And for some reason, that doesn’t terrify me like it did.
In fact, I ache for it.
At some point, I give up on sleep. The fire has died down to glowing coals, casting barely any light. I sit up slowly, quietly, muscles protesting the hours of contorting my body to fit onto the small couch. But when I stretch, I can still feel the phantom warmth of her head against my shoulder, my arm wrapped around her, pulling her in.
I want to spend every night like that for the rest of my life.
The thought hits me like a body check I didn’t see coming.
Who are you kidding, Brody? The contract ends tomorrow, after the wedding reception.
After which, Chloe has to dump you…or you lose out on the money.
My chest tightens.
I need coffee. And air.
I grab my phone—6:17 a.m.—and slip out of the room as quietly as possible, pulling on my hoodie and shoes in the hallway. The resort is silent at this hour, just the hum of heating systems and the distant clatter of someone setting up breakfast in the restaurant downstairs.
The lobby is empty except for a young guy behind the front desk, who looks like he’s been up all night, scrolling through his phone with the glazed expression of someone counting down the minutes until shift change. The massive fireplace is cold now, just ash and the smell of yesterday’s wood smoke.
I follow the signs to the coffee bar—a small counter near the restaurant entrance with an espresso machine that looks like it probably takes an engineering degree to use. But there’s also a regular coffeepot, thank you, and I pour myself a large cup. Black. Hot enough to burn.
“You’re up early.”
I turn. Derek is standing there in athletic gear, clearly just back from a run. Sweaty. But looking less hostile than usual, which is saying something.
“Right back at ya,” I say. “Wedding nerves?”
“Nope.” Derek pours himself coffee. Adds cream and sugar. We stand there in awkward silence for a moment, two guys who should probably be friends—teammates, after all—but aren’t.
“Listen,” Derek says finally. Turns to face me. “I owe you an apology.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“For what?”
“For being a jerk. About you and Chloe.” He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Maya and I were talking last night, and she sort of pushed back. Told me I was being weird and suspicious and probably too hard on you because of my own issues.”
“Your issues?”
Derek hesitates, glancing down at his coffee as though he’d like to drown himself in it rather than have this conversation. “Ashley Morrison is my cousin.”
I blink at him. “Wait—what?”
“Yeah. I’m the one who invited her to that charity event. She wanted to be an influencer, so I thought it might be good for her.” He takes a sip of his drink, glancing away. “Looking back on it, I probably could have seen it coming. They don’t call you Candy for nothing. You can be a charmer.”
I’ll try not to let that sting.
“And Ashley…” He grimaces. “I’ve always known she was…a lot. But when she told me about you, I believed her. Maybe because I wanted to believe the worst. Because it fit the narrative I already had about you.”
“What narrative?”
“That you coast on talent and good looks and your stupid smile. That you’re a player.”
My mouth sort of twists at that.
He takes a drink of his coffee. “But seeing you with Chloe the last few weeks, I’m starting to think maybe I was wrong.” He pauses, and something gives in his expression. A weight between us lifting. “I hope so.”
