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“Love you, Katie. So proud of you,” she says, her face softening into that look that usually precedes a long late-night heart to heart.

“Love you guys too. Bye.”

The call clicks off, and the silence that rushes back into the room is so sudden, it’s deafening. I set the phone face down on the coffee table and pull the knitted throw tighter around my shoulders.

I should be elated. My friends back home just threw me a party. They’re planning a trip across the pond to watch me play.

My gaze travels back to my phone. But nothing feels complete without Max.

A knock at the door breaks the quiet. I let out a long, shaky breath and stand up, adjusting my pajama pants. Finally, my food’s here. I really need those bao buns.

I click play on the last episode I was watching—something in season four—then grab a five-pound note and head to the door.

“Here’s a tip for . . .” The words die in my throat.

It isn’t a delivery driver in a helmet.

It’s Max.

Twenty-Six

Istand there, frozen, with the five-pound note clutched in my hand. Max looks worse than he did at the pub. His black shirt is more rumpled now, as if he’s been twisting the fabric in his hands. The shadows beneath his eyes look darker under the hallway lights. He’s holding a brown paper bag that smells faintly of garlic and rosemary.

“Max,” I say flatly, gripping the edge of the door until my knuckles turn white.

“I know . . .” he starts, his voice rough and uneven. His gaze drops to the floor, then to the bag in his hands. He swallows hard before trying again. “I know I’m the last person you want to see right now.” He takes a shaky breath. “I listened to your voicemail on the way to the station, and when I heard you say you loved me, I turned around and came straight here.”

He finally looks up, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes is almost enough to make me forget that I’m supposed to be guarded.

Almost.

“Katie, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “The way I acted at the pub—it was unforgivable. You were sharing the biggest news of your life, telling me how you felt, and I was so caught up in my own head and all that’s going on with The Winged God that I couldn’t hear you.”

“You heard me, Max,” I say, my voice trembling. “You just didn’t have space for me.”

He winces as if I’ve slapped him. He holds the bag out toward me. “I brought you some pasta. It’s not as good as the kind Mamma Lina serves, but I thought, maybe if you haven’t eaten dinner yet . . .” His voice trails off.

I look at the bag, then back at him. My own order of kung pao chicken will be arriving soon. But the irony of us both trying to fix a broken heart with takeout isn’t lost on me. I resist the urge to take the bag from him.

“Are you here because you want to be here, Max? Or are you here because you feel guilty?”

The question hangs in the air between us. Max flinches. His gaze once again darts away from me back toward the floor.

“I’m here because I couldn’t stay away,” he says, his voice dropping into a desperate register. “You’ve become one of the most important people in my life. I hated myself the second I saw the look on your face in that pub. I’ve never been more ashamed of myself. Because I⁠—”

He stops himself, the next words catching in his throat. He gestures vaguely to the corridor. “I should go. I just wanted to bring you this and say—” He stops again.

Was he about to tell me he loves me? If he was . . . why can’t he just say it?

Heat rises in my chest. “And say what? That you still don’t have space for me? That you’re going to leave again in twenty minutes to go back to your notes? You’re still doing it, Max. You’re managing this apology instead of actually being present.”

Max doesn’t answer. He can’t. The frantic, obsessive need to get Eros’ lines perfect is written in the very way he stands.

“Keep the food, Max. I have dinner on the way, and I doubt you’ve eaten yourself,” I say, pushing the bag back toward his chest.

This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I can’t let him back into this room—not when I’m feeling fragile and he’s distracted.

“We both need some space,” I say quietly. “You need to focus on Eros.” I take a steadying breath. “And I need to focus on my training and the upcoming tournament.”