Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kyle
Ididn’t sleep last night. Not because of the gala or the swarm of reporters who’ll dissect every expression like they’re doing post-game analysis on my face. I’ve handled that for most of my adult life. I know how to walk into a room, smile on cue, and give them nothing they can twist.
What I apparently cannot handle is Alycia Torres laughing at my family’s dinner table like she belongs there.
It shouldn’t have hit me the way it did.
One unguarded moment, pulled right out of her, just her tipping her head back and laughing like the sound has somewhere safe to land.
That laugh went straight under my skin and stayed there.
When I slipped my hand onto her knee under the table, and she froze, then stayed, that’s the part that kept me awake.
She didn’t pull away; she just breathed through it.
Her eyes were a little too bright, shoulders a little too tense, and she was looking at my family like they were both too much and exactly what she had been starving for.
I’ve replayed the entire night on a loop since I dropped her off last night: the warmth of her knee under my hand, the trust in her eyes, the way she whispered she was “fine” but didn’t look fine at all.
The way she watched my brothers, cataloging every new piece of chaos and still somehow relaxing into it by the end.
And tonight, we have to walk into a ballroom and sell the lie.
There are cameras, sponsors, and half the franchise watching. We’re expected to arrive as a united front and play a part we swore would never be real. It isn’t pretend for me and hasn’t been since the beginning. After last night, I do not know how to pretend this is still pretend for her either.
That thought alone has me straightening my tie for the third time as I stand outside her apartment door, pulse thudding in places I don’t admit out loud.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhale like it might slow my heart, and glance down at myself.
The suit fits better than it has any right to.
Navy blue, tailored close, crisp white shirt, with a matching pocket square.
Alycia picked because it reads clean on camera.
I went rogue and added a slim tie because I thought she might like it.
Tonight, I look like the version of me who never says the wrong thing, never loses his temper, and never screws up an interview.
That is the version of me she needs tonight.
I knock once and step back, trying to look casual as I shove my hands into my pockets.
A town car idles at the curb, headlights washing over the front steps, driver waiting.
The hotel is twenty minutes away, but the whole night already feels like it’s pressing in from all sides. Her last text sits heavy in my head.
Lightening Girl
Remember donors, sponsors, players’ families. We stick to the story. No surprises.
As if last night didn’t already knock something loose in me.
I meant to keep my distance at dinner. Be polite, be present, get through it.
Instead, I spent half the night watching the way her shoulders slowly dropped, how she started talking back to Cole and teasing Ramona and cutting vegetables like she had always belonged in that kitchen.
Now I’m supposed to walk into a gala with her on my arm and pretend none of that meant anything. No wonder I can’t breathe right.
The door opens, and everything in me short-circuits.
Alycia stands framed in the warm light of her apartment.
I knew she’d look good, but this is something else entirely.
The first thing my brain registers is the color.
Deep green, the kind that looks almost black in shadow but flashes rich emerald when she moves.
The dress clings and skims in all the right places, soft fabric catching the light like it’s holding secrets.
It dips at the neckline just enough that the simple gold necklace at her throat draws my eyes and refuses to let go.
Her hair is mostly down, pulled back just enough to show the clean line of her jaw and the softness at her mouth. Gold heels make her a few inches closer to my height, which shouldn’t make my pulse pick up, but it does. I do a quick check for words and find exactly none.
She is… fuck. A problem.
“Hi,” she says, a little breathless. Her hand smooths down the side of her dress like she’s second-guessing choices she has no business doubting.
What comes out of me is barely human. “Wow.”
Her mouth tips into a wry little curve, like she knows exactly what she looks like and doesn’t believe it. “Good, wow, or oh no, this is a disaster, wow?”
“Definitely not a disaster.” I clear my throat, trying to sound like a functioning adult. “You look… incredible.”
Color touches her cheeks, quick and soft. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Hendrix.”
I wish she hadn’t said that, or maybe I’m glad she did, because the way she looks at me when she says it lands like she sees more than the suit and the tie she selected for the cameras.
“You ready?” she asks, pulling the door closed behind her.
I should say yes and make a joke about having her schedule memorized or how Cooper will have a coronary if we’re late. Instead, my chest tightens, and what comes out is the truth.
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.
Her eyes lift, surprised and searching. There is no press room, no microphone, just my uncertainty hanging between us. She inhales, steadying herself. “What do you mean?”
“Last night.” I shake my head because it feels too big for my chest. “The way you looked at me and my family keeps replaying in my head. I don’t know how to walk into a room with you tonight and pretend it didn’t happen.”
She goes still, and I wish I could grab the words and shove them back down, pretend I never said them. Then she exhales, a fraught breath pulled from somewhere deeper than her lungs.
“Kyle…”
Just the way she says my name sounds like something caught between longing and fear, a confession wrapped inside a single syllable, urging me to step closer.
“I’m not great at pretending,” I admit, voice dropping. “Not with you. And tonight… I just don’t know how easy it’s going to be.”
The truth is out in the open between us, quiet and dangerous. Her fingers flex once at her side like she’s fighting the urge to reach for me, or maybe she’s fighting exactly what I am, how real this is feeling.
“Then we’ll just…” She swallows, finds steadiness by force. “Handle it as it comes.”
Her voice is calm, but there’s a tremor in her eyes. She nods once, chin tipping in the smallest pact I have ever felt hit this hard.
She steps past me toward the elevator, and my body follows even before my brain decides to. We stand side by side, too close and not close enough, staring at the closed elevator doors like they’re some kind of test.
I know she’s replaying what I said the same way I am. When the elevator arrives, she moves to step in. I lift my arm, not blocking her, just giving her a second.
“Are we okay?” I ask.
“She nods almost immediately, but her eyes flick down the length of my chest in a quick sweep she probably doesn’t even register.
My heartbeat answers for me as we step into the elevator.
The doors slide shut with a soft hum that swallows us into a small, private box.
For a moment, it’s just the soft whir of the lift and the sound of her breathing beside me.
She keeps her gaze aimed forward, but her voice is just a little unsteady when she says, “Do you really think that tie is better on camera?”
I almost laugh, because of course, she is grabbing for neutral ground. For something she can control. “It is, but that’s not why I’m wearing it.”
She looks up at me then, and whatever she sees in my face makes her lips part slightly, as if her breath has caught on something sharp.
Her perfume is subtle and something soft that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to name.
Neither of us moves, but it feels like we’re dangerously close to something neither of us is ready to touch.
The elevator dings, mercifully, and we both shift back a fraction, like the sound physically nudged us.
We walk through the lobby in silence, the sound of her heels tapping counting down to whatever tonight is going to be. People step aside without realizing why, just reacting to the sight of a man in a suit and a woman who looks like she belongs at the center of every room she walks into.
We walk out of the building and find the town car idling at the curb. I move ahead to open her door because if I stay behind her, I’ll forget how to speak. That dress is already testing every ounce of control I have.
“After you,” I say, gesturing for her to go first.
She hesitates for half a second, then lowers herself into the back seat with a grace she probably doesn’t know she has. The dress pools around her like liquid color. I shut the door and walk around to my side, take one slow breath of the cool night air, and slide in beside her.
The driver pulls away from the curb, city lights flickering across her cheekbones as we merge into traffic. Alycia laces her fingers together in her lap, knuckles white, the only visible tell she probably thinks no one will notice.
“You’re nervous,” I murmur.
She exhales a small, humorless laugh. “You’re very observant tonight.”
“You make it hard not to be.”
Her head turns toward the window, like the glass might give her something to focus on that isn’t me. “We’ll have cameras the second we step out of this car. Sponsors, donors, league reps, and staff are watching for any hint of impropriety. We need to be in sync. No surprises.”
“You’re expecting me to lose control.”
“I’m expecting you to be…” She pauses, searching for the word, then sighs. “You.”
That's fair. I nod, looking down at my hands. “And what about you?”
“I don’t know how to pretend tonight,” she admits, her voice cracking the smallest amount. “Not after last night.”
I want to take her hand. I want to say she doesn’t have to pretend with me at all. What comes out is a compromise that feels like the only way through.
“Then we don’t pretend with each other,” I say. “Just everyone else.”
Her breath stutters. A small, broken inhale that feels louder than traffic.
For a heartbeat, it feels like we’re balanced on a knife’s edge in the back seat of a car.
Either one of us could lean one way and turn this into something else entirely.
She finally turns her head, eyes finding mine.
They’re fierce and so painfully brave that something in my chest gives way so cleanly it almost hurts.
The car slows as we approach the hotel. Outside, the flash of cameras is already waiting, bright bursts cutting through the early evening. They paint the inside of the car in pulses of white and gold, catching on the line of her neck.
“Ready?” she whispers.
“Not even close,” I breathe. “But I’ve got you.”
Her eyes soften, and for a second, it feels like the whole world holds still. The driver steps out and opens her door. She reaches for my hand, not in a staged, here-are-the-cameras way. Just her finding me, fingers curling around mine, warm and sure.
My heart slams once, hard enough that I feel it in my throat.
She shifts toward the open door, still holding on, and I follow because there’s nowhere else I’d be.
When she steps out, the static of the crowd erupts, shutters clicking, voices calling our names.
She straightens into the light, press-ready smile sliding smoothly into place.
Her hand tightens once around mine before she lets go, and all I can think as I step out behind her is that last night, at my family’s table, we awoke something we’re not going to be able to put back to sleep.