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Not to anyone.

Apparently I don't have to.

Koa shakes his head.

“You really are an idiot.”

“Fuck. I do. I love her.”

Everything goes quiet.

There.

I said it.

Three words.

Terrifyingly simple.

“I fucking love her.”

Dane's expression softens.

“Then why are you standing here talking to us?”

Because I thought I'd lost.

Because I thought her article was goodbye.

Because for all my arrogance, all my money, all my control, the possibility of walking up to Layla Hawthorne and hearing her tell me she doesn't want me is fucking terrifying.

Dane seems to read that on my face.

“You gave up without making her choose.”

My chest tightens.

“You decided what her article meant. Just like you decided she wrote that other article.”

Fuck. That one hits.

“You're doing it again,” he says.

Jesus Christ. I am.

I'm assuming.

Controlling the outcome before I have all the information. Protecting myself by deciding I've already lost.

Layla would fucking eviscerate me for that. And she'd be right.

“What do I do?”

Four professional rugby players stare at me. Tank grins.

“Oh, he's fucked.”

“Completely,” Luca agrees.