“Why do you smell like soda?” I asked, sliding into the seat, already knowing I wasn’t going to like the answer.
Kennedy glanced at me, brushing her hair back like it was just another normal night. “Popcorn fan got a little too excited during your goal,” she said with a shrug. “And their drink.” She smiled like it was no big deal, like she hadn’t just had shit thrown at her by a bunch of angry fans.
I stared at her. Silent. Unmoving.
The inside of the car felt like it shrank by half, the air thick with sugar and sweat and fury. “They threw something at you?”
“It wasn’t that bad, Nick.” She didn’t even sound mad—just tired. “People get rowdy.”
I gripped the steering wheel so hard it creaked. “You didn’t deserve that,” I said, trying to keep my voice low, calm, like I wasn’t seconds from tracking them down and showing them what rowdy actually looked like.
Kennedy looked at me then. Really looked. “Neither did you.”
And that—fuck, that wrecked me more than anything.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t empty though—it was heavy. Her words landed somewhere deep, right next to the part of me that only quieted when she was near. I reached for her face without thinking, my palm cupping her cheek like she might vanish if I didn’t hold on.
“Don’t let them get to you,” I murmured, my thumb brushing against her skin like it could erase what happened. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
Her eyes softened, and when she spoke, her voice didn’t tremble—it anchored. “I’m proud of you. I saw you tonight. You didn’t snap, Nick. You stood up. For yourself, for me.”
I swallowed hard. That shouldn’t mean as much as it did, but it hit me straight in the chest. Her pride. Her belief in me. The way she didn’t look away even when things got ugly.
“You’re not just tough,” she whispered. “You’re good.”
I leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “You’re not just strong,” I whispered back. “You’re mine.”
And nothing—no words, no fights, no goddamn soda—was going to change that.
Her smile shifted—softer now, unguarded—and it hit me like a punch to the chest. Not the cocky one she wore when she was pretending everything was fine. This one was real. Just for me. And for a second, the rest of the world—the noise, the crowd, the bullshit—faded into nothing.
It was just us. In my car. My jersey on her body. My name on her skin. Her eyes telling me that no matter how loud it got out there, this—we—were solid.
And in that moment, I knew it didn’t matter who tried to come for us. They could throw words, fists, drinks—it wouldn’t break what we were building. Because right here, right now, under flickering lights and the pulse of a city that didn’t give a damn, I had her. And she had me.
The door clicked shut behind us, sealing out the noise. The tension in my chest loosened just a little as Kennedy kicked off her shoes, peeling off the soda-soaked jersey with a small wince. Even then—sore and sticky—she moved like she always did, like fire wrapped in silk. And hell if I didn’t feel something twist in my gut watching her.
“Just a sec,” she muttered, disappearing into the bathroom. I followed without hesitation, leaning against the doorway while she turned on the taps. Steam curled up from the tub like it was trying to soften the edges of the night. My pulse was still uneven, but the sound of running water dulled the static in my head.
She sank into the tub slowly, exhaling like she’d been holding her breath all game. I grabbed the bath salts and poured them in without a word, watching them dissolve. Her eyes closed, and I just sat there—silent, steady—my hand drifting through her hair as it floated across the surface.
“Want to join me?” she teased, voice lighter now. That spark in her never dimmed, not even after everything.
“Maybe in a bit.” I didn’t want to let go of the moment yet—of her like this, finally letting go. My fingers kept moving through her hair, and her body eased further into the water, into me. Into us.
“You didn’t just stand by me tonight,” I murmured. “You stood your ground.”
Her eyes opened—dark, knowing. “I had to,” she whispered. “They don’t get to decide who I am. Or who I love. No one does."
Those words hit me harder than any punch. I didn’t speak for a second, didn’t need to. My hand brushed her jaw, thumb pausing at the curve of her cheek. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
We stayed like that, steam swirling around us, the air thick with more than just heat. The silence wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of everything we’d been through. Full of everything we hadn’t said.
Then her gaze locked onto mine. Something deeper settled behind her eyes. “What?” I asked, my voice low.
“I’m just…” She hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I keep thinking about how easy it would be to lose this. To lose you.”
I sat up straighter. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”
