Which, historically, was a dangerous thought.
I sat up before I could negotiate myself into another twenty minutes and lose an hour. The room felt too quiet, so I turned on the lamp, then the bathroom light, then turned the bathroom light off because it was too bright and made my eyes hurt. I took my meds. I showered. I put my clothes on in the wrong order and had to take off my hoodie because I’d forgotten deodorant, which annoyed me way more than it should have.
Still calm.
Unsettlingly calm.
I kept waiting for shame to show up. Some massive delayed wave of what the fuck are you doing, Jace. He’s your coach. You have a girlfriend. He has a wife. You’re building rules with a married man in a hotel lounge like that’s a normal Tuesday.
The shame was there. Of course it was. It lived right under my ribs now, a constant pressure I could function around but not ignore.
But there was something else too.
Awareness.
Last night hadn’t been accidental. That was the part I couldn’t walk back. Not a collision. Not a fight that got too intense. Not Declan imposing something on me because he was stronger, older, in charge.
I had asked for language.
He had used it.
I had chosen to listen.
By seven-thirty, I’d repacked my bag twice, lost my key card once, found it in the pocket I’d checked three times, and made itdownstairs early enough that Roman looked personally offended when I walked into breakfast before him.
He paused with a plate in one hand. “Who are you?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re early.”
“I own a clock.”
“You own several. Historically, they’ve been decorative.”
I grabbed eggs, toast, fruit because I could hear Declan’s voice in my head saying actual food, and coffee because I was still a person with rights.
Roman watched my plate. “That’s suspiciously balanced.”
“Are you my nutritionist now?”
“No. I’m your friend, which is worse because I can’t invoice you.”
I sat down across from him. The room was full of low morning noise, forks on plates, chairs scraping, Milo talking too loudly about how hotel oatmeal was a hate crime. Usually I could handle breakfast rooms. Today every sound arrived separately. The hiss of the coffee machine. Someone’s laugh. A knife tapping. The elevator dinging again and again.
Declan came in with Benny and Tessa.
I didn’t look at him.
I felt myself not looking at him, which was basically the same thing as staring. My attention latched onto the shape of him at the edge of my vision, dark quarter-zip, coffee in hand, phone tucked away, beard trimmed close. He said something to Tessa,and she answered without slowing down, already scrolling on her tablet.
My foot started bouncing under the table.
Roman glanced down.
I stopped.
Then started again.
