“Which means,” she continued, voice too controlled, “we need to be smarter. More careful.”
Careful.
Right.
The word scraped against something inside me that was already frayed.
“So, that’s it?” I asked before I could stop myself. “We just … pretend it didn’t happen?”
She finally looked at me then, eyes wide with something that felt dangerously close to panic. “I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you mean,” I said, sharper than I intended. I reined it in, forcing my tone back to neutral. “Isn’t it?”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. “I mean … we can’t keep doing this.”
Doingthis.
She gestured vaguely between us, like she couldn’t quite bring herself to define it.
Something cold settled in my bones.
“Right.” I gave a short laugh that held no humor. “Because the marriage is about to expire. Can’t muddy the waters.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, the old reflex kicking in before she could finish. Distance. Control. “You’re right. We knew this was temporary.”
Her jaw tightened. “Ledger?—”
“I get it.” I stepped back now, creating space where a moment ago there had been none. “You’re just keeping things clean. Simple.”
The words tasted bitter.
I didn’t know why I was reacting like this. Why the tightness in my chest felt so sharp, or why her pulling back felt like a rejection instead of a reminder. This was always the plan. A necessary evil. A makeshift arrangement to get us both what we needed, nothing more.
I’d gone into it fully aware of the rules. Fully prepared to endure her presence, to tolerate her, at best.
I hadn’t accounted for how that initial irritation—her questions, her teasing, the way she took up space in my life—had quietly shifted into something else entirely. Something heavier. Warmer. A like so strong it had snuck up on me and made itself at home before I’d realized what was happening.
And now that she was the one drawing the line, suddenly it felt like I was the one losing something.
She stared at me, like she wanted to argue. Like she wanted to say something else entirely. But whatever it was stayed locked behind her teeth.
“Good,” she said finally, lifting her chin. “Then we’re on the same page.”
Same page.
“Guess so,” I replied.
Another silence followed, heavier now. Weighted with everything we weren’t saying.
Eventually, she reached for her mug again, fingers curling around it like she needed something solid. “You should probably call your coach.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, though my eyes stayed on her. “I should.”
“And Talon and Ridge will murder you if they find out they weren’t first,” she added, trying for lightness.
I snorted. “Fair.”
