I swallowed, ice pack pressed to my hip, heart thudding in my chest.
“Painful,” I said finally. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ll never sit normally again, but I’m proud of myself.”
Alex’s eyes softened. “You should be. You were incredible.”
I snorted. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m absolutely not,” he said, leaning back like he was about to give a very serious TED Talk. “You had good edge control, you didn’t panic when Belle came at you, and you kept your shoulders square through contact. Most people fold the first time they get hit.”
I blinked at him.
“You got up fast,” he continued. “You kept driving forward. That’s jammer instinct. You see a hole, and you go for it.”
A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
Alex tilted his head. “What?”
“What what?”
“Why are you smiling like that?”
I didn’t have words for it. For being seen like that. For being admired not just for surviving, but for being good.
So instead, I leaned forward and kissed him.
It was soft and sure and a little shaky, like I was saying thank you and I want you and I’m here all at once.
By the time the containers were empty and the candle had burned low, we were just sitting on the couch, my feet in his lap as he massaged them. The conversation easily flowed, talking about everything and nothing. Ava. His job. My new publishing deal. The kind of ordinary, fragile dreams you only shared when you felt safe.
Somehow the conversation drifted to my mom, and I let out a long, tired sigh.
“I can’t wait to get out of there,” I admitted. “She’s getting so much worse. It’s not good for Ava. It’s not good for me.”
Alex was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he said, carefully, “You know . . . you could live here.”
I stared at him. “You mentioned that before.”
He blinked, suddenly flustered. “I mean—not with me. Not like—unless you wanted to. I just—” He gestured vaguely. “The other half of the duplex is empty. It’s been empty for months. You and Ava would be more than welcome.”
“I don't know . . . I feel like I would be taking advantage of you,” I said weakly.
“No,” he said immediately. “You wouldn’t. I’d love it. I mean, not in a creepy landlord way. In a—I want you safe and happy and close kind of way.”
I smiled, heart fluttering, and bit my lip.
Prince Charming, in sweatpants and a Glendale Magic hockey hoodie.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “It’s . . . something to think about.”
I leaned over and kissed him. This one was slower, deeper, the kind that carried everything I hadn’t figured out how to say yet.
Alex’s hand came up to my jaw, warm and steady, thumb brushing my cheek like he was memorizing me. I could feel the heat of him, the want, the tenderness all tangled together.
His hand slid to my waist. Mine curled into his hoodie. For a second, the world narrowed down to breath and lips and the soft sound we made when we leaned closer.
And then I pulled back.
Not because I didn’t want him.
