"Better than 'secret hookup'?"
"Considerably." He pulled back, his expression turning serious. "I’m sorry that’s all I could give you for so long."
"Hey." I cupped his face, forcing him to meet my eyes. "We’re past that. You don't have to keep apologizing."
"I know." But guilt still flickered in his gaze—the same guilt that surfaced sometimes late at night when he thought I was asleep. "I just—I wasted so much time being afraid. And you paid for it."
"And now we’re here." I kissed him gently. "In our apartment. Wearing your jersey. With absolutely nothing to hide. That’s what matters."
His arms came around me, pulling me close. I felt his heartbeat against my chest, steady and sure. When he’d asked me to move in six weeks ago, I’d said yes before he had finished the sentence. My lease had been month-to-month anyway, and I’d been spending every night here regardless, sneaking in afterteam events like we were still hiding even though the whole world knew.
"I love you," Luca said quietly. "I don't say it enough."
"You say it constantly."
"Not with words."
He was right. Luca showed love through action—coffee made exactly how I liked it, my favorite snacks stocked in the pantry, his hand finding mine under restaurant tables, his body angled toward me in every photo like a sunflower tracking light. But hearing the words still made my chest tight.
"I love you too," I said. "Now feed me before I waste away. I’m a growing boy."
He snorted. "You’re twenty-two and built like a brick wall."
"A brick wall who needs breakfast."
We made pancakes together—me mixing batter while Luca handled the griddle. The kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla and butter, sunlight painting gold across the counter. Through the windows I could see the Chicago skyline, the city we’d claimed as ours when Luca had kissed me publicly with the championship on the line.
My phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Kieran.
Kieran:Stop being disgustingly domestic and confirm you're coming to the barbecue Saturday.
I showed Luca the screen. "You up for Kieran’s place this weekend?"
"If I say no, will he let it go?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then I guess we’re going." But he smiled, flipping a pancake with unnecessary flair. "Is Collins bringing his new girlfriend?"
"Yep. Apparently she’s 'the one.'" I made air quotes.
"He said that about the last one."
"And the one before that." I leaned against his shoulder, breathing him in with contentment. "He’s an optimist."
"Like someone else I know."
I kissed his jaw. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."
"It isn't." Luca plated the pancakes, drowning his in syrup while I added fresh berries to mine. "It’s one of the things I love about you. You make everything feel possible."
We ate at the breakfast bar, knees touching, swapping bites. Domesticity had never seemed appealing before. I’d watched my older sister navigate cohabitation with her husband and it had looked exhausting—all compromise and coordinating schedules.
But this was easy. Natural.
"Your contract came through," Luca said casually, but I caught the pride in his voice.
"Yep." I’d signed it last week—three years, significant raise, guaranteed starting position on the second line. My agent had been thrilled. I’d been more excited about the fact that it meant three more years of playing with Luca. "You’re stuck with me."
