I tasted her relief, her laughter lurking behind each breath, her joy spilling through every inch of contact. My hands roamed her back, memorizing the curve of her waist, the slope of her shoulders. She pressed against me, molding into the shape of everything I’d wanted for months and hadn’t dared to say.
The hallway faded around us. Time narrowed to the press of her lips against mine, the shudder in her shoulders, the tremor in her hands as she held onto me. We broke for air only to collide again, lips parting, teeth grazing, tongues brushing in the most deliberate, impatient way.
“I’ve wanted this,” she breathed, her voice raw against my lips. “For so long.”
“Me too,” I admitted, voice hoarse, teeth brushing her jaw as I kissed her again. “Way too long.”
Every touch was a confession, every press of our bodies a punctuation mark on the story we’d been writing together in stolen moments, in quiet longing, in the chaos of near misses and missed chances. Her hands tightened in my hair, my arms wrapped around her like I’d never let go, and the kiss crescendoed, a perfect storm of relief, desire, and recognition that we were finally exactly where we were supposed to be.
When we finally pulled back, even for a heartbeat, her forehead rested against mine, breaths mingling, hearts still hammering. Neither of us spoke, because no words could contain it, because the journey of months—the frustration, the teasing, the yearning—was distilled into this, into her, into us.
Then she pressed her lips to mine once more, tender and fierce at the same time, and I knew we’d crossed the line from wanting to needing, from almost to whatever the hell forever was.
Our secret moment split down the middle when the door to the bar banged open, and three cops burst in.
Voices screamed over the laughter and chatter, and suddenly the room pulled tight with something that wasn’t easygoing celebration.
“We’re looking for Landon Cross,” one of the cops said.
Everything stopped. Glasses paused mid-sip, fries hung in the air like time had stuttered, and Nicole froze, eyes wide.
I felt her hand slip into mine again, tight and desperate.
“Officer— what’s going on?” I said, keeping my voice calm, even as adrenaline slammed through me.
Before she or I could react, two of them were on me. Hands clamped on my arms, twisting, forcing me upright, cuffs snapping around my wrists behind my back. The cold metal bit through my skin, and the room went wild.
“No! Wait! What are you doing?” Nicole yelled, stepping forward to wrangle me from their grip, but one of the cops shoved her lightly aside.
Coach was on his feet, voice booming. “What the hell is this? Do you know who he is?”
“Landon! Are you serious? You can’t—” Grayson’s words cut off as he, Mason, and half the bar rushed forward.
“Where’s your warrant? You can’t take him without a—” Mason tried, hands flailing.
“Enough!” one cop barked, shoving back anyone who got too close.
I glanced at Nicole. Her eyes were wide and frantic, cheeks flushed with shock and raw fear. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came.
“Landon Cross, you’re under arrest for aggravated assault and grievous bodily harm on James Perot,” one officer said, his tone clinical, detached. “You have the right to remain silent…”
I blinked, his voice fading to a drone in the background. Nothing clicked.
I looked at Coach in a silent plea, and his hand landed on my shoulder.
“Sit tight, son. I’ll have my lawyer meet you at the station,” he said, calm in the middle of the storm.
Nicole’s fingers brushed mine one last time, desperate, and I held her gaze as they led me out. Every step felt unreal.
The room behind us dissolved into a mix of disbelief, shouting, and panic.
I stole one last look at her. She looked like she might break, and my chest twisted, but there was nothing I could do.
21
Nicole
I gripped the steering wheel until my fingers ached, staring at the chain-link fence across the lot. My pulse hammered, uneven, threatening to pull me under. I couldn’t believe it had come to this. Bail. Jail. Me, sitting here, waiting to scoop him up just when things between us had started to feel like they might actually go somewhere.
