“And the gala is this weekend.”
“Yeah.” My gut reacts before my brain does, pullingtight on instinct. “It’s the night where the rest of the world gets to watch us play house, too.”
“What is your body doing when you think about that?”
“Everything at once. My chest gets tight; my hands go numb. I start running through every scenario—the cameras, the press, the players. Cooper watching from across the room. Alycia trying to keep everyone happy.”
“And you?”
“I’ll either look at her too long or not enough. I’ll either wreck her job again or give myself away.”
“What are you afraid will happen?”
“That it’ll be too much.” The next words scrape out, softer than they should be. “For her. For me. For the lie. That she’ll wake up after the gala and realize none of this is worth whatever she feels when I touch her knee under a table.”
“And what do you want to happen?”
The question knocks the breath out of me.
“I want her to feel safe. At my momma’s house. At the gala. With me. I want her to know I’ll catch whatever tries to blindside her.”
“I want it to feel real. Just for one night.”
“And what scares you most about the gala?” she asks softly.
The words hitch, not enough to break, but just enough to betray me.
“That she’ll see me, the version I can’t control, and realize I’m not worth choosing.”
Dr. Shah nods once. “At the gala, your only job is tonotice the moments that feel real. Don’t suppress them. Don’t perform them. Just notice. And afterward, we’ll talk about what they meant.”
I breathe out slowly, the air shaking on the way.
“Yeah,” I say finally, voice rough. “Okay.”
But inside my chest, something is already shifting.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kyle
Ididn’t sleep last night. Not because of the gala or the swarm of reporters who’ll dissect every expression like they’re doing post-game analysis on my face. I’ve handled that for most of my adult life. I know how to walk into a room, smile on cue, and give them nothing they can twist.
What I apparently cannot handle is Alycia Torres laughing at my family’s dinner table like she belongs there. It shouldn’t have hit me the way it did. One unguarded moment, pulled right out of her, just her tipping her head back and laughing like the sound has somewhere safe to land. That laugh went straight under my skin and stayed there.
When I slipped my hand onto her knee under the table, and she froze, then stayed, that’s the part that kept me awake. She didn’t pull away; she just breathed through it. Her eyes were a little too bright, shoulders a little too tense, and she was looking at my family like they were both too much and exactly what she had been starving for.
I’ve replayed the entire night on a loop since I dropped her off last night: the warmth of her knee under my hand, the trust in her eyes, the way she whispered she was “fine” but didn’t look fine at all. The way she watched my brothers, cataloging every new piece of chaos and still somehow relaxing into it by the end. And tonight, we have to walk into a ballroom and sell the lie.
There are cameras, sponsors, and half the franchise watching. We’re expected to arrive as a united front and play a part we swore would never be real. It isn’t pretend for me and hasn’t been since the beginning. After last night, I do not know how to pretend this is still pretend for her either.
That thought alone has me straightening my tie for the third time as I stand outside her apartment door, pulse thudding in places I don’t admit out loud.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhale like it might slow my heart, and glance down at myself. The suit fits better than it has any right to. Navy blue, tailored close, crisp white shirt, with a matching pocket square. Alycia picked because it reads clean on camera. I went rogue and added a slim tie because I thought she might like it. Tonight, I look like the version of me who never says the wrong thing, never loses his temper, and never screws up an interview. That is the version of me she needs tonight.
I knock once and step back, trying to look casual as I shove my hands into my pockets. A town car idles at the curb, headlights washing over the front steps, driverwaiting. The hotel is twenty minutes away, but the whole night already feels like it’s pressing in from all sides. Her last text sits heavy in my head.
Lightening Girl
