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“I know, Mom,” he muttered, a flush creeping onto his cheekbones.
“But then I saw the way you were working,” she continued. “Not just on the field, but off it. You weren’t the hotheaded boy who left this house. You proved to us that you were a man capable of fighting your own battles and keeping your word. So, whether it’s Havenport or some other school, or a desk job… I’m proud of you. I just want you to be happy. That’s all a mother can ask for.”
I saw the way Trace’s shoulders finally dropped, the last of that defensive armor he’d been wearing since we hit the city limits finally falling away. He let out a staggering sigh of relief, his lips curling into a genuine, boyish smile.
“Does this mean I get an extra slice of pie?” he asked, the familiar glint of mischief returning to his eyes.
“Don’t push it,” Tina quipped, snatching the last roll before he could reach for it. “Mom might be proud of you, but we still remember you crying because you lost your favorite Pokémon card.”
“It was a holographic Charizard, Tina! You don’t just get over that!”
“You were eighteen!” they replied in chorus, breaking down in laughter.
The rest of the table followed suit, falling into an easy banter that defined a family who truly loved one another. It was a language of jabs and inside jokes, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like an outsider looking in through a camera lens. I felt like I was part of it all.
Trace caught my eye, a tender, silent ‘thank you’ shining in his gaze. We’d come into this house expecting a war, and instead, we’d found a ceasefire and much-needed healing.
As the meal wound down and the plates were cleared of everything but crumbs, the natural order of the Prescott household took over.
“Alright, girls are off the hook,” Mr. Prescott announced, standing up and stretching his back until it popped. “Men clear, women relax. That’s the rule.”
“Best rule in the house,” Rachel whispered to me, already leaning back in her chair and kicking her feet up on the rung of Trace’s.
Trace stood, gathered a stack of plates, and looked at me one last time before heading toward the kitchen.
I decided it was the perfect time for me to get some fresh air. I headed out to the back porch and took a deep, relieving breath as I stared up at the star-filled sky. The January air was sharp, biting at my skin and turning my breath into plumes of white. But I needed the cold. I needed the silence.
The sky was a deep, velvet black, studded with stars. I leaned against the railing, the wood frosted and slick under my palms, and took a breath that felt like it reached parts of my lungs I hadn’t used in a year.
A pointed creak of the floorboards warned me I wasn’t alone. I didn’t have to turn around to know the shape of the man stepping into the moonlight with me. Trace’s broad silhouette filled the doorway, his presence a constant, grounding pull in my chest.
“I wondered how long it would take for the girls to wear you out,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, intimate register that always made my pulse skip.
He stepped beside me, handing me a heavy ceramic mug. Steam swirled off the top, carrying the rich, sugary scent of cocoa and melting marshmallows.
“Hot chocolate?” I asked, my fingers curling around the warmth of the mug.
“Not just hot chocolate. This is the special occasion stash,” he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “My mom doesn’t break this out for just anyone. You’ve officially breached the inner sanctum, Dakota. You had them wrapped around your finger before the ham even hit the table.”
I took a sip. The heat bloomed in my chest where my heart did a slow, heavy roll. “I didn’t do anything special. I just showed them the version of me that isn’t looking for a headline. I wanted them to see who I really am.”
Trace set his own mug down on the railing and turned to me, his expression softening into something so raw it was almost hard to look at. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet, steady strength in his eyes. For months, we had been a storm of secrets, friction, and adrenaline. But here, in the quiet of his childhood home, the noise had finally stopped.
“Dakota,” he whispered, stepping closer until the heat from his body acted as a shield against the icy breeze.
The words had been living under my tongue for weeks, a whisper in the back of my mind that had gradually become an undeniable roar.
I didn’t want to be careful anymore. I didn’t want to be the objective observer.
“Trace,” I breathed, my voice trembling just enough to betray me. “I’m in love with you.”
He looked like a man who had finally found the last piece of a map he’d been following in the dark.
“I spent so long trying to keep you at arm’s length,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone, his skin warm against the chill. “And now I can’t remember how I ever breathed without you. I love you, Dakota. God, I love you so much it’s terrifying.”
I didn’t want the distance of the railing or the safety of my own thoughts anymore. I closed the gap, my hands finding the rough wool of his coat and pulling him down to me.
When he kissed me, the world finally went quiet. This wasn’t the fueled-by-adrenaline friction of the library or the desperate, stolen minutes in a locker room. This was deep and steady, a slow-burning heat that tasted like the hot chocolate still on my lips and the terrifying, beautiful reality of ever after.
