“Yeah, I do have to. Fuck, Zac. I’m sick of hiding. I want everyone to know I’m yours. I want everyone to know you’re the one who makes my heart race.” He takes my hand and rests it on his chest, proving his point. “My feelings for you scare me. I’ve never felt the pull this strongly.”
For a moment, I’m struck dumb, rendered speechless asI stare at the vulnerable man standing in front of me, declaring his feelings. Noah Bentley is the first person besides my parents and my sister to tell me they love me.
He reaches up and strokes my cheek in a tender caress. “I don’t expect you to say anything, but I needed you to know. No matter what happens with my dad, my feelings for you won’t change. I fucking love you, Zac Kincaid.”
I wish we were at his house as I crush my lips to his, our tongues tangling in a kiss that sets every nerve alight. “I love you, Noah. I’m so fucking in love with you.”
He grins against my mouth. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I kiss him again. “You’re the bravest person I know, with the biggest heart. You put everyone’s needs in front of your own. It’s time you let me putyourneeds first. What do you say we blow off classes and go back to your place?”
Noah groans. “You’re killing me, but no. You can’t afford any more time off.”
“One more day won’t hurt.” I nip at the sensitive skin below his ear. “I still want to fuck you.”
He places a hand on my chest and gently pushes me away, keeping his eyes locked on mine as he reaches into his pocket for the keys to Jasper’s car. “You need to go to class, but I expect you naked in my bed when I get home from training.”
He removes a key from the set, and our fingers brush as he places it in my hand. He kisses me one last time before slipping out of the room.
I shake my head, a laugh bubbling out of me. Noah Bentley is going to be the death of me.
Nervous anticipation thrumsthrough me when Mum drops me off at Noah’s after my classes, but it’s coupled with a killer migraine.
She eyes me with a worried look as I massage my temples.
“Will you be okay?” she asks. “Maybe you should come home.”
“I’m fine, Mum. Seriously.” I try to smile, but I’m sure it comes across as more of a grimace.
“It’s been a big day. Noah’s welcome to come over when he finishes training.”
“Mum, please. I know you’re worried, but I’m okay. I need to get back to living my life.”
She smiles sadly. “You suffered a brain injury, Zac. You need to take it easy.”
“I know, and I will. I’ll take a nap before Noah gets home.”
“Okay,” she sighs. “Wish Noah and the boys good luck for the game tomorrow. Will he drop you off before getting the bus, or do you need me to pick you up?”
“I’ll get a lift.” I lean over and kiss her cheek before getting out of the car. “Thanks, Mum.”
After letting myself in, I go straight to the kitchen for a glass of water and swallow a few pills. It’s frustrating how long it’s taking to recover. The doctors told me to be patient, that it will take three to six months for me to fully recover, and that it could have been worse. I could’ve been killed like the kid who hit me.
Sinking onto a stool, I drop my head into my hands. I’ve accepted that I won’t play again this season, that my time on the pitch with my teammates is over. There are only two games left, and if we win them both, we’ll win the championship back-to-back. While I can’t play, I want to be there cheering them on, especially for the final gameagainst Macquarie. If only these headaches would fuck off.
I still can’t look at a screen for longer than twenty minutes, and I get fatigued when I do too much. But a month of sitting on the couch is messing with my mental health. My teammates keep checking in, trying to make me feel like I’m still a part of it all, but the reality is, I’m not even on the sidelines. For someone so active, I hate how fragile I feel. Standing up too fast makes the room tilt, and reading a paragraph feels like a workout.
What messes with me the worst is how invisible it all is. Aside from the healing scar on my temple where I hit my head, I look fine on the outside. I can joke, smile, and hold a conversation, but inside my head, everything is slower, heavier. I lose my train of thought mid-sentence, forget why I walked into a room, and snap at people over the littlest things, even though I don’t mean it. Noah and my family have been understanding, but I hate it. It’s not who I am.
They tell me to rest, be patient, and let my brain heal. I know they’re right, but it doesn’t help when my days blur together in a never-ending loop of headaches, boredom, anger, and guilt. It’s fucking exhausting and demoralising. I want to stop measuring my life in symptoms and limits. I want to feel fucking normal again.
Setting my empty glass on the sink a little harder than intended, I head up to Noah’s bedroom and crawl beneath his sheets, closing my eyes as I breathe in his scent. My body melts into the mattress, all the tension leaching from me.
I’m just drifting off when someone knocks on the front door. Letting out a groan, I roll over and ignore it, but the knocking is relentless. I check the clock on Noah’s bedside table—the guys won’t be home for at least half an hour.
With a muttered curse, I trudge downstairs and answer the door.
“Mr Bentley,” I grunt in surprise.
