Chapter 43
TRU
For years, I’ve been cheering him on from the shadows. Today, I’m front and center.
I used to think love meant saying the right thing and whispered confessions. Writing vows in journals nobody reads. But sometimes it was louder than that. Sometimes it was wearing his spare jersey, slipping into the stands fifteen minutes early, and clapping until my palms stung.
The sun was hot, the bleachers unforgiving, and I was surrounded by a sea of loud strangers I didn’t know, but none of it mattered. I was there for one person.
Number 9.
Dare didn’t know I’d come. I hadn’t told him. I wanted it to be a surprise. Something small, but a statement. A reminder that he wasn’t doing this alone anymore.
He jogged onto the field with his team, head down, bouncing on his toes the way he always did before kickoff. I could practically hear the song playing in his head, something angry and fast. He always played better when he had something to prove.
But then he glanced up. And he saw me.
It took half a second. A blink, maybe. His eyes swept the stands like he wasn’t expecting anything. Because he was used to it being empty. Used to silence. Used to playing like no one was watching.
Then he froze. Squinted.
I threw up my arms and cheered, not caring how stupid I looked in his old practice jersey that still smelled faintly of sweat and body spray.
And then it hit him. His shoulders dropped. His mouth quirked. And he grinned. Just for me. It reminded me of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky.
The whistle blew, and the game began in a blur of motion and color. My heart pounded as if I were the one running drills.
Dare moved across the field like he owned gravity. All sharp angles and reckless grace. He slipped through defenders like smoke, like a dare incarnate.
“Come on, Dare,” I muttered, then louder: “Let’s go!”
The guy next to me jumped, but I didn’t care. Dare made a break down the left side, faked right, cut back, and fired a shot toward the goal. The net rippled. The crowd erupted. I was on my feet, yelling my throat raw.
“Yes!”
A few people around me cheered too, but they didn’t matter. They were strangers. I was the one wearing his number, his scent still clinging to my collar. I wasn’t just watching him, I was loving him, out loud.
He didn’t look up again. Not during the rest of the match.
Maybe he was too focused. Or maybe once was enough.
But I watched every second. I winced with every foul, shouted when he got shoved, and threw my hands up when he scored again.
And when the final whistle blew, and the team won, I stood there and let the joy burn through me.
He did it. He was doing it. And I’d been there to see it.
The crowd thinned. Students shuffled down the stands, laughing and stretching.
By the time I made it to the athletic building, a brilliant sunset bruised the sky.
I leaned against the brick wall by the back exit, half-hidden behind a row of shrubs, wishing I had something clever to say when he came out.
Mostly, I just waited.
Because he’d waited for me, in a hundred different ways. Through silence. Through self-sabotage. Through every sharp edge we’d both had to dull to fit together again.
The door swung open with a burst of noise, the sounds of laughter, shouts, the clanking of lockers spilled out, and then there he was.
Hair damp and curling at the edges. Bag slung over one shoulder. His T-shirt clung to his chest in a way that should’ve been illegal.
He spotted me instantly, stopping dead.
“You came,” he said.
“I wore your number,” I answered, tugging the hem of the jersey. “Hope you don’t mind.”
He laughed under his breath. “You look better in it than I ever did.”
For a moment, we just stood there, caught in that weird electric quiet that happened when every word felt too small.
“That last goal,” I said, “was disgusting.”
“Disgusting good or disgusting bad?”
I grinned. “So good I kinda hate you.”
“Thanks for being here,” he said, voice lower. “It meant a lot.”
“Couldn’t miss your first game of the season,” I said. “Had to make sure you weren’t all talk.”
“Oh, so you’re my hype man now?”
“Only if you keep scoring like that.”
His fingers brushed the small of my back as we headed to the parking lot. Players spilled out behind us, whooping and replaying every highlight.
Dare bumped his shoulder into mine. “Dinner?”
My stomach growled loud enough to answer for me.
We ended up at a hole-in-the-wall burger place with music loud enough to rattle the fries. Dare ordered two burgers because, of course, he did. He was still glowing from the win, hair damp, grin impossible to look away from.
He kept glancing at the number on my chest, and I knew what he was thinking before he said it.
“You look good in my jersey,” he said, voice low.
“I can guess what’s on your mind,” I said.
“Oh yeah?”
I smirked. “Yeah.”
“Then I guess I don’t have to say it.”
“I can’t stop thinking about this summer,” I admitted, picking at a corner of my napkin.
He stuffed a fry in his mouth. “The internship?”
I nodded. “They might ask me to come back. Bigger projects this time. I’d get to help pitch concepts.”
“That’s huge, Tru.” He actually paused chewing. “They’d be stupid not to want you.”
My heart did something reckless. “What about you?” I asked. “Still thinking about that rec center job?”
Dare nodded, looking more serious. “Yeah. I wanna build something meaningful there. The kids... they need someone who gets it. I’ve been running some small group stuff—arts, sports, even started a weekly movie night. They’re really showing up.”
My belly did a weird flip, like my body figured out what this meant before my brain did. This wasn’t some wild idea he was chasing. Dare was already there. “You’re already doing it.”
He shrugged. “Trying to.”
My foot connected with his shin under the table. “You’re kind of incredible, you know.”
“You’re biased,” he said, grinning.
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
We talked about getting an apartment off campus.
Just us. One bedroom. One big bed. A kitchenette and not enough closet space, and maybe a plant we’d definitely forget to water.
I could picture it a little too clearly.
Sunday mornings with Dare in nothing but boxers and socks, dancing around with a toothbrush in his mouth.
Me, pretending I was annoyed he finished the cereal, but really just amazed he was still there.
I watched him lick ketchup off his thumb, and my stomach bottomed out.
God, I was sickeningly in love with him.
Dare reached across the table and stole a fry off my plate, making direct eye contact like he wanted to be punched, but knowing I’d never do it.
“If you ever leave again,” he said, “we’re doing New York differently. No more bullshit, Tru. You belong to me. Always have. Distance doesn’t change that.”
I forgot how to chew. The fry went cold in my mouth, forgotten.
He mumbled something after that—something that sounded suspiciously like “Jasper can fuck himself with a fire hose”—but I pretended I didn’t catch most of it.
“Agreed,” I said softly. “No more bullshit.”
He nodded sharply, like it was settled. And it was, because when he grinned at me like that, trying not to broadcast his filthy thoughts, I knew there was no one else I’d ever want to share my fries with.
Back at the dorm, the second the door clicked shut, Dare’s voice dropped to that dangerous register that always turned my knees to pudding.
“Leave it on,” he said.
I froze halfway through tugging his jersey off. My arms fell to my sides.
He leaned back against the door, watching me with that dark, satisfied look that said he already knew how this was going to end. Then he crooked a finger.
“Come here, Truen.”
And that was it. My body obeyed before my brain did.
When he touched the front of the jersey, his fingers were slow and reverent, stroking the silky fabric as if it were my cock. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I thought maybe I did, but I wanted him to show me anyway.
“I used to imagine this,” he murmured. “You. In my jersey. Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I whispered.
“Like you trust me.”
God, I did. Even after everything. Maybe because of everything.
“Like you want me,” Dare added.
That too.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw. “I wanted this so bad back then,” he said. “But I didn’t know how to want it right.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m scared all the time,” he said, voice breaking into a smile, “but I’m doing it anyway. You belong to me,” he whispered fiercely. “Not in the way I used to think. Not like something to claim. Like someone I’d burn for.”
When he backed me toward the bed, it wasn’t frantic; it was worshipful. His hand slid beneath the jersey, spreading wide over my ribs.
“Such a good boy,” he murmured. “Choosing to wear this today.”
I groaned, helpless.
“Take it off?” I breathed.
He lifted it halfway, then stopped, eyes dark. “No. Not yet.”
“Dare—”
“Let me keep you mine a little longer.”
His teeth grazed my throat. Dare kissed to unravel me. His tongue teased the corner of my mouth before he deepened it. When he finally pulled back, we were both breathless.
Dare tugged the jersey up slowly but then he stopped halfway, bunching it under my arms.
“Leave it like this.”
He went down on me, his hot mouth blazing a wet trail over my heated skin, but it wasn’t just lust; it was devotion. Every touch deliberate. Every moan drawn out, wanting to make it last forever.
“Trying to pace myself,” he rumbled, palming his dick. “But when I finally get inside you, I won’t be gentle.”
My breath stuttered. “Then take me.”
He stilled, looking up at me with burning eyes.
“No,” he corrected, voice low and thick. “We’re taking this. Together.”
He slurped noisily, using lots of spit and tongue.
My toes curled in my socks. And when he finally moved, it was with intention.
Dare slicked his cock and crawled between my parted thighs, positioning himself at my hole.
He pressed inside and fell over me, distracting me from the burn with kisses and breathy whispers.
With his eyes locked on mine, we moved together, sweet and filthy, creating a burning friction between us that smoldered.
“You look good in my name,” he rasped. “It’s like a collar. Everyone can see who you belong to.”
I smiled against his skin, my breath hot on his neck. “Maybe someday we can make it permanent."
He growled, flipping me to straddle his cock, the jersey hiking up over my ass as I ground against him, helpless.
He raised up to lick over my flat stomach, fingers digging into my ass cheeks. “Ride my cock while I stare at you in that jersey,” he rasped, and I swore I’d never recover.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Tru, slow down.” The growl turned into a moan when I moved my hips over his groin, dizzy with want. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said, rutting up into me, eyes wild.
“I’m yours,” I whispered. “Always have been. Always.” My dick bobbed as I rode him, drawing Dare’s gaze.
His mouth slid down my neck, kissing lower.
In a flash, Dare flipped me again, licking down my body.
Lifting my thighs. Opening me with a reverence that bordered on worship.
He took me apart with his mouth like he was fluent in every part of me.
Every touch felt intentional, like he wasn't just chasing an orgasm but anchoring me to this moment, this bed, him.
His wicked tongue licked over my hole, tasting, testing, before diving inside me. My mind was seconds from exploding. Clear fluid seeped from the tip of my dick. I’d die if he didn’t get inside me again.
Dare must have read my mind. He hooked my ankles over his shoulders and drove deep into my hole with mindless determination.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, just felt. My body was a conduit for his need and his pleasure. I existed for him, always. But in that moment, I existed only for the fullness.
He slammed into me repeatedly, inching me up the bed. The heat in his eyes was feral. Drops of sweat fell from his forehead onto my stomach. When we came, it wasn’t pretty—it was perfect. Messy and breathless, my fingers twisted in his hair, my heart beating so hard I thought it might crack open.
He kissed his way up my neck, slick with sweat, mouth swollen, and pressed his forehead to mine. His hand stroked my side through the crumpled jersey.
“Still think we need two beds?” he murmured.
I smiled against his mouth. “Not a chance.”
The words always yours echoed somewhere inside my full chest.