Chapter 38 Sophie
SOPHIE
The crowd downstairs is just as loud as before, oblivious to what happened upstairs. I spot Ava near the kitchen with Coleson, laughing about something. When she sees my face, her smile drops instantly.
“What happened?” she asks, stepping forward.
I take a deep breath and tell her. Not everything—I don’t want to relive it word for word—but enough. Her expression goes from concern to fury in seconds.
“He what?” Ava snaps. “Where is he? I swear to God—”
Logan reappears just then, sliding through the crowd like he’s on a mission. “He’s gone,” he says. “I made sure the guys at the door won’t let him back in.”
Ava crosses her arms, fire in her eyes. “Good. Because if he hadn’t left, I’d be the one dragging him out by the scruff of his neck.”
Logan smirks. “Honestly? I’d pay to see that.”
Ava shoots him a look, half serious, half dangerous. “Don’t tempt me.”
The tension in my chest loosens just a little. Between Beck’s unwavering presence at my side, Logan’s backup, and Ava’s unfiltered loyalty, I feel something like safety settle back in.
Beck’s thumb brushes the back of my hand again, subtle but grounding. “You want to stay?” he asks softly.
For the first time in the last fifteen minutes, I actually breathe. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I do.”
I stick close to Beck as we weave through the crowd toward the living room. He doesn’t hover or crowd me; he’s just there. His hand brushes the small of my back when the hallway gets tight. His fingers find mine when we pause to talk to someone. Subtle. Exactly what I need.
Ava, of course, is acting like she’s on a mission to singlehandedly fix my mood. She grabs my hand and drags me toward the makeshift “dance floor” in the center of the living room, shooting Beck a look over her shoulder. “Five minutes,” she mouths, already bopping to the beat.
“I don’t dance,” I tell her, laughing weakly.
“Liar,” she says. “You dance every time we pregame.”
“That’s different!”
“Then pretend this is a pregame.” She gives my hand a tug. “Come on, Prescott. You deserve at least one good song.”
I hesitate, glancing back at Beck. He’s leaning against the wall near Logan, water in hand, watching me with that quiet, attentive expression he gets sometimes—like I’m the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. When our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth lifts, soft and encouraging.
Something inside me loosens.
So, I let Ava pull me in.
The music shifts to a remix I know, something upbeat and familiar.
Ava starts dancing like she owns the place, Coleson circling in to join her a few beats later.
And slowly—almost without realizing—I start moving with the rhythm too.
My shoulders relax. The adrenaline that had been coiled tight in my chest starts to ebb, replaced by a fizzy kind of lightness.
Ava leans in, yelling over the music, “There’s the smile I know!”
She’s right. I am smiling. For real this time.
When the song ends, I turn toward the edge of the room and find Beck still watching me, a grin tugging at his lips. He doesn’t move right away, but Logan elbows him in the ribs, muttering something I can’t hear, and Beck finally pushes off the wall and walks over.
“Hey,” he says, leaning down so I can hear him over the music.
“Hey,” I say back, cheeks flushed—not from nerves this time, but from dancing.
His hand slides easily into mine. “You look like you’re having fun.”
“I am,” I admit, a little breathless.
“Good,” he says, squeezing my hand. “You deserve to.”
Something warm floods my chest at the way he says it. Simple. Certain.
A new song starts up, slower than the one before, and Beck raises an eyebrow like he’s giving me the choice. I nod, and he pulls me in—not too close, just enough that I can rest my hands lightly against his chest as we sway.
For the first time since that hallway, I don’t feel that shadow clinging to me.
I feel safe. Seen. Me.
And when Beck looks down at me with that small, crooked grin, I can’t help but smile back.
The music shifts again, something upbeat fading into a slower, steadier rhythm. Beck’s hands rest lightly at my waist as we sway near the edge of the living room, the glow from the string lights softening the space around us. My heart’s still beating fast—not from fear this time, but from him.
For a few blissful minutes, it’s just us. No crowd, no Zach, no noise in my head. Just Beck.
He leans in a little, eyes locked on mine, that small crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I like when you look happy,” he says softly.
“Me too,” I admit. And it’s true. I hadn’t expected to feel this way tonight, not after everything, but here I am—warm all over, smiling like a total idiot, and not caring who sees.
His thumb brushes along the side of my jersey, absentminded but gentle. The music fades into the background, and suddenly it’s just the two of us standing still in a crowded room.
My breath catches when his gaze flickers down to my mouth. It’s subtle—just a tiny shift—but my stomach flips anyway.
“Can I—” he starts, voice quiet.
I nod before he can finish.
He leans down, and I meet him halfway. The kiss is soft at first, careful and sweet, like we’re both savoring the moment. My hands slide up his chest, fingers curling lightly into his shirt, and he smiles against my lips.
The world blurs around us—the music, the lights, the people—and all I can feel is him. Sure. Mine.
When we finally break apart, we’re both grinning like idiots.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he whispers back, forehead resting lightly against mine.
Somewhere behind us, Ava lets out a dramatic wolf whistle, and Logan yells something I can’t make out over the music. I bury my face in Beck’s chest, laughing.
“Guess we have an audience,” he says, chuckling.
I smile before pulling away just enough to turn around, pressing my back to his front. His arms come around my waist as he presses a kiss to my hair. His woodsy, citrusy scent surrounds me, bringing me an instant sense of calm and belonging.
I could easily get used to this, but even Beck doesn’t know what path he’s going to take in the future. In just a few months, he could be off to another state, maybe even half way across the country.
And that is just a little bit frightening.
The hallway outside my dorm is quiet as Beck and I walk to my room. I unlock the door, and we slip inside, the soft click of the door shutting behind us.
It’s not lost on me how different this night turned out from what I’d pictured. If you’d asked me yesterday, I would’ve imagined a completely different ending—something slower, hotter, where last night’s teasing turned into something real. Where we stopped tiptoeing and finally crossed that line.
But after everything that happened at the hockey house…my body’s tired, my brain is buzzing in that hazy, aftershock way, and what I want most right now isn’t sex. It’s him. Here.
Beck sets my bag on the chair and turns to me, his hands finding my hips lightly as he studies my face. “You doing okay?”
I nod, though it comes out small. “Yeah. Just tired.”
His thumbs rub slow circles through the fabric of his jersey that still hangs on me, and for a second I catch a flicker in his eyes—the same heat from last night, banked but not gone. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.
“As much as I’d love to make good on that promise from last night,” he murmurs against my skin, “I think you need to sleep this one off.”
My chest tightens, not from disappointment, but from the quiet certainty in his voice. He’s not pulling away—he’s taking care of me.
He steps back, reaching for the hem of the jersey and lifting it slightly. “Arms up,” he says gently.
I raise my arms, and he slides the jersey off carefully, folding it and setting it on the chair. It’s not sexual—it’s soft, domestic in a way that makes my throat ache.
“Go take a shower,” he says quietly. “Get warm. Get comfortable. I’ll wait until you’re settled before I head out.”
Something in me melts completely. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he says simply. “I want to.”
Steam curls out of the bathroom when I open the door, my skin warm and clean, my hair pulled back in a loose braid. I’m in my softest sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, one I’ve had since freshman year, and the sight that greets me makes my heart squeeze a little.
Beck’s kicked off his shoes and hoodie, sitting on the edge of my bed like he belongs there. His socks don’t match—of course—and he’s scrolling aimlessly on his phone, waiting. The overhead light is off, leaving only the small lamp on my desk glowing soft and golden.
“Feel better?” he asks, looking up.
“Yeah,” I say, meaning it. “A lot better.”
I climb into bed beside him, pulling the covers up, and for a moment we just sit there, the hum of the heater filling the quiet. My body’s heavy in the best way—tired, safe, and content.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say softly. “It’s late. I know you probably want to head back.”
He glances at me, one eyebrow lifting in that way that always makes him look a little smug, a little sweet. “Yeah, but then you’d miss out on my world-class cuddling skills. Dangerous stuff, Prescott. Highly addictive.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Is that so?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, settling back against the headboard. “I should probably warn you before you make the mistake of letting me stay. Once it happens, there’s no going back.”
I pretend to think about it, tapping my chin. “Hmm. Sounds risky.”
“Extremely,” he deadpans. “You’ll get attached. You’ll start requesting designated cuddle nights. It’s a whole thing.”
I roll my eyes but can’t stop smiling. “Fine. Stay. But if I wake up smothered, I’m blaming you.”
He grins, pulling the covers back and sliding in beside me. The mattress dips under his weight, and when he wraps an arm around my waist to tug me against his chest, it feels…inevitable. Like this is exactly how the night was always supposed to end.
“I think there’s something we should probably talk about,” he says, his voice sounding slightly nervous, but still calm. “I know I mentioned it before, back when we were just faking and all that, but I want to make it clear, just in case it’s something that you’re not okay with.”
I look up at him, slightly confused as to what this is about. “Okay?”
“It’s about…the physical”—he winces slightly, seeming to already be regretting his word choice there—“side of, well, whatever this is. Whatever you want it to be.”
He clears his throat, voice sounding more confident when he continues.
“I don’t plan on having sex with anyone until I know they’re my person.
I know it’s not necessarily considered the norm, and no, I’m not some born again virgin or anything like that.
I just…I don’t want to give that piece of myself to someone else until I’m sure. Until I’m ready.”
His face is slightly flushed by the time he finishes, his eyes finally coming back to meet mine after another moment passes, his brows furrowing instantly when he sees the smile on my face.
“What?” he asks.
“It’s not a deal breaker for me, Beck. At all. I like…whatever it is we are doing. I trust you, and I hope you trust me, but that’s not something I would expect or that would be an issue for me.”
“I didn’t necessarily think it would be, but I wanted to make sure.
Just in case.” He shrugs. “Ya know. Sometimes things can get a little heated in certain moments, and I never wanted to risk hurting your feelings by you thinking I was denying you specifically. Trust me, there is absolutely nothing about you that I’d want to say no to, but I think it’s the best decision for me, at least for now. ”
“I get it,” I say, moving closer and wiggling my body just enough for him to stiffen. “There are always plenty of other fun things to do outside of actually having sex.”
He curses under his breath as he buries his face into my neck. “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”
I can’t help but laugh.
Half an hour later, his heartbeat is thrumming against my back, his breath warm at the nape of my neck. I let my eyes flutter shut, but neither of us seems quite ready to sleep yet.
“You okay?” he whispers after a moment.
I nod. “Yeah. I wasn’t, earlier. But now…I’m good.”
He squeezes my waist gently. “Good.”
There’s a quiet stretch, the kind that feels full instead of empty. I shift slightly to face him, my forehead brushing his. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to thank me for wanting to be here,” he murmurs back.
Something inside me loosens completely. My fingers find the fabric of his T-shirt, curling there like they’ve found a home.
“Night, Beck.”
“Night, pretty girl.”