I kissed her forehead. “You’re the only thing worth showing up for.”
And for the rest of the night, we just lay there. Spooning under stars, counting meteors, and pretending that nothing else existed but her heartbeat in my ear and the crash of waves in the distance.
Chapter Fourteen
JADE
I didn’t thinkI’d ever be happy again.
Not real happiness—the kind that seeps into your bones when you’re not looking, and makes you hum without knowing it. The kind that hits you in the middle of nowhere—brushing your teeth, doing your homework, running across the field—when you suddenly realize:I’m okay. I’m more than okay. I’m… good.
Somehow, I’d built a new life out of broken pieces.
At Royal Oaks, I wore my varsity letter like armor. Game days became my sacred ground. I flew down the field like it was mine, played like I had nothing to lose—because I’d already lost everything once. I wasn’t just holding my own. I was killing it.
And Leo?
He was always there.
Back row of the bleachers with Tristan and Xavier, decked out in Royal Oaks gear like it was designer. Aviators on. Hoodies half-zipped. Phones off, eyes on me. The golden trio watching their new girl turn into something fierce. Something untouchable.
“Are you sure this isn’t weird?” Leo asked, smoothing his hand through his hair as we walked up the stone path to my aunt’s little beach shack.
“She put on lipstick for the first time since 1998,” I said. “Trust me. You’re her royal guest.”
He laughed, and it was this deep, warm sound that made my insides feel like melted chocolate. The fall sun was fading, streaking the sky in amber and rose. The salty wind tugged at my curls. His hand found mine.
Inside, Aunt Susan had pulled out the good china. The cracked ones with the bluebells on the rim and a tiny chip in the corner that she said “added character.” She roasted chicken. Lit candles. Even the cats behaved, lounging like little royal guards on the sofa.
Leo was charming—too charming.
By the time dessert rolled around, Aunt Susan was asking him if he had any interest in a career in politics. He claimed he’d rather run a speakeasy than a senate seat, and she roared with laughter.
We cleaned the dishes together. Leo drying, me rinsing. Elbows bumping. Secrets passed with glances and grins.
When we stepped out onto the back deck, the moon hung low over the water and his arms circled my waist from behind.
“I like it here,” he murmured into my hair. “It feels real.”
Some nights, we’d escape.
Just the two of us and the cliffs, wrapped in the scent of salt and wind and woodsmoke from some far-off chimney. His car parked in the dirt. The stars overhead, blinding and bright.
We’d talk for hours. About everything. About nothing.
My fears. His secrets.
Our pasts. Our maybe futures.
He’d hold me like I was breakable. Kiss me like I wasn’t.
Sometimes it would get… heated.
Hands under shirts. Breathless moans. My thighs tangled in his lap. His mouth on my collarbone. But we’d always stop. Always pull back.
“I want to earn you,” he’d say.
And somehow, that wrecked me more than anything else.
