“I’m not entirely sure,” he said quietly. Not deflecting—genuinely working it out as he said it. “I like being around you. You’re difficult and prickly and you don’t make anything easy for anyone, including yourself.”
The corner of his mouth lifted briefly.
“I’ve spent my whole life doing the opposite. Making things easy. Being what everyone needed me to be. And I’m starting to realize that maybe I lost myself somewhere in all that smoothing.” He looked at me—really looked. “You haven’t lost yourself. You’re holding on with both hands, even when it hurts. I admire that. I think I need to learn how to do that.”
He paused. Swallowed. His eyes dropped to my mouth for just a moment before coming back up to meet mine.
“And I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t fully understand it. But there it is.”
The fire sputtered. Like water thrown on a blaze—hissing, flickering, then collapsing in on itself. The anger went out and what was left was something rawer. Something I didn’t have a name for.
I stared at him.
“Why?” I asked. The combativeness had drained out of my voice, replaced by genuine bewilderment. “You’re Derek Sullivan. No, you’re Saint fucking Sully. Everyone likes you. The guys on the team worship you. My brother included. I’ve heard guys on other teams talk about you—even the ones paid to hate you have nice things to say.” I shook my head. “And I am, objectively, an asshole. So why would you waste your time on someone like me?”
He was quiet for a moment, like he was actually thinking about it.
“Being likeable didn’t stop my life from blowing up last year,” he said finally. “I spent ten years being easy to love. Accommodating. Never rocking the boat.” He shrugged but there was something heavy underneath it. “And it didn’t matter. She still—” He stopped. Started again. “The person who was supposed to love me the most still stomped all over my heart.”
His ex-fiancée. I thought of what he’d told me at the bar. Walking in on her with his best friend. The injuries he sustained while trying to get away. The decade he’d handed to someone who left him broken emotionally and physically.
“With you, nothing is easy,” he said. “You don’t trust people easily. Everything with you feels…” He searched for the word. “Earned. Like if I ever actually got through to you, it would mean something. Because you don’t let people in for no reason.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“So what, you’re trying something different?” I asked. My voice had lost the rest of its edge without my deciding to let it. “Trading in safe and boring for volatile and complicated?”
“You’re not a reaction to my past.” His voice was steady. “You’re not a project. And I’m not trying to fix you.”
“So if you’re not playing the part of the martyr, then what is it?”
He held my gaze. “You get up,” he said simply. “That’s what I see. You fall and you get up. Over and over. And you do it alone.” He paused. “I don’t know what happened in Toronto. But whatever it was, you’re still here. Still fighting. That’s not volatile and complicated. That’s strength.”
My eyes stung and my throat felt tight and I had to look away.
“You snuck out this morning,” he said, quieter. “But I wanted you there when I woke up.”
“Derek,” I said. A warning.
“I know,” he said, like he understood exactly what he was risking. “I’m just answering your question.”
I wanted to stop overthinking everything. I gripped the top of the boards with both hands and pulled myself up, the barrier pressing into my waist as I leaned over to close the distance between us.
And then I kissed him.
Brief. Just the press of my mouth against his, there and then not, over before either of us had fully processed that it was happening. I felt him inhale—sharp, surprised—his breath catching against my lips.
When I pulled back, his eyes were closed.
They opened slowly. His pupils were blown wide, lips still parted, and he looked at me like he’d been waiting for that moment and didn’t know what to do now that it had passed.
Neither of us said anything for a few breaths.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” I started.
“Don’t,” he said. Not unkindly. “Don’t act like that meant nothing.”
I looked at him. My hands were still on top of the boards.
