Chapter 23 Sloane #2
“Just… stay for a bit?” His voice wavered. “We don’t have to solve everything. But if you let me, I’d love to learn more about your life.”
I wanted to leave, bolt, be angry for everything he put me through, but I loved him. I didn’t want to be estranged with him, and that won out. So I stayed.
The next morning, I boarded the flight to Chicago with a protein bar in one hand and a little more lightness in my step.
My body was tired, but my chest didn’t feel so heavy.
Caleb and I hadn’t solved anything, but we’d started talking again.
He extended an olive branch. He said sorry. He told the truth, and I… I listened.
I wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. But for the first time in a long time, I was willing to try.
I was open to texting him again, seeing if I could hold space for my brother as he healed.
I had no idea what to do about my parents, but they hadn’t reached out, and I wasn’t going to.
But I missed Caleb, and I smiled, thinking about how he didn’t have the dark circles under his eyes anymore.
He seemed better. He didn’t carry the bitterness and lifeless expressions he had all these years.
As the plane taxied, I stared out the window.
I couldn’t wait to tell Oliver about this.
I used him as a distraction before with my fear of flying, and I wished he was here now.
He’d be thrilled, happy, probably smile and ask him how I felt about it.
I knew he’d be upset that I left, but he’d understand after I explained what happened.
I closed my eyes, shivering just thinking about our night together.
The way he looked at me like I was more than my job.
The way he touched me like I wasn’t a burden to carry or a problem to solve.
I hadn’t told him anything about Caleb. He’d probably be pissed I didn’t.
But he cared, and I’d never had any man I’d ever dated care like that. I didn’t know how to handle it.
I wanted to see him. I wanted to tell him everything. But the second I landed, my phone lit up with a single text.
Oliver: Tell me when you’re home.
I stared at the screen, unsure what to say because I wasn’t just coming back to Chicago. I was coming back to someone who gave a damn, and I had no idea how to carry both that and my past at the same time.
I dropped my bag on the floor the second I walked into my apartment.
The place was bright and quiet, still carrying that faint trace of lavender detergent.
I toed off my shoes and stood in the entryway longer than necessary, rubbing a thumb against my phone screen.
I didn’t have to head to the stadium today, which sounded great in theory, but now I was alone with my thoughts.
I chewed my lip, running my fingers over my counter as I stared at my lifeless apartment.
I had no photos hanging up, no evidence of anything.
My place was sad. Frowning, I grabbed my phone and texted Oliver as I mentally planned to buy a plant or hang a photo in this place.
Me: Just got back!
The message delivered. Read. I hadn’t even made it to the bedroom to drop off my bag before a loud knock rattled the door.
I froze. My heart stuttered once, then picked up again. My pulse raced in my throat at the anticipation of being alone with him, of seeing him since that morning in my hotel room.
I opened the door to find him standing there—sweatshirt, joggers, hat pulled low.
His jaw was tight and his eyes unreadable as he scanned my face, then down to my toes at back.
There wasn’t joy on his face, and I was so used to that smile, that half-smirk ready for a joke or nice comment, that a ball of worry formed in my throat.
“Hi,” I said, tugging on the hem of my long-sleeved shirt. My voice was all scratchy, and that was when it hit me. I was nervous. Butterflies in my stomach, heart out of control, voice shaky with nerves at seeing him. This was totally a new experience for me. “Uh, do you want to come in?”
I moved out of the way and ushered him inside, breathing in his clean scent of soap and cologne and was immediately reminded of our extremely hot night together.
“Can I grab you anything? Water? Coffee? Tea? Or maybe orange juice? I love orange juice, actually. It’s my favorite drink even though it has a lot of sugar.
Growing up, I used to make my own fresh-squeezed orange juice with my brother, and we’d sell it.
We had an orange tree in our backyard.” I laughed, absolutely annoyed at myself for my inability to stop rambling.
“If I don’t have any though, we can use an app to deliver it. Yeah? Does that sound good?”
“Sloane.”
Shit.
I froze, turned to face him and let go of the fridge. He stood with his arms crossed, his eyes holding that same intensity I’d grown used to. His lips quirked on one side, but that gesture didn’t last long.
“Wh-what?”
“Why are you so nervous?”
“I-I’m not,” I lied, leaning against the counter and forcing myself to take a few deep breaths.
Oliver adjusted his hat, sighing as he stepped toward me. Without even meaning to, I stepped back from his movement, and he frowned. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?”
My chest tightened at the sadness and worry on his face. Oliver wasn’t meant to frown. His face was too perfect, too handsome and full of life, that seeing him frown hurt me. “What do you mean?”
He stepped closer to me again, cornering me in the kitchen so I didn’t have an escape. I could try to dart around him, but he’d catch me. A part of me wanted to try, to get that thrill, but the hurt look on his face stopped me.
“Look, I’m not playing games with you. I’m into you.
So fucking into you, but I can’t keep guessing where I stand with you.
” He paused, his gaze boring into my own.
“You don’t bother letting me know you’re not flying back with the team.
You’re vague with your answers. Take a step back when I head toward you.
Now, you’re acting nervous, which makes zero sense.
I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t think I have capacity to figure you out if you don’t want me to. ”
His voice lowered at the end, like the thought of us ending saddened him. My body reacted before my mind, a deep ache in my stomach forming along with the pain in my throat.
“Are you in this with me or no?” He made a fist on the counter, released it, and ran his hand over his face. “It’ll be messy. I know that, but I’ve never felt this connection with anyone, and I want to explore it. I think you do too, but this will be the last time I ask.”
My stomach dropped. I hated the idea of losing him. That terrified me.
“Oliver,” I whispered, my voice suddenly gone.
He was being so rational and kind and perfect, but my mind raced with what-ifs.
So many ways this could go wrong—my career being the biggest. Yet, I wanted this.
I wanted to let myself trust him. I wanted to have someone happy to see me and be there for me.
My eyes prickled, and I swallowed a few times, hoping the tears would stop, but that caused them to spill over. “I’m scared.”
He smiled, soft and patient as he closed the distance between us and held my hand in his, gently running his fingers over my palm. “What’s the saying? If you’re scared, then do it scared.”
I sucked in a breath when he kissed the inside of my wrist. My knees buckled, and I leaned against the counter to hold my balance. “What if—”
“Uh huh.” He shook his head, his eyes dancing with the light I was used to. “We’re not gonna be playing the what-if game unless it’s what if we we’re meant to be together? What if we get married? What if this is the best decision we ever make?”
More tears spilled over now.
“Sloane,” he whispered, cupping my face with his large hands. “I know you’re scared, and yeah, I’m scared too, but it’s worth the fear. We can figure out all the logistics at work, here, all of that is details. I need to know if you want this with me. I’m still waiting on that answer.”
God. I wanted it with him. I wanted it so badly. I gripped his sweatshirt as I nodded, leaning closer to him to kiss him, yet he stopped me.
“As much as I want to kiss you, I need a few more answers from you,” he said, softly and gently as he smiled down at me.
I frowned, definitely pouting at being rejected.
He ran his thumb over my bottom lip, his teeth coming down on his bottom one. “I love this pout. I really love this pout on you.” He laughed but then tilted my chin up. “I need to hear you say that you want to try this with me, exclusively.”
“What does that mean?”
“Pretty sure that was a clear ask, but I’ll humor you. I want to hear you say it with this pretty mouth of yours, that you are with me. Just me. Not dating others, that you and I try to figure this out together.”
“If I agree,” I said, smiling at the possessive and urgent tone to his voice. No one had ever wanted me this much, and I was almost drunk on this feeling of being wanted. “Will you kiss me then?”
He laughed and ran his hands down my shoulders, arms, then gripped my waist and set me on the counter so we were eye level together. “Yes, Sloane, I’ll give you whatever you want if you fucking agree to be with me. Now stop being a brat.”
It was my turn to touch him, his face and jaw as I ran my fingers over his scruff. He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing as I touched him.
“Before I do that, I want to say sorry.”
His eyes blinked opened, wide and curious. “For?”
“I should’ve told you why I stayed back. I promise you I wasn’t running, but I chose not to share details, and that wasn’t kind of me.” I held his gaze. “I’m sorry for that. If we do this, I’ll communicate better.”
“I appreciate that. Now are you gonna tell me what you did? I won’t lie to you, I imagined you seeing an old ex and might’ve obsessed over that for an hour.”
“No ex.” I chuckled, pulling him closer to remove any space between our chests. “It’s about my family, and it’s not exactly fun. Not sure you want to hear all that baggage.”
“Sloane, let me make something very fucking clear. I want all your baggage. I want to carry it, pack it, move it, all of it. I’m not afraid of hard shit.” His voice was firm, hard, intense. “So what’s your answer? Are you in this?”
God. I trembled at the thought of being with someone like Oliver.
Yes, he was younger and a player on the team I worked for.
Yes, he was off-limits in so many ways, yet he saw me in a way no one else did.
I’d never felt this way about anyone, and the way he looked at me, the promise of partnership? I want all your baggage.
Hottest line I’d ever heard, but I knew he meant it. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean, and I swallowed so hard my throat clicked. This would be the scariest thing I did because it could hurt me in so many ways, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try.
“I know it’s going to be messy and we have things to work through, but yes, I want this. I want to be with you, just you.”