I didn’t understand my feelings for him—how they could feel both safe and unsettled at the same time—but I knew this much: I wanted him to be the one I told. I wanted to celebrate with him, not just with a quick smile or a distractedthat’s great, but the way real couples did. Talking it through. Laughing too loud in the kitchen. Letting the moment linger.
And yeah … kissing.
The memory of it still lived beneath my skin. The way it had knocked the air from my lungs and rewired something in my brain. Just thinking about it sent heat curling low in my belly, a reminder that whatever this thing between us was, it wasn’t small or casual, no matter how carefully we both pretended otherwise.
I found him at the kitchen counter an hour later, towel draped around his neck, hair a wet mess from practice. He was scrolling through something on his phone, jaw set in that engrossed way that was becoming more familiar lately.
“Hey.” I was unable to keep the smile out of my voice. “I landed it.”
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“They signed. Full contract.”
There it was—his smile, quick and genuine, lighting up his whole face.
“That’s amazing,” he said. “I knew they would want you.”
Warmth bloomed within me, immediate and fierce. Not just because he was proud of me, but because for half a heartbeat, it had felt like we were standing on the same side of something. Like my win mattered to him in a way that went beyond politeness or proximity.
I wanted to step closer. To close the space and let him feel how big this was, how hard I’d worked for it. I wanted him to see that this wasn’t a hobby or a phase. It wasme, choosing myself. And maybe, selfishly, I wanted him to choose me too. To meet my excitement with his whole body, not just his words.
Because if he could look at me like that—smiling, certain, proud—then maybe this wasn’t just something that existed in the margins of his life. Maybe there was room for us to be real.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
For a second, I thought it might turn into something else. A hug. A celebration. Maybe even one of those moments when we forgot to be careful.
But the moment stalled.
He glanced back down at his phone. “Coach added another early session tomorrow. Recovery protocol changed.”
Oh.
The word settled heavy in my chest. I swallowed the rush of disappointment, the irrational sting of it, and told myself not to read into things that weren’t there. This was important to him. This mattered. Iunderstoodthat—had always understood it.
Still, it hurt. Not because he needed to train, but because for a split second, I’d thought I mattered more than the next thing on his schedule.
I nodded, schooling my expression into something neutral. “Sounds good.”
The silence that followed felt louder than it should have. Deafening. Expectant.
“I was thinking maybe we could …” I started, then stopped myself.
Don’t chase.The reminder snapped tight around my ribs.
I forced a small shrug. “Never mind.”
I hated that my first instinct had been to reach for him. To want to celebrate together. To want something that looked suspiciously like arealcouple—laughing, lingering, touching, letting the moment stretch instead of cutting it short. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to do that. Wasn’t going to be the one who asked. Wasn’t going to be the one who hoped.
Ledger’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. “Roxie, I just—things are intense right now. I need to stay locked in.”
The words struck sharp, and I wondered if they were sharper than he’d probably intended. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.
Locked in.Focused.
Like I was something that might pull him off course. Like wanting five minutes of celebration was a risk he couldn’t take.
Heat crept up my neck—embarrassment, disappointment, anger all tangled together. At him. At myself. Mostly at myself for forgetting, even for a second, that this was supposed to be easy. Convenient. Not permanent.
