Flashes of the past few months rushed through my mind like someone had hit play on a highlight reel—late-night chats whereTheWriteGuysomehow knew exactly what to say when I felt stuck, Talon coaxing me out of my comfort zone, caring about what I had to say. Each of them had been an anchor. Each of them had been the person I could trust to see me, really see me. And now—because they were the same person—that trust felt both broken and stronger than ever.
I didn’t like that he hadn’t told me sooner. That much was true. But another truth pressed harder against my ribs: this was exactly what I hadn’t known I was searching for. Someone who cared enough to know all sides of me—and still wanted to be with me.
“Livvi,” Talon said softly, leaning forward, elbows braced on the table. His voice was rough, uncertain. “I know I should’ve told you the second I figured it out. I didn’t because I was terrified you would feel tricked or that you’d hate me for keeping it from you. But none ofthis—the chats, the time at the pool, dinners at my place—none of it was a lie. Every word, every second with you, was real. It’s always been you.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to be angry, to tell him how unfair it was that he’d let me fall for two versions of him. But the words wouldn’t form, because underneath the ache sat something else: a different, more potent relief. A steady, almost frightening relief that it had been him all along.
The café had filled while we’d sat there, the low buzz of voices and clinking mugs pressing close. I needed air, needed space to think and breathe and decide what to do next.
I pushed back from the table, my chair scraping softly against the tile. “Can we … go outside? I just—need some air.”
For a heartbeat, fear flickered across his face, like he thought I was about to bolt. But then he nodded quickly, standing and leaving both cups and his food. “Of course.”
We stepped out into the warm afternoon air, the door swinging shut behind us. The world felt quieter out here, the street alive with distant traffic but muted. I wrapped my arms around myself, as if I could hold my emotions together.
Talon stood next to me, his posture tense, like every muscle in his body was coiled with the possibility that I might shatter him with a single word.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But at least now everything was out in the open.
And maybe that was the bravest place to start.
I studied him, really studied him. The guy who’d teased me about the study room at the library. The guy who’d made space in his apartment for a fish just because I’d wanted him to have something to inspire him. The guy who’d typed out words late into the night and made me feel less alone than I’d felt in years.
And suddenly, standing here, I realized leaving wasn’t even an option.
I stepped closer, my voice unsteady but still certain. “I don’t like how you kept this from me. I don’t. But I can’t ignore what’s right in front of me either. I wantedTheWriteGuyto be someone I could trust. I wanted Talon to be someone I could … maybe fall for. Turns out, I’ve had both the whole time.”
His eyes widened, hopeful and searching, like he was trying to make sure I meant every word. “Livvi …” His voice cracked. He swallowed, then whispered, “Tell me I haven’t ruined this.”
I shook my head, a breathless laugh escaping despite the lump in my throat. “You’ve ruined my sense of balance, sure. But … not this.”
That was all he needed. He reached for me, hands trembling slightly as they framed my face, giving me every second to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
When his lips touched mine, it wasn’t tentative. It was the culmination of months of words, of glances, of unspoken confessions finally given a voice. The kiss was hungry and aching, like we’d both been holding our breath all this time and finally let it out in each other’sarms. Something suspiciously close to love surged through me all at once, wild and unstoppable.
For the first time, there was no Talon versusTheWriteGuy. There was only him.
CHAPTER 25
TALON
The sounds of the Olympic Trials swelled around me—the echo of whistles, the surge of the crowd, the muffled roar every time a race finished. My pulse thrummed in time with it all, steady, sure, alive.
In what felt like forever, I wasn’t swimming for anyone else. Not for scouts. Not for scholarships. Not for my father’s approval. Just me.
The me who’d once been afraid he was finished. The me who’d found a second chance in words, in friendship, in love.
I glanced up into the stands while stretching behind the block. There she was. Livvi, standing right beside Ridge and Ledger, with Cali on one side of her and Roxie waving wildly on the other. She caught my eye and pressed her hand over her heart, mouthing something only I could read.
You’ve got this.
Gosh, I hoped I did. It had been a month since I’dfinally told her the truth about beingTheWriteGuy, and having her by my side had been the extra strength I needed to be here in this moment.
The official blew five short whistles, signaling that the race was about to start. Then one long whistle sounded through the stadium, all of us climbing onto our blocks. Silence descended before the announcer said, “Take your mark.”
I crouched low, muscles coiling tight, every nerve seeming to vibrate.
I breathed slow and deep like Coach had taught me—inhale, focus, feel the trajectory of the whole race in one clean mental sweep. The start, the turns, the underwater kick, the finish. I thought, briefly, of every early morning and late night that had led to this block: the dryland sessions that had left me sore in places I hadn’t known could hurt, the hours spent in the pool, the dedication I’d put into taking care of my body. And also the nights I’d chosen to keep writing instead of signing up for the safe, predictable path my father had mapped out. All of it pooled into a single point of intention.
