Chapter 12 The Almost Kiss #2
His eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“Outside.”
“I’m supposed to be inside.”
“So am I.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re getting.”
For one beautiful second, Nico looked like he might argue.
Then he followed her.
They exited through the side doors into the cool night air behind the student union. The campus spread quiet around them, silvered by moonlight and scattered lampposts. Music from the ballroom thudded faintly through the brick wall behind them.
Lena walked until the noise softened.
Nico stayed beside her.
Not touching.
Close enough for the absence to feel deliberate.
They ended up near the path that led toward the tennis complex. Lena did not plan it.
Probably.
Nico noticed anyway.
“Courts?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re walking there.”
“Maybe I like the scenery.”
“It’s dark.”
“Very atmospheric.”
He huffed a quiet laugh.
The sound loosened something in her chest.
They reached the outer fence of the tennis center, but Lena did not unlock the gate. She stopped outside it, fingers curling around the chain-link.
Inside, Court One sat dark and empty.
No floodlights.
No serves.
No performance.
Just lines waiting for morning.
Nico stood beside her.
For a while, they said nothing.
That was becoming another language between them.
Finally, Lena asked, “Do you ever get tired of pretending you’re not scared?”
She expected him to deny it.
Deflect.
Snap.
Instead, Nico leaned one shoulder against the fence and stared into the dark court.
“Yes.”
The honesty hit harder than any argument.
Lena turned her head slowly.
His profile was shadowed, his jaw tight, his eyes on the court like it held the only version of him he understood.
“All the time,” he said.
Her throat tightened.
“Nico.”
“My family doesn’t need me scared,” he said. “They need me successful.”
“That is not the same thing as fine.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at her then.
And there it was.
The thing beneath all the anger.
Fear.
Not the kind that ran.
The kind that stayed because leaving was not an option.
“I can’t lose this,” he said. “The scholarship. The season. The scouts. Any of it. My mom says she’s fine, and she’s lying.
Sofia pretends college applications are just exciting, and she’s lying too.
Everyone lies so I can keep swinging a racket like it’s a dream and not a bill with a scoreboard attached. ”
Lena’s eyes burned.
She hated that he would hate tears.
So she held them back.
Barely.
“That is too much,” she said.
His mouth curved without humor. “It’s what I have.”
“No. It’s what you’ve been carrying.”
His eyes met hers.
The air changed.
Again.
Only this time, neither of them looked away.
The night felt too still. The fence beneath Lena’s fingers was cool. Nico stood close enough that she could smell him now, soap and clean sweat and something warm she was starting to associate with bad ideas.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” she said.
The words came out soft.
Too soft.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Her breath caught.
For one second, she thought he would step back.
He did not.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Just one step.
The space between them became a suggestion.
A warning.
A dare.
“People say that,” he said, voice low, “when they don’t know how heavy it is.”
“Then let me know.”
Nico stared at her.
The sentence trembled between them, reckless and impossible to take back.
Let me know.
Not let me fix it.
Not let me use it.
Not let me turn it into a caption.
Just let me know.
His eyes moved over her face like he was searching for the trap.
Lena let him look.
No smile.
No performance.
No donor daughter shine.
Just her.
His hand lifted slowly.
Stopped near her cheek.
“Lena,” he said.
It sounded like a warning.
It sounded like surrender.
She should have reminded him of the rules.
Public appearances only.
No private pretending.
No unnecessary touching.
No kissing.
No confusion.
Instead, she whispered, “Tell me not to want you.”
His breath changed.
Her heart hit once, hard.
Nico’s fingers brushed her cheek.
Barely.
The smallest touch in the world.
It undid her completely.
“I can’t,” he said.
Her eyes searched his. “Because you don’t want to hurt me?”
His thumb moved along her jaw, careful and devastating.
“Because I’d be lying.”
The distance disappeared slowly.
So slowly it felt cruel.
Lena had enough time to stop it.
Enough time to step back, laugh, call it emotional exhaustion, say something bright and safe and false.
She did none of that.
Nico bent his head.
She tilted toward him.
His mouth was a breath from hers when his phone buzzed.
They both froze.
Reality returned like cold water.
Nico closed his eyes.
His hand fell from her face.
Lena stood there, lips parted, heart racing, skin aching where he had touched her.
The phone buzzed again.
Nico pulled it out.
Read the screen.
Whatever softness had existed between them vanished.
His face closed.
Completely.
“What?” Lena asked.
He put the phone away. “I have to go.”
“Nico.”
“I have to go.”
She caught his arm before he could turn fully. “Was it them?”
His eyes snapped to hers.
Too much answer.
“Nico, tell me.”
He looked at her hand on his arm.
Then at her face.
For one second, the almost-kiss still lived between them.
A thing with teeth.
A thing with consequences.
Then he stepped back.
“This is why we don’t do this,” he said.
Her chest tightened. “Do what?”
His voice was rough. “Forget what it is.”
Lena flinched.
Fake.
He meant fake.
Of course he did.
He looked like he hated himself for saying it.
Good.
She hoped he did.
“This is where you remind me it’s fake,” he said.
Lena’s throat closed.
She should have said it.
She should have smiled.
She should have saved them both.
But the words would not come.
Nico waited.
Lena said nothing.
His expression cracked for one brief, terrible second.
Then his phone buzzed again.
He turned and walked away into the dark.
Lena stayed by the fence, one hand still curled around the chain-link, her cheek burning from the ghost of his touch.
Her own phone vibrated inside her purse.
She pulled it out with unsteady fingers.
A message from the anonymous account waited on the screen.
Careful, sunshine. Some secrets ruin everyone standing close enough to hear them.