My heart pounded so hard I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m really glad you came.”
“I’m a mess,” he said, the words rushing out. “Playoffs, no sleep. I probably smell like an airplane, but I couldn’t wait.”
“Hey.” I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. Take a breath.”
He shifted and looked past me. We were still standing in the doorway.
“Come in,” I said.
I closed the door behind him, but neither of us moved. There were only three feet between us, but it might as well have been a mile. His shoulders sagged. He looked away, then back.
Then he stepped forward. Or maybe I did. He wrapped his arms around me, and I held on tight. Afraid he might disappear, I pressed my face against his shoulder and breathed him in. Soap, his cologne. Pack.
He raised a hand to the back of my head. “I missed you,” he said. “So fucking much.”
My breath caught. I tightened my hold on him because I couldn’t trust what I might say if I opened my mouth too soon.
We held on until we stopped shaking. When I pulled back, his eyes were rimmed with red. It was fear, maybe. Desperation?
“Let’s sit,” I said, nodding toward the living room.
We sat on the couch so close our thighs touched. Pack’s hand found mine. His grip was strong, but the space between us seemed fragile. I was almost afraid to breathe for fear I’d break the moment. It made no sense because I’d rehearsed this conversation a thousand times, but with him there, everything was surreal.
I forced myself to speak. “I’ve been stupid for a long time. I didn’t say what I should have. I didn’t ask the only question that really mattered.”
“Me too.” His voice trembled. “I got scared and used playoff timing as an excuse.” He shook his head and sighed. “Have I lost you because of it?”
“Hey.” I squeezed his hand. “We’re still here.”
He took a shaky breath and looked down. “I’m terrified. If I say this wrong?—”
“Do you want us to end?” I asked. From what he’d said, I figured the answer was no, but I needed to hear him say it.
His head jerked up. “God, no.”
Relief hit so hard I had to close my eyes. When I opened them, he was watching me.
“I don’t either,” I said.
He moved closer and rested his free hand on my thigh.
“I’m not good with words when I’m nervous.” My heart pounded so hard I had to take a moment to get myself together. “So I’ll just say it.”
He nodded.
“I love you.”
It was like stepping off a ledge.
His eyes teared up, and he made a rough sound in his throat.
I pressed on. “When I asked about you moving to New York, I was being a coward. What Iwantedto ask was whether you were open to a future with me. Because I want one with you.”
He opened and closed his mouth, then cleared his throat. “Yes, I want a future with you.” His eyes shone as he squeezed my hand. “I love you too, Nix. I think I always have, but I never knew what to call it.”
The lightness in my chest was so sudden that I slumped back against the cushions.
“That explains a lot,” I said. “We’ve been circling this since college.”
