Like we were saying everything we hadn’t said in weeks, all without uttering a single word. And for that one impossible, electric second, the noise, the auction, all of it dropped away.
It was just us.
Still tethered, unfinished.
Kylani banged her gavel again. “Sold to the gentleman by the bar. Come and claim your man.”Gladly.“And while you’re at it, be sure to give me the name and number of your hair stylist.”
I sidestepped the applause and wolf whistles and made my way toward the stage.
Roman gave me a wink as I passed him at the foot of the steps. I could barely acknowledge it—my eyes were already locked on Tucker as he descended.
Up close, he looked exactly the same and totally different. Same Tucker—same easy posture and stubborn tilt to his mouth—but there was something new in his eyes. Like he was still trying to believe I was standing here in front of him.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he echoed, shoving his hands into his pockets when, really, all I wanted was to feel them on me. “Congratulations.”
“On?”
“On your win.” He winked cheekily. “Quite the prize, if I do say so myself.”
I huffed out a laugh. “You don’t have to tell me.”
That earned me the tiniest twitch of a smile. Not his full, toothy grin—just a corner of his mouth lifting, like he was still deciding whether it was safe to let it out. We stood like that for a beat longer, both of us waiting, hoping for the other to say something first.
“Listen,” I finally started. “I owe you an apology, and one hell of an explanation.”
“Brock—”
“No, Johnny,” I cut in gently. “Please let me get this out before I lose my nerve and remember that people are probably watching.”
I could already feel the heat crawling up my neck. Too many eyes, too many voices blurring around us. My pulse was loud in my ears, and the words I’d been rehearsing all week suddenly felt clumsy and too big for my mouth. I didn’t do well with the spotlight or crowds or vulnerability in public.
There was a reason I wroteaboutathletes.
My hands tightened around the auction paddle I still hadn’t let go of, like I could anchor myself with it. I shifted my attention toward our feet. Tucker’s fingers brushed just beneath my chin, gentle and familiar. He tilted it up, just enough for me to meet his hooded gaze.
“Focus, Heller,” he said, voice low, steady. “It’s just me.”
Just me.Just us.
Something about the way he said it—soft but certain—cut through the noise around us. It was the kind of touch that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t push, justwas. Like he wasn’t trying to rush me, but rather remind me that I didn’t have to do it alone.
I nodded, barely, and he dropped his hand—but not before his thumb lingered for the briefest second against my jaw.
“I didn’t take the job,” I told him, my voice steadier now. “Florida. I didn’t accept it. With theMiami Herald, I mean—I turned down their offer. I should’ve told you that night by the fucking bus, but I was scared.”
His expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt. Not this time.
I kept going because for once, I wasn’t going to leave things unsaid.
“I told myself it was better to say nothing than something that might hurt you more, but that was bullshit. I was just afraid. Afraid you’d hear the truth and . . . still walk away.” I shifted my weight, the nerves tightening again. “The truth is, I’ve never felt the way I felt with you. Not with anyone. And that scared me more than the job, more than disappointing my dad, more than any headline I’ve ever written. But the distance between us didn’t fix that; it just made me miss you more.”
Tucker’s expression softened. His shoulders eased, and something in his jaw unclenched. He was quiet for a moment, long enough that I started second-guessing everything I had just said.
Then he spoke.
“You should’ve told me,” he said softly.
