Chapter Nine #2
“Then you walked into that police station,” he continues. “Sharp, fearless, completely unimpressed by me. And for the first time in years, I felt… awake. Like maybe there’s more to life than touchdowns and headlines.”
I stare at his hand, my heart hammering. “This is crazy.”
“Yeah.”
“We could lose everything.”
“I know.”
“So why are you still asking?”
His smile is small, sad, and heartbreakingly honest. “Because losing you feels worse.”
My hand moves before my brain catches up, fingers sliding into his. The contact is electric, grounding and terrifying all at once.
“I can’t promise this will work,” I say softly.
“I’m not asking for promises.”
“What are you asking for?”
He squeezes my hand gently. “A chance. That’s all. Just… give me a chance to show you that this is worth the risk.”
The waiter appears, saving me from having to answer. We order quickly—pasta for me, steak for him, the same as last time, and when he leaves, Carter doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Tell me something,” he says. “Something real. Not PR, not work. Just you.”
I take a breath, searching for words. “I’m scared all the time. That I’m not good enough. That people only see me as the model who got lucky, not someone who actually earned this job. And being with you, being seen with you, it makes that fear louder.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone will think I’m using you. That I slept my way into relevance.” The words taste bitter. “And the worst part? Part of me wonders if they’d be right.”
Carter’s grip tightens. “They wouldn’t be. You’re brilliant at what you do, Olivia. You saved my ass when I needed it most, and you did it because you’re damn good at your job. Not because of who I am.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” His voice is firm, certain. “And anyone who can’t see it doesn’t matter.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. I blink them back. “Your turn. Tell me something real.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “I’m terrified of what comes after football. Everyone keeps asking me what’s next, and I have no idea. I don’t know who I am without this game. I don’t know if there’s anything left of me that’s worth knowing.”
“Carter—”
“And meeting you—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You make me want to figure it out. Make me think that maybe there’s a version of my life where I’m more than just a quarterback. Where I’m someone worth… worth choosing.”
The vulnerability in his voice cracks something open inside me.
“You are,” I say fiercely. “You’re so much more than football, Carter. You’re the guy who makes sick kids feel like heroes. Who checks on his teammates. Who stands in the dark during a storm and gives me the choice to walk away, even when you don’t want to.”
His eyes glisten, just slightly, and he looks down at our joined hands. “So, what do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not very reassuring, Rivers.”
A laugh escapes me, shaky but real. “I’m fresh out of reassuring tonight, Storm.”
The waiter returns with our food, and we’re forced to let go of each other. But the connection doesn’t break. It hangs there between us, invisible but undeniable, through every bite of pasta, every shared smile, every story exchanged.
By the time the check comes, I’ve learned that Carter’s favorite movie is The Shawshank Redemption, that he can’t cook to save his life, and that he once accidentally adopted a stray dog that turned out to belong to his neighbor.
He’s learned that I’m terrified of spiders, that I wanted to be a journalist before modeling, and that I cry during every Pixar movie without fail.
We’re laughing about something—I can’t even remember what—when my phone buzzes.
A text from Mark.
Mark: Social media’s quiet. Nice work keeping things professional. See you tomorrow.
Guilt crashes over me like a wave.
Carter must see it on my face because his smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
“Mark. He just congratulated me on keeping things professional.”
The irony isn’t lost on either of us.
Carter reaches for his wallet, pulling out cash for the bill. “We should probably go.”
“Yeah.”
We walk out into the cool night air, and for a moment, neither of us moves toward our cars. We just stand there in the parking lot, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down.
“Olivia,” Carter says softly.
“I know.”
“We need to figure this out.”
“I know.”
He steps closer, and my breath catches. But he doesn’t try to kiss me. He just reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle.
“I meant what I said in there. About wanting a chance.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But wanting something and it being smart are two different things.”
“When did you get so practical?”
“When I realized I’m falling for a man whose career could end mine.”
His hand cups my cheek, and I lean into it despite myself. “Then we’re careful. We’re smart. But we don’t walk away. Not yet.”
“Carter—”
“Please.” The word is barely audible. “Just… don’t walk away yet.”
Against every instinct, every rule I’ve set for myself, I nod.
“Okay. But we have to be careful.”
“I can do careful.”
“You? The guy who almost kissed me in his office with the door wide open?”
He grins. “I said I can do careful. I didn’t say I’m good at it.”
I laugh despite the tension, and he pulls me into a hug. It’s not romantic, not overtly sexual. Just warm and solid and right in a way that terrifies me.
“Goodnight, Olivia,” he murmurs against my hair.
“Goodnight, Carter.”
I pull away first, because if I don’t, I won’t. And as I slide into my car and watch him walk to his truck, I realize something that makes my chest ache:
I’m not falling for Carter Storm.
I’ve already fallen.
And I have absolutely no idea how to climb back out.