“Not yet. I couldn’t. I will.” I stared at the coffee in my hand. “I needed one more day before she verbally removed my organs.”
“She’ll put them back.”
“Probably in the wrong order.”
Roman snorted.
Then the humor thinned out. He watched me with that steady, irritating patience that made it impossible to keep dodging.
“What are you dealing with right now?” he asked.
The question was simple. Too simple. It slipped past all the prepared answers.
I looked away.
My thoughts were loud again. Not words exactly. More like every possible consequence trying to happen at once. Declan walking out of an office with a box. My name trending beside his. Vanessa finding out through somebody else and feeling humiliated all over again. Olivia’s face, even though I had only seen photos. The locker room splitting into awkward silences and side conversations. My dad watching sports media discuss my private life like it was a bad penalty call. Harper pretending she wasn’t hurt that I waited to tell her.
And under all of it, smaller but meaner: what if this is the moment everyone decides I’m too much?
I exhaled, but it snagged halfway.
“I’m scared they’ll look at me and only see the problem,” I said.
Roman didn’t interrupt.
“Not the relationship. Not both of us. Me. The impulsive player who can’t follow rules. The guy who pushes too far. The idiot who slept with his coach and now wants everyone to build a policy bridge under him before he falls.” My voice got rough, and I hated that, so I stared harder at the ground. “I know I’m not a kid. I know I made choices. I’m not trying to dodge that. But there’s this part of me that keeps waiting for someone to say, yeah, this is exactly why you need handling. This is why you’re difficult. This is why people leave.”
Roman was quiet long enough that I started regretting every word.
Then he said, “Look at me.”
I did, because it was Roman, and because my coffee lid was about two seconds from total structural failure.
He didn’t soften the way people did when they were about to lie kindly. “You are difficult.”
I barked a laugh despite myself. “Wow.”
“You are. You’re late to things when you swear you won’t be. You interrupt because your thoughts get there before other people finish talking. You take criticism like someone threw a chair at your head, then ten minutes later you’ve fixed the thing and forgotten everyone else is still mad. You leave protein shakes in my car. You once taped my blocker to the ceiling because Benny dared you.”
“That was art.”
“That was a ladder hazard.”
“Benny dared me.”
“You’re proving my point.”
I rubbed at my face. “Is this the friendship part?”
“Yes. Shut up.” Roman stepped closer. “You’re difficult. You’re also loyal, generous, and the only superstar I’ve ever met who notices when the rookie equipment guy looks overwhelmed and then pretends he didn’t buy him lunch. You call your dad after games even when you play like shit. You send your sister things she specifically told you not to buy because you don’t know how else to say you miss her. You care so much it comes out sideways and hits people in the shin.”
My throat tightened.
Roman’s voice lowered. “You’re not only the problem in that room today. Don’t let fear make you volunteer for that job.”
I looked down fast, but not before he saw.
“God, I hate sincere Roman,” I muttered.
