. Really try.”
I swallow hard. “Okay,” I say, the word rough. “Then we try.”
She searches my face. “You’re sure? This isn’t just storm brain talking?”
“Look at me,” I say.
She does.
“You think one night is enough to flip some switch I haven’t been able to shut off for years?” I ask quietly. “I don’t suddenly love you because we slept together, Bailey. I already did. This just… finally matches the reality to the feeling.”
Her inhale is sharp, shaky. “You love me,” she repeats, like she’s testing the words for cracks.
“I do,” I say. “I’m not expecting you to chuck confetti and say it back right now. You can take your time. But I need you to know I’m not in this halfway.”
She stares at me, eyes swimming, chest rising and falling quickly. For a second, I think I’ve gone too far.
Then she whispers, “I love you, too.”
It lands like a hit and a healing all at once.
I close my eyes for a second, letting it wash over me. When I open them again, she’s still there, still watching me like she’s not sure if she’s just broken something or fixed it.
“Okay,” I say, a little breathless. “That was faster than I expected.”
She laughs, tears spilling over now. “I’ve been—” Her voice cracks. She tries again. “I’ve been saying it in my head for months, Crew. Years, probably, if we’re being honest. I just didn’t trust my mouth not to… ruin everything.”
I pull her up, cradle her face in both hands, and kiss her, slow and deep and as gentle as I can make it.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard again, but this time the urgency feels less like hunger and more like relief.
