He followed moments later, a shudder rolling through him as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down against his chest like he never wanted to let go. And I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just breathed him in and let myself belong.
We lay tangled in the sheets, our limbs still loosely wrapped around each other, his warmth seeping into me like sunlight. The air felt charged, humming with the remnants of what we’d just shared. I pressed my ear to Nick’s chest, letting the rhythmic thud of his heart ground me. Steady. Strong. It almost made me forget everything else.
His fingers brushed through my hair, slow and purposeful, like he wasn’t ready to let go of me either. “I’ve got a game tonight,” he murmured, voice rough and intimate, like it was a secret meant only for me.
The words pierced the haze. I tensed slightly, the world outside these walls rushing back in. Right—he wasn’t just Nick. He was Nick Maddox. The Bomb. The man with an entire city watching his every move. Suddenly I felt small again, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the physical.
“I want you there,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Wearing my jersey.”
A hundred emotions surged at once—panic, excitement, longing. I searched his face, unsure if he realized what he was asking. “Won’t people… talk?” I whispered, my voice barely holding together. I wasn’t used to being seen, not like that. Not as someone who mattered.
He shifted then, pulling me onto his lap with ease, like I belonged there. His hands slid up my back, anchoring me in place. “Let them,” he said simply. His thumb swept across my cheek. “You’re mine, Kennedy. I don’t give a damn who knows.”
Something warm and fierce bloomed in my chest at his words. Not possession—something deeper. A claiming that didn’t cage me but set me free.
His gaze held mine, dark and certain. “You belong with me. Don’t hide.”
I swallowed hard. The truth was—I had been hiding. From the world. From myself. But here, in his arms, I felt seen in a way that terrified me and soothed me all at once.
“I’m trying,” I whispered, because it was all I could offer. My voice shook, but I meant it.
Nick leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to show up.”
And maybe that was the bravest thing I could do. Not for the cameras. Not for the world. But for him—and for me.
“Tonight is about us,” Nick said, and there was something in his voice—an intensity wrapped in steel—that sent a ripple through me. Not anger, not quite. But something raw. Something that made my pulse skip and my breath catch.
I bit my lip again, a nervous reflex I couldn’t seem to shake. It was becoming a habit—one he’d probably already memorized. He was so sure of us, so unshaken by the world outside while I felt like I was still learning how to hold steady in his orbit.
“What if…” I didn’t finish the sentence. The rest lodged in my throat, heavy with doubt. I hated how easily fear slipped back in, how quickly it turned something beautiful into something fragile.
“What if what?” he asked, his hand warm and solid on my waist, anchoring me like he could keep the uncertainty from pulling me under.
“What if they don’t understand?” The words felt small. Weak. But they were real. What if all they saw was the girl who used to be someone else’s? What if they didn’t believe in me the way he did?
Nick didn’t flinch. “Let them try.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. There was a certainty in his tone that burned hotter than any spotlight ever could. “They don’t get to define this. They don’t get to touch what’s ours.”
A lump rose in my throat. He made it sound so easy, like I could just step into this world and not be swallowed by it. But maybe that was the thing—I didn’t have to face it alone.
“I want to be there,” I whispered. And I did. Not because he asked me to. But because I wanted to show up for him. For us. For the version of myself I was just beginning to believe in.
Nick’s smile then—wide and unguarded—melted away the last of my hesitation. There was no pretense in it. No charm for the cameras. Just Nick. My husband. And for the first time in a long time, stepping into the light didn’t feel like exposure.
It felt like coming home.
He grinned, a playful spark igniting in his eyes. As he leaned down, his lips brushed mine—slow, sweet, teasing.
“You’ll look better in my sweater than I ever did,” he murmured against my mouth.
A warmth spread through me, a mix of anticipation and something deeper. I didn’t have to respond; his kiss silenced every doubt swirling in my mind. He kissed me deeply, crawling on top of me again, the weight of him pressing down felt grounding.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him closer as the world outside faded into nothingness. His hands tangled in my hair while I explored the contours of his back with my fingertips, feeling every ridge and muscle beneath my touch.
“Nick…” I breathed, pulling away just enough to catch his gaze.
He looked at me like I was everything he wanted—like he could get lost in me for days. And maybe that’s what scared me most; this uncharted territory we were stepping into together.
But there was no fear now, only desire and a reckless sense of freedom. “I’m all yours,” I whispered, the words spilling from my lips like a promise. And with that declaration hung between us, I surrendered to the moment completely.
