He fell asleep first, sprawled across the couch with one arm slung over my stomach, head tucked against my shoulder. His face is relaxed in a way I rarely get to see—calm, unguarded. Peaceful.
And it guts me a little. Because I know how heavy today was for him.
I shift carefully so I don’t wake him and let my fingers drift along his arm, tracing quiet shapes against his skin. We’d cooked dinner together earlier—actual teamwork, even if he had to stop me from using a dull knife and made me measure the cumin three times. He still supervised like I might burn his apartment down with the skillet, but he let me help.
After, we ate on the couch, barefoot and close, trading soft conversation and half-hearted arguments about whatmovie to put on. He let me pick. Fell asleep halfway through, of course.
But while he sleeps, my brain won’t shut up.
I think about Xavier. About the visit earlier. About the way Silas's voice cracked when he introduced me, and how his shoulders only dropped once we were back in the car—as though letting me in didn’t destroy him after all, but maybe healed something instead.
And I think about what it must’ve taken for him to let go. Or—not even let go. Just… open a new door without fully closing the old one.
I don’t know if I could do that. Love someone so deeply, lose them in the most cruel, drawn-out way—andstillfind space to love again.
It’s brave. And it’s terrifying.
And it makes me want to be better. For him.
My thumb drags slowly over his knuckles, and I watch the way his fingers twitch in his sleep. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it, some part of him is still holding on to me even when he’s not awake.
He’s beautiful like this. Soft edges. No tension in his brow. No walls.
And maybe that’s what scares me most—that I’m getting used to this. Tohim.To being seen and wanted and held like I matter.
Because I do.
At least, I think I do.
And right now, lying here with his breath warm against my collarbone and his arm draped over my stomach, I think I could fall in love with him a thousand times and still want more.
I whisper into the quiet, just in case something in him is still listening.
“I’ve got you, too, Silas.”
Then I kiss the top of his head, close my eyes, and breathe in the scent of his shampoo, his skin, his steadiness as I let sleep take me.
Three weeks later
There’s a crackle in the air that has nothing to do with the scoreboard or the roaring crowd. First home game of the season. Stands are full. Sun is brutal overhead. And I should be focused on the playbook and not the fact that I slept in Silas’s bed last night.
Correction:curled up in his arms, kissed stupid against his pillows, and fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
And now I’m back to calling him Coach like we haven’t spent the last month and a half wrapped around each other, whispering words of love into each other's skin.
“Let’s go, Maddox!” Ty claps me on the shoulder as we head out of the tunnel, and I nod, slipping into my game-face. Helmet on. Head down. Pretend I’m just like everyone else.
Except I’m not. Not even close.
Because I can feel his eyes.
Across the field, hands on his hips, visor shading his expression, Silas is watching us warm up. Watchingme.
He doesn’t look for long. He never does. But the few seconds his gaze lands on me feels like a full-body touch. I breathe in deep. Shake it off.Push it down.
He’s still Coach Gray in public. And I’m still just Maddox.
We’re good at pretending by now. At least, I think we are.
