Concern flooded through me. He wasn’t fine. He was exactly as wound up as I’d suspected.
Wesley
Want company? I could come over.
I stared at the message before sending it, my finger hovering over the button. This was breaking our careful rules. This was inviting myself over, admitting I needed him as much as he might need me, revealing that I couldn’t stay away even when distance would be smarter.
Fuck it.
I sent the message.
No response. Each second of silence made my pulse spike higher, convinced I’d pushed too hard, revealed too much, crossed a line.
Finally, a text came through.
Griffin
Yes. Please.
Two words. But they landed with the weight of so much more—admission that he needed me, that he wanted me there, that whatever we were doing had moved into something neither of us seemed able to control.
I was already grabbing my keys and wallet before I’d fully processed the decision. My apartment door closed behind me with a decisive click, and I headed for my car while my rational brain tried to catch up with my actions.
You’re being reckless. You’re supposed to be the careful one, the one who learned from Nashville, the one who doesn’t repeat mistakes.
But this didn’t feel like a mistake. This felt like something I needed—to see Griffin, to make sure he was okay, to be the person he reached for when he was vulnerable.
With Charles, I’d always waited to be invited. Had let him dictate when and where and how we saw each other.Had accepted being an afterthought, someone Charles squeezed into his schedule when convenient and safe.
Griffin was different. Griffin textedplease. Griffin wanted me there. Griffin wasn’t making me beg for scraps of attention while he prioritized everyone else.
The drive to Griffin’s apartment took six minutes, and I spent every one of them processing what I was doing. Going to his place the night before the most important game of his season. Admitting through action that I couldn’t stay away. Acknowledging that this relationship—whatever we were calling it—had become something I needed rather than just something I wanted.
I’m falling for him. Maybe already fell.
The realization should have terrified me. Should have sent me driving in the opposite direction, back to my apartment and my laptop and the safe distance of professional boundaries.
Instead, it made me press the accelerator a little harder.
I parked in a visitor’s space at Griffin’s building and made my way up to his floor, my heart pounding with anticipation and nerves. What if he’d changed his mind? What if someone saw me? What if this was the moment everything fell apart?
I knocked on his door—three quiet raps that wouldn’t carry down the hallway.
Griffin opened it almost immediately, and the sight of him made something in my chest tighten. He looked vulnerable in ways I rarely saw—scruff on his jaw like he hadn’t shaved for days, wearing gray sweatpants and a threadbare T-shirt, barefoot, his ice-blue eyes wide and wild with the anxiety he usually hid behind his captain’s mask.
“I’m glad you came.” His voice was rough, honest. “Couldn’t stand being alone with my thoughts tonight.” He moved back to allow me to enter.
“That’s what I figured.” I stepped inside, and Griffinclosed the door behind me, shutting out the world. “Thought you might need company.”
The lights were low in his apartment, and it looked different that evening—softer somehow, more lived in. The sleek modern furniture that looked like a showroom during the day now just looked like a space where someone lived. A protein shake sat abandoned on the kitchen counter, suggesting he’d attempted dinner and given up. The TV was on ESPN, the sound off, probably some analyst show he’d been trying to watch without actually processing. His phone lay face down on the coffee table—possibly avoiding social media, avoiding the pressure, avoiding anything that might add to his spiraling thoughts.
“Want something to drink?” Griffin gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ve got water, beer, protein shakes that taste like chalk…”
“Water’s good.” I followed him to the kitchen, watching the way tension rode his shoulders, the way his movements were stilted and controlled. “Have you eaten anything besides that?” I nodded toward the mostly full shake.
“Not really hungry.” Griffin grabbed two bottles of water from his fridge and handed me one. “Stomach’s too tight. Always gets like this before big games.”
“You need to eat something. Can’t play on an empty stomach.” My tone was gentle but firm. “Want me to order food? Or make you something simple? Do you have eggs for an omelet?”
