CHAPTER fifty-four #4
"Remember," I murmur, brushing my thumb over his knuckles, "you almost got kicked out of school—twice. All because you couldn't stop throwing punches at guys who ran their mouths about me."
His mouth twitches. "They deserved it."
"They did," I laugh softly. "But I was the one who begged you to stop, Zach.
Because I didn't want you throwing away your future over people who weren't worth a single bruise on your knuckles.
And because some of them were your teammates then.
You fighting with them every week wouldn't have fixed anything — it would've just broken the team more.
And I know how much hockey means to you. .. how much winning means to you."
Zach's jaw flexes. "Not as much as you," he mutters. "You mean more to me than any of that. You always did."
My heart melts, just absolutely puddles.
"Still... if I'd tried harder. If I'd pushed harder. Maybe they would've left you alone."
"Zach."
I slide closer, taking his face in both hands so he has no choice but to look at me.
"You can't change people like them. You can't control how insecure or cruel they choose to be. That's not on you. What mattered... was that I knew I had you." My voice softens. "You made my high school life bearable. You made it feel safe. And you loved me long before I even liked myself."
His throat bobs hard.
Then his hands slide to my waist, tugging me closer until I'm straddling him, knees bracketing his hips. He holds me like he's afraid I might disappear if he loosens his grip even a little.
"I hate them," he mutters into my shoulder, voice low and wrecked. "I hate that they ever made you feel small. And I hate myself even more for the three years I let you believe you weren't enough because of something stupid I said. I don't... I don't get how you forgave me for that."
I pull back just enough to see his face — the guilt, the sadness, the boy I once loved all tangled in the man I'm holding now. My chest stretches tight, painfully soft.
"Hey," I whisper, cupping his jaw and running my thumb along the warm line of his cheek.
"You're talking about a guy who barely knew how to handle his own feelings, remember? A guy who was terrible at communicating. The one who panicked and said something stupid instead of just telling his friend, 'Hey, back off, I'm crazy about her'?"
I nudged him, trying to coax out a smile from him.
A tiny, broken laugh escapes him. "Yeah... that guy was definitely a coward."
"And immature," I continue, teasing gently.
"Wow," he murmurs, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Drag me a little more, why don't you."
I grin back. "Gladly. The point is — that wasn't you. Not anymore. Not the you who loves me now."
I shift closer, pressing my forehead to his.
"I forgave you because it was a misunderstanding — not a truth. And because since the day we found each other again, you've shown me, in a hundred little ways, that those words meant nothing. Your actions are what mattered."
"And I wasn't exactly a picture of maturity either," I go on, giving him a wry smile.
"If I'd just confronted you and said, 'Hey, I heard what you said, you absolute idiot,' instead of running away and cutting you out?
We could've saved ourselves three years of heartbreak.
So no, it wasn't just you. I was a coward too. "
I lean in and press a kiss to his temple, lingering there for a beat. "But you know what I've realized?"
He swallows. "What?"
"I think us being apart... as much as it sucked... was kind of a blessing in disguise," I say, the words surprising me even as I speak them.
"We needed that time. To grow up. To figure out who we are without each other.
To learn how to stand on our own and actually like ourselves, so that when we finally got here—" I squeeze his hands between us "—we'd know how to love each other right.
How to take care of each other without losing ourselves.
How to face all the crap life throws at us as a team instead of two broken kids clinging to each other. "
I breathe out, a little shaky, but sure. "It definitely made me gain confidence. It taught me how to love myself better. To believe that I'm more than enough."
His eyes shine as he nods against my cheek. "More than enough," he murmurs. "More than I deserve."
I pull back just far enough to hold his gaze, my hands framing his face. "You deserve me," I tell him, steady and certain. "And I deserve you."
His breath catches—just barely—but enough that I feel it against my lips.
The way he looks at me shifts... softens... deepens into something so reverent it sends a tremor through my chest. Like I've become the only thing in the room. Like I hung the moon, the sun, and every star he's ever wished on.
"God," he whispers, like the word is dragged out of him, "how did I get this lucky?"
His thumb traces my jaw, slow and worshipful. "You're so damn perfect. And so beautiful it actually hurts sometimes."
Before I can breathe, he leans in and kisses me—slow at first, then deeper, like he's trying to memorize the shape of me with his mouth. I melt into him, fingers curling in his shirt, heart pounding against his chest like it's trying to leap into him.
When he finally pulls back, barely an inch between us, something mischievous sparks in me.
Maybe it's the intimacy.
Maybe it's the quiet.
Maybe it's the way he looks at me like I'm his whole world.
Or... maybe I'm just needy for verbal reassurance because my love language is sometimes "please tell me again so my brain believes it."
I tip my head, smirking. "So... hypothetical question."
Zach raises an eyebrow. "Oh boy."
"Would you still think I'm beautiful if you woke up tomorrow"—I pause for dramatic effect—"and found yourself sleeping next to the old me? You know. The 175-pound, round-cheeked, stretchy-pants-wearing version."
His lips twitch like he already knows exactly where this is going.
But still—I wait, pretending I'm not absolutely fishing for a compliment, because I am and I fully accept that about myself.
CHAPTER fifty-one
ZACH
Idrag my thumb across her lower lip, slow and careful, "Baby... you really think anything could make me want you less?"
The way she's looking at me... Jesus. My heart stutters, flutters, like it's trying to leap straight toward hers—like it knows the way better than I do.
My eyes must be giving me away—soft, yeah, but burning for her all the same.
"Or because anybody else thinks you should look a certain way. I love you because you're you."
I tilt her chin up, just enough so she can't run from what I'm saying.
"I don't want some edited, filtered version of you that fits someone else's bullshit standards."
My hand slides to her cheek, cradling it. "I want you. Exactly as you are. In every version you've ever been and every version you'll become."
I let out a shaky breath because god, I really want her to believe me.
"Thicker, softer, stronger, rounder—doesn't matter. I'd trace every inch of you like a map to heaven. " My forehead presses to hers. "You're the only body that's ever ruined me."
My voice drops to a rasp.
"You could grow wings, shave your head, dye your hair rainbow, and I'd still be standing here, begging for scraps of your attention."
At first, I think she doesn't believe me.
She just stares — wide-eyed, trembling a little, her breath caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat.
But then her eyes shine. Tears start pooling, clinging to her lashes.
And she crashes into me.
Her mouth finds mine in a kiss that's all heat and desperation and need — like she's been starving for something she didn't know she could ask for until now. Her hands slide up my neck, into my hair, tugging me closer like she can't get enough.
I groan into her mouth, arms wrapping around her waist as I haul her against me. She tastes like relief and wanting and something that makes every nerve in my body light up at once. I kiss her back just as hard — deep, hungry, matching everything she's pouring into me.
Her lips brush mine between breaths.
"Tell me more..." she whispers, her breath scorching hot against my mouth, like a fucking inferno daring me to melt.
Fuck.
Yeah, baby, I can do that.
My hands slide down her sides—slow, deliberate, fucking greedy. I'm memorizing every curve, every dip, every inch of her flawless skin like I'm marking territory—like every place I touch should stay mine long after my hands leave.
My voice drops to a growl, low and raw, meant only for her fucking ears.
"I want to ruin you with my mouth," I murmur against her lips, my breath mingling with hers. "...with my hands, with the way I worship every inch of your body until you never question your worth again."
My fingers slip under the hem of her shirt, skimming the warm, silky skin of her stomach.
"I don't just want you—I need you."
She shivers, her body trembling under my touch like she's wired to fucking explode. My cock twitches in response, already rock-hard and desperate for her.
She starts grinding on top of me, her hips rolling in slow, torturous circles. My cock jerks in my pants, begging for release.
Fuck... I groan, my hands gripping her hips tighter, holding her down against me.
"Babe..." I rasp, my voice strangled with need.
"Keep the words coming, Zach..." she purrs, her voice dripping with seduction.
Her mouth traces my jaw, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses that make my skin burn. Then she nips at my neck, sharp and sudden, and I hiss like a fucking animal.
"I said keep talking," she demands, her tongue flicking over the spot she just bit, soothing the sting.
Oh, fuck... she's killing me.
I let my hands roam her body, my words spilling out like a filthy prayer. "You're so fucking beautiful," I growl, my palms cupping her tits through her shirt, feeling her nipples harden under my touch. "These tits... fuck, they're perfect. I could worship them all day."