The words hit the room like a physical shockwave.
Gabe froze, his mouth hanging slightly open, the fire in his eyes flickering out into pure, unadulterated shock.
I was out of breath, my chest heaving, the confession hanging in the stale bar air like a banner. It felt like I’d just taken a hit from a freight train, but for the first time in months, I couldactually breathe. The truth was out. There were no more plays to call.
Slowly, I turned my head to look at Kayla.
She was standing by the beer taps, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. She looked stunned, terrified, and so fucking beautiful all at once. The silence in the bar was deafening.
"It’s true," I said, my voice dropping to a low, steady thrum that vibrated in my own throat. I looked her right in the eyes, ignoring the kid, ignoring the pain, ignoring the mess. "I’m in love with you, Kayla. And I’m not going anywhere."
The silence that followed was heavy, pressurized by the hum of the beer coolers and the sudden, stunned stillness of the two people who meant the most to me. Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.
"I’m not a gambler," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet, lower now but no less intense. "I don’t play games with people’s lives, and I sure as hell don’t fuck around with their hearts. I’ve spent years being disciplined enough to reach the top of this sport, and I’m applying every bit of that discipline to this. To you."
I looked at Gabe, whose face no longer hid his true feelings. The boy was hurt. The fury hadn't vanished, but the wind had been knocked out of it. He looked at me, then at his mother, his throat working as he tried to find a retort that wasn't there.
Without a word, he reached out with his good hand, snatched his leaking ice pack off the bar top, and turned. He didn't yell. He didn't throw a punch. He just trudged toward the door, the rhythmic thump of his footsteps echoing until it clicked shut behind him.
The lack of a parting shot felt like a victory, however small.
Now, it was just the two of us, and the bar felt cavernous, shadows stretching long across the floorboards. Kayla was still standing by the taps, her hand frozen near her throat, her eyes wide and shimmering with a terror that made my chest ache.
"Michael," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You... you don't mean that. You're just caught up in the moment. The adrenaline, guilt over Gabe’s shoulder... you're mistaken."
"I'm not mistaken, Kayla."
"You are!" She finally moved, pacing a small circle behind the bar. "You don't love me. You barely know me. You know the woman who pours your drinks and the woman you spent one night with in a hotel. That isn't love, Michael. That's... that’s chemistry. It’s physical attraction."
I didn't argue from across the room. I all but vaulted the mahogany bar to join her on the other side, stepping into her workspace, her sanctuary. She tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. I reached out and took her hands. They were ice cold and trembling so hard I could feel the vibration in my own arms.
"I know enough," I said, pulling her hands up to my chest so she could feel the urgent, honest thud of my heart. "I know the way you look when you’re defending your son. I know the way you breathe when you’re finally letting yourself relax. I know that you’ve built a life out of iron and grit, and I know that I want to be the person who helps you carry it."
"No," she sobbed, shaking her head violently, her eyes squeezed shut. "No, no, no. You can't. It’s too much. I can’t do this, Michael. I can't be the person who breaks your focus, and I can't be the woman who loses her son because she wanted something for herself."
"You aren't losing him," I implored, leaning down, my face inches from hers. I began to kiss her face with short, desperate pecks on her forehead, her tear-stained cheeks, her temples. "He’s scared, Kayla. Just like you. But I’m not fighting him, and I’m not fighting you. I’m fightingforyou. For us. I know you feel this. I felt it on that rooftop. I felt it in that hotel. Admit it. Just once, stop fighting the current and let it take you."
She remained frozen, her body rigid in my arms. It was like holding a statue made of glass. Beautiful, but one wrong move away from shattering into a thousand pieces. She didn’t withdraw from me, but her mind raced a mile a minute as she tried to find the exit.
"This was a mistake," she rambled, her words coming out in a fast, panicked blur. "The date, the hotel, all of it. We have to stop. Right now. Before Gabe gets worse, before the press finds out, before you lose your head in the Finals. We’re breaking this off, Michael. It’s over. We’re going back to being—"
I didn't let her finish the lie.
I reached out, cupping her face in both hands, and pulled her into a kiss that was meant to silence the world. It wasn't gentle, and it wasn't a request. It was a passionate, bruising claim, a desperate attempt to drown out her panic with the undeniable reality of how much I needed her.
32
Kayla
The moment Michael’s mouth crashed into mine, the fortress I’d spent fifteen years building detonated. I tried to maintain the panic, tried to keep the idea of breaking it off from taking root, but I didn’t have to worry about it. Any thought that wasn’t Michael and Michael only, was swallowed whole by the desperate heat of him.
My hands, which had been pushing against his chest only seconds ago, betrayed me. They flew up, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there was nothing but a microscopic gap left between us. A low, broken sound escaped my throat. A surrender that tasted like salt and wood-smoke.
Goddammit, I love him.
The realization blindsided me. Terrifying and absolute. I loved the way he looked at my son, I loved the way he brought Seattle to a Texas rooftop, and I loved the way he refused to let me lie to myself.
"Michael," I gasped against his lips, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs. "I can't... we shouldn't..."
