36. Austin
AUSTIN
I ’m whistling.
Like actually whistling.
In the shower. With shampoo in my hair and soap in my eyes and not a single goddamn care in the world.
It’s embarrassing, honestly. But I don’t even care. I’m so happy. Never been happier in my life.
I rinse the shampoo out of my hair, letting the water fall down on my shoulders.
Everything aches in the best possible way.
My back, my legs, my fucking jaw. I smile into the spray, trying not to think about how she sounded when she whispered my name.
Or how she looked naked in my bed. Or the way she touched me like she was learning me from scratch, and liking every part she discovered.
My brain’s a highlight reel and every second of it is her.
Her thighs tightening around my hips. Her lips parting when I kissed the inside of her knee. The quiet little please that slipped out of her mouth.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead against the shower wall, grinning.
For a guy who’s fucked up a lot of things, I want this to be the one thing I do right.
I turn off the water, towel off, and run my fingers through my hair. All I can think about is crawling back into bed, curling my arms around her, and kissing every inch of her.
I wrap the towel around my waist and step into my room with a grin.
Except she’s not there.
The bed’s still messy, my sheets rumpled, her shape pressed into the pillow, but she’s gone.
“Mais?” I call out, rubbing the back of my neck with the towel.
Nothing.
Okay. Maybe she went to the kitchen. Or to our downstairs bathroom.
Except… her sweater’s not here either.
Neither is her bra. Or her leggings. No shoes by the door. Her phone’s gone from the nightstand.
My stomach tightens, an ache blooming low and slow in my chest.
I grab my own phone off the desk, my hands already clammy, and that’s when I see it.
One new message.
Cherry.
My heart stutters. I open it and as I read, every muscle in my body locks.
I drop down onto my bed, my towel slipping, water still dripping from my hair.
Fuck .
She knows.
She figured it out.
She sent me that message thinking she was talking to Six and watched it light up on my phone. Saw her own words flash on my screen and put the pieces together.
And now she’s gone, because she thinks I lied to her. Used her. Played her or whatever twisted story she’s telling herself.
Because I didn’t tell her. I just let her keep talking, keep opening up, keep trusting me, even after she sat right in front of me and told me about Six.
She told me everything about him —about me —and I didn’t say a goddamn word.
I scramble to get dressed, my stomach sinking like a stone. The jeans from last night, a hoodie thrown over, my fingers fumbling to type even though my vision’s blurred.
Me:
I’m so fucking sorry. Please talk to me.
No read receipt.
Me:
I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I was going to tell you. I swear. I just?—
I stop. My fingers hover over the screen.
What the hell do I even say?
That I got scared? That I fell for her twice—once through a screen, and then again in person—and I didn’t know how to make those versions line up?
None of it feels like enough.
But I need to fix this somehow before it’s too late.
I grab my keys, yank on some sneakers, and race down the stairs.
Ryan lifts his head from his cereal bowl when he sees me. “Hey, where are you?—”
I don’t even stop to answer him before bolting out the door.
I won’t let her walk away thinking any of this wasn’t real.
Not when it’s the realest damn thing I’ve ever had.
At first, I think she’s not going to open the door. She’ll tell me to go to hell, that she doesn’t want to see me, and I’ll sit on the dirty carpet flooring outside her dorm, because I don’t want to be anywhere that she isn’t. Because I want to talk this out. Because I want her.
But when she doesn’t reply, I breathe out a sigh and knock again. “Come on, Maisie. Please. Just… let me talk to you.”
A few seconds later, the door swings open and my heart fucking stops.
She’s standing there in an oversized hoodie—mine, I think—with the sleeves shoved up her forearms like she was fidgeting. Her hair’s twisted up in a messy bun, loose strands falling over her face. And her eyes—Jesus. Red and puffy. Like she’s been crying for hours. Like maybe she hasn’t stopped.
It hits me straight in the chest. Hard enough to knock the breath out of me.
Because I did that.
I made her look like this.
And the worst part? I didn’t even mean to. Didn’t know I could.
She just stares at me. Like she’s trying to decide if she wants to slam the door in my face.
“What are you doing here?” she asks finally.
Not angry. Not cold. Just… tired. Like she’s hanging on by a thread and praying I don’t cut it.
I clear my throat, trying to slow my pulse down. It’s still racing from running over here. From the way my stomach bottomed out when her name popped up on my phone and I realized exactly what she saw. What she knows now.
“You know why I’m here.” My voice sounds like it got dragged through gravel.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re Six.”
The words slice clean through me.
I nod. Can’t even pretend otherwise. I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times. The first time I’d meet Cherry, finally see her face, hear her say my name. I just never imagined it would hurt this much.
“And you’re Cherry,” I say quietly.
She flinches, eyes squeezing shut, like the words hurt more than she expected. Maybe they do. Maybe hearing it aloud makes everything so much more real.
I take a cautious step forward.
She steps back.
Fuck .
“You let me tell you about yourself,” she says, voice fragile, eyes glued to the floor.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“You let me miss you,” she adds, still avoiding my gaze. “And you just… said nothing.”
My fingers twitch at my sides, desperate to do something.
“I didn’t know how,” I admit, my voice rough, like it’s scraping its way out.
“That’s not an excuse.”
“I know.”
Because what the hell else can I say?
She’s not wrong.
And there’s no excuse good enough to make this okay.
Silence spreads between us and my eyes lift to a few loose strands of hair, curling around her face, and all I want—so fucking bad—is to reach out and tuck them behind her ear. Just touch her. Let her know I’m here. I’m not leaving.
But I don’t move.
Because right now, she looks like if I get too close, she’ll break.
She shakes her head and takes another step back.
“Talk to me, Freckles,” I whisper, the nickname slipping out before I can stop it. “Please.”
“How…” she starts, then falters. Blinks rapidly, swallows hard. “How do I know this is real?”
Her question hits me like a punch.
“What?”
She finally looks up, just for a moment, just enough to steal my breath away.
“How do I know you didn’t fall for Cherry… and then settle for me when you found out it was me?” she whispers.
Her voice is small, shattered, like those words are ripping themselves free.
“How do I know this isn’t just some obligation? Because you felt sorry for me. Because you knew things about me I never told anyone else.”
I blink, stunned into silence as a sharp ache spreads through my chest because there it is—the thing she’s always been afraid of, even when she smiled, kissed me back, and let me in.
It’s not just about me keeping a secret; it’s the fear that she’s not enough, that no one could truly want her if they saw the real her.
That the only way I could love her was if I loved the idea of her first.
I step forward again. “Maisie,” I call out, but she won’t meet my eyes.
“Hey,” I say gently, “look at me.”
Slowly, she lifts her head, and fuck, she looks heartbreakingly fragile—pink, tear-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks—and yet, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
My chest tightens like it’s being crushed, and I wonder how she can’t see what she means to me, how she can’t know what she does to me.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “Not until after the championship.”
Her brows furrow in confusion, so I explain.
“Isabella told me you liked someone else at the afterparty, and honestly, I saw red. I was jealous as hell, Maisie. I didn’t even understand why at first. It just felt like someone had kicked a hole right through my chest.”
She keeps staring, frozen.
“And then she told me the name,” I say quietly. “My name.”
Maisie’s arms drop to her sides, fingers twitching like she’s trying to figure out what to do with them. Her whole body goes still, except her eyes, wide and glossy, fragile like they’re about to shatter.
“I fell for you twice,” I tell her, stepping closer, close enough that I could reach for her if she let me. “Once when you were just an anonymous name on a screen. The person who made me laugh when everything felt like shit, who saw me when no one else did.”
I swallow hard. “And the second time…” My voice catches. “The second time was in the library. When you rolled your eyes at me, showed up to help me study, even though I was a dumbass who didn’t deserve it.”
She shakes her head, voice soft and raw. “You’re not dumb.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and without thinking, I reach out, pressing my lips against it, kissing it away.
“I should’ve told you the moment I figured it out,” I say, cupping her face gently. “I know that. But I was scared. Scared I’d lose you. That I’d fuck it all up before I even had a chance to be yours.”
I shake my head, desperate to get it all out. “But Maisie… finding out it was you? That you were Cherry? That was the best moment of my life.”
She makes a soft, broken sound, and it punches straight through me.
“I was already falling for both of you. And then I realized… it was always you. Every message, every night I couldn’t wait to talk, every secret, every late-night rant—it was all you.”
She stares at me like she’s afraid to believe it, like if she blinks, I’ll disappear.
“Falling?” she repeats, voice barely above a whisper.
I smile, my heart pounding. “Yeah, baby. I’m so in love with you.”
Her breath catches, lips trembling.
“I’m in love with you, Maisie Wilson,” I say with absolute certainty.
“Not Cherry. Not some perfect version behind a screen. Just you. The girl who makes spreadsheets for fun and still blushes when I tell her she’s beautiful, the girl who skates like she was born for it, who gave me her time, her patience, her trust—even when I didn’t deserve it. ”
My throat tightens, but I don’t look away.
“I loved you before I even knew you were my Cherry. And I loved you even more after.”
She blinks rapidly, her body trembling like she’s holding too much inside and doesn’t know where to put it.
“You’re in love with me?” she whispers, barely daring to say it.
I grin, because I can’t help myself. “That’s all you caught?”
She lets out a broken laugh, and I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. Then another. I don’t want to stop touching her. I won’t.
“I love you,” I say again. “I love you so much it physically hurts, Maisie.”
Her eyes flutter closed. Then she leans in, our foreheads resting together, her breath shaky against my skin. “I love you too,” she whispers.
I swear, nothing in my life has ever felt better than hearing those words come from her.
I know, without a doubt, I will never stop falling for her.
Not now. Not ever.
She steps back slowly, tugging my hand toward her bed. She turns, blinking up at me with those glassy blue eyes, and then leans in again, lips meeting mine.
“I meant it,” I murmur against her lips. “Every word.”
She nods, chin trembling. Her hands slip under the hem of my hoodie. She pulls, and I don’t hesitate—I peel it off and toss it aside. She’s on me again, lips, hands, body pressed tight like she’s scared I’ll vanish if she stops touching me.
“Hey,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to catch her gaze. “We don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breath stutters. “I know. I just…”
She trails off, no need to say more. Because I feel it too—the ache to close the space between us, to feel everything again—us. And damn, I want that just as badly.
I guide her backward until the backs of her knees bump the edge of her bed. She sits without breaking eye contact, breathing a little faster now.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands sliding up the outsides of her thighs, feeling the faintest tremble in her legs.
She watches me as I reach for the hem of her shorts and slide them down her legs. She lifts her hips without being asked. Then I peel her top off next, revealing the soft curve of her stomach, the dip of her waist, and the prettiest tits I have ever seen in my life.
And I just stop and stare.
She’s so fucking gorgeous it almost hurts to look at her.
I get it now, why men used to carve women out of stone.
It wasn’t about art. It was about trying to hold onto something you knew you’d never deserve.
Because when something is this beautiful, all you can do is try to preserve it.
Witness it. Worship it. I could look at her forever and still never have enough.
Maisie blushes under the attention, her hands twitching like she wants to cover herself. But I shake my head and lean in, kissing the inside of her thigh. Then the other. Then the spot just below her belly button.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, and her breath hitches.
I kiss my way up her body, starting at her soft belly, kissing every single one of her gorgeous stretch marks.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper, trailing my lips over the slope of her ribs, up the underside of her breast, then pressing a soft kiss over her heart. “You’re everything I ever wanted.”
I lay her back on the bed, my hand cupping her cheek, and when I press my mouth to hers, it’s soft and deep and full of everything I don’t know how to say.
She wraps her arms around my shoulders, pulling me down with her, and I feel her shift under me, reaching for something in her nightstand.
She presses the foil packet into my hand without a word.
I pause just long enough to tear it open, my hands shaking a little as I roll it on.
And then I slide inside her in one slow thrust, and everything else falls away.
Her breath catches. Her eyes flutter closed. My forehead drops to hers and we both just breathe for a second. Just feel.
I’ve had plenty of sex before—more than I should probably admit. It was always fun. A little reckless. A hobby, if I’m being honest.
But this?
This isn’t a hobby.
This is holy .