“I’m not here to play with you,” he said. “I’m not here to start something and vanish.” His breath hit my cheek warm and uneven. “That’s exactly what I’m trying not to be.”
My chest ached so hard it felt like bruising.
“Then why are you here?”
His eyes moved over my face like he was memorizing it for war.
“To tell you, it’s you. And we’re on. And I can’t fight this any more, baby. It’s me and you…maybe forever if we both want that.”
Every nerve in my body lit up.
He went on before I could speak.
“It’s been you in the cafeteria. You in the gym. You in the training room. You in every room I walk into before I’m ready.” His fingers flexed against the wall beside my head. “You in my head before games. You in my chest when I should be thinking about anything else.”
I stopped breathing.
He leaned closer, forehead almost touching mine now.
“I was trying to choose myself,” he said. “My game. My future. My discipline. But I’m done pretending I don’t want you and punishing the both of us for it.”
My hands curled into the front pocket of his hoodie.
Not pulling him in.
Just holding on.
His gaze dropped to my mouth again.
Mine dropped to his.
The world narrowed to shared air, pounding blood, and the unbearable ache of almost.
“You should be scared of me,” I whispered, because it was the only truth I had left. “Because I will own your heart. I’ll take itin my hands and stamp my name on your soul until you feel me every time you breathe.”
For one heartbeat, the gym went perfectly still.
Then something in his face broke open.
Not fear.
Not resistance.
Recognition.
“You already did,” he said, voice husky and ruined.
The words hit me so hard I swayed.
His hand came up then—slow, shaking once before he steadied it—and hooked two fingers under my chin.
I let him lift my face.
I let him see everything.
The want.
The terror.
