Chapter 16 #3
I laugh softly, the sound catching in my chest, and answer with a kiss to his temple. “Hi,” I repeat, and we drift into the quiet together, sure of what we mean to each other now and always.
He kisses the corner of my mouth. “You feel better?”
“A little,” I admit.
“Good.”
We lie quietly for a while, the room dim and peaceful, the mansion outside this locked door feeling far away.
Then reality creeps in. I shift, reluctant, and Rafe’s hand tightens reflexively on my waist.
“I really can’t stay,” I say softly.
He goes still. Usually when we have this conversation, all it takes are sweet kisses and me coming my brains out to change my mind.
“I want to. You know I do,” I add quickly, before the hurt can settle. “I just… I have to prep. Flight’s early. My bag’s not even packed.”
He exhales slowly, eyes closing for a second like he’s absorbing the disappointment. “Okay,” he says, voice careful. “Okay.”
I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
Rafe shakes his head, opening his eyes again. “Don’t.”
He props himself up on one elbow. His gaze moves over my face, lingering like he’s memorizing me again. “At least we remembered before you leave,” he says suddenly.
I blink. “What?”
Rafe’s mouth curves into a grin. “Our anniversary.”
My heart tugs painfully. “Jesus,” I mutter, half laughing. “Yeah. We remembered.”
“For once,” he teases. “Ahead of time.”
“Growth,” I deadpan.
Rafe laughs quietly. “We’re so mature.”
I roll my eyes, but warmth spreads through me anyway. “Two years in thirteen days.”
“Two years,” he echoes softly, like he’s tasting it.
The weight of that hits me harder now than it did in the hotel suite. Two years of stolen time. Two years of improvising. Two years of choosing each other in margins.
Rafe traces a line down my chest with his fingertip. “We should do something.”
“We will,” I say quickly. “We’re close this year.”
His eyes brighten. “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”
My stomach tightens.
“I checked your schedule,” he says, casual, as if it’s nothing. “You should be playing in Arizona.”
My pulse spikes.
Arizona. Close to where he grew up. Close enough to drive. Close enough that family becomes more than a vague future concept.
Rafe continues, gentle but excited. “It’s not far from my parents’ place. I could fly out to you. We could actually celebrate, just us.”
I force a smile. “That’d be nice.”
“And,” he adds, eyes searching mine, “maybe… you could finally meet them.”
My blood goes cold. My heart stutters.
I keep my expression neutral through sheer athletic discipline—the same control that keeps me calm at the free-throw line when the arena is screaming. I cling to it now like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Meet them.
Rafe’s parents.
His childhood home.
The people who raised him. The people he loves. The people who—unlike mine—might actually welcome me.
I should want this. I do want it. That’s what terrifies me. Because if his parents love me, if they accept us, if they look at me like a son-in-law instead of a disgrace… then the stakes change.
Then the secret becomes another orbit. Another risk. Another place I could fail.
Rafe watches me carefully. “Ollie?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I just….”
He softens immediately. “I know it’s big.”
I nod. “I agreed. A while ago.”
“You did,” he says gently. “And I’m not trying to force it. I just… I think it could be good. For you.”
I force my lungs to keep working. “What would you tell them?”
Rafe’s face shifts—serious now. Grounded. “The truth.”
My stomach flips.
He continues quietly, “I’ll go home after the game. Sit them down, and tell them in person.”
Cold settles under my ribs. “Tell them what?”
“That I’m married,” he says simply.
The word lands like a weight.
He reaches for my hand under the sheets and squeezes. “I’ll tell them it’s you. I’ll explain the privacy. The League. Everything. And then… you come.”
My mind flashes with worst-case scenarios even though I know his parents are supportive.
What if they hate me for making him hide? What if they think I’m selfish? What if they look at me and all they see is the reason their son has spent two years splitting his life into compartments?
Rafe’s eyes are bright now, hopeful, and I feel like I’m staring at a cliff edge. I don’t want to disappoint him. Fuck, I don’t want to be the reason he loses more. I don’t want his face to fall the way it did when I said retire.
So I make myself nod. “Okay,” I say.
He exhales sharply, relief breaking across his face like sunlight. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I repeat, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I’ll do it.”
He smiles, full and beautiful, and kisses my knuckles like I just gave him a gift. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
I pretend the nausea isn’t clawing at my ribs as Rafe lies back down, pulling me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me like he’s already celebrating.
“I’m excited,” he says softly.
My throat burns. “Me too,” I lie.
He doesn’t catch it. Or if he does, he lets it go. He kisses my hair and holds me tighter, like he’s trying to store up warmth before I leave.
And I let him.
Because I don’t know how to say I’m terrified. I don’t know how to admit that the idea of meeting his parents makes my skin feel too tight. That being accepted might be even scarier than being rejected, because it will prove there was always another way, and I just wasn’t brave enough to take it.
Rafe nuzzles closer. “We’ll make it good this year,” he murmurs. “No forgetting. No disasters.”
I manage a breathless laugh. “No disasters.”
He smiles against my shoulder. “Promise?”
“Promise,” I echo, even as dread coils in my stomach, sharp and persistent. Even as I already feel the weight of that meeting pressing into the future.
Rafe is excited. He’s hopeful. And I’m smiling in the dark while fear blooms quietly inside my chest, because I don’t know how to do anything else.
Not when the man I love is finally reaching for more. Not when I’m the one who has to decide whether we’re allowed to have it.