22. Micah
TWENTY-TWO
MICAH
“Blackman. Taylor. Together. Line drills,” Coach barks.
My stomach twists. I knew this was coming.
The whole field goes quiet for a second as though even the grass knows this is a bad idea. Colton’s helmet is tucked under his arm. His hair’s a sweaty mess, cheeks flushed, mouth tight. He walks toward me like a mistake dressed in cleats. My mistake.
I don’t look at him. Not really. Just enough to keep from tripping over him during drills.
We take our marks. Feet braced. Knees bent.
Whistle.
We run.
Drill after drill.
My shoulder brushes his on a turn. His breath grazes my neck on a sprint. Everything in me goes tight. Not because I care. Not because it still means something. But because I hate how easy it is to fall back into rhythm with him. Pretending nothing ever happened .
Like I didn’t almost destroy my life because of him, and he hadn’t helped me try.
“Switch sides!” Coach yells.
Colton moves behind me, then next to me. I hear his breath before I hear his voice.
“I didn’t know it was you,” he says low, as though he’s been waiting for the noise of our steps to cover it. “Not at first. Not until after our kiss.”
I pretend I don’t hear him.
We pivot again. Sprint. Break. Drop. He’s right beside me the whole time.
“But once I figured it out,” he pants, “I wanted to tell you. That’s why I did say something.”
I stop short. Right there in the middle of the field, grass sticking to my cleats, lungs burning.
“After you said you wanted to meet—and tried to guilt me for ghosting you?” I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“I meant everything I said.” His voice is raw. “Online. In the messages. That was me. The real me.”
My blood turns to ice.
“Too bad the real you’s two years too fucking late.”
His jaw clenches. He wants to say something else, I see it in the twitch of his fingers, the way he leans forward as if he can close the gap with just a look.
A whistle cuts through our stare off.
Coach’s voice slices through the tension. “Run or sit. Your choice, girls.”
I start jogging again. I don’t wait for Colton, but I hear his footsteps fall in line behind me. He stays quiet this time. Good. Because if he says one more thing, I don’t know if I’ll punch him or kiss him again, and I’m not sure which would ruin me faster .
When the last drill ends, I barely wait for the whistle before I’m walking off the field, grabbing my water, and heading toward the locker room without a single look back.
The locker room is quieter than usual. Guys filter out fast, as if the tension between us is contagious. I strip fast, shower faster, and think about leaving without a word.
But when I step out, he’s there. Leaning against the wall acting completely casual, like he didn’t just train beside me for two hours.
“You followed me,” I say.
“I waited for you,” he corrects.
I glare.
“I just—I just need five minutes, Micah.”
I don’t move. My fingers tighten on my damp towel, still slung around my hips. “You got two.”
He looks up at me, and for once, there’s no smugness. Just the guy I fell for in the first place.
“I never wanted to hurt you. I know I did, and I know sorry doesn’t fix it… But I never forgot that kiss two years ago. Not once. Not for a second.”
I exhale harshly. “You ruined me, Colton. You let them think I?—”
“I know.” His voice breaks. “I was scared. I was so fucking scared. And so stupid, Micah.”
“You weren’t the one who lost everything.”
He steps forward. Close enough that his body spray and sweat invades my nose, tickling at memories I shove back down. He shouldn’t smell so fucking good. That familiar scent—woodsy, clean, something expensive and sharp—wraps around me still tugging at the uninvited memories.
It hits me low. Hard. Because I know that smell. Used to fall a sleep with it in my sheets. Used to lean into it during all those late nights we pretended to just be friends.
My chest tightens. And my body reacts before I can stop it—tensing, heart skipping two beats, as though it’s been sucker punched. My groin stirs. I look away fast, jaw clenched.
I don’t want this. I don’t want him.
But his scent lingers anyway. Sticking to the inside of my lungs like something I’ll never fully scrape off.
“I know that too,” he whispers, his eyes pleading with me for understanding.
My chest heaves.
There’s a beat. A second too long. Too charged.
And then I shove past him.
Again.
“Micah—”
“I can’t keep doing this,” I say, my voice fraying at the edges. “I can’t keep letting you in just so you can destroy me.”
I don’t wait for a response. I turn, towel clinging low to my hips, and make for the hallway that leads to the locker room exit. The hallway that ends in silence, in walls I can punch, in places he doesn’t get to follow.
But I hear him behind me anyway. Footsteps. Harsh breath.
“Micah, wait—please.”
I spin fast. “For what, Colton? So you can tell me again that you didn’t mean to ruin my fucking life? That you were scared? You think that’s news?”
“No,” he says, voice hoarse. “I think it’s true. I think I was a fucking coward, and I’ve regretted it every goddamn day since. ”
I laugh bitterly. “Congratulations. At least you got to regret it. I had to survive it.”
“I know. ” He steps closer, hands clenched at his sides. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I can’t stop wanting one. I can’t stop?—”
He reaches for me. I flinch.
But I don’t step away.
His hand lifts slowly, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll bolt. He brushes the backs of his fingers along my jaw. My breath catches.
“I can’t stop wanting you. ” His thumb grazes my bottom lip. “Even when I know I shouldn’t. You feel it too, I know you do.”
Then he kisses me.
It’s not tentative.
It’s fucking hungry.
His lips crash into mine with a force that steals the air from my lungs. His hands cup my face, anchoring himself there, and my hands fist in his shirt before I can think better of it.
His mouth slants over mine again, rougher this time, tasting all the anger, all the longing we never said out loud. Daring me to pull away.
I don’t.
I bite his lower lip instead, just enough to make him groan into my mouth. He presses me back into the wall, and my towel shifts. Loosens. Hangs on by a thread.
Colton’s hands drop to my hips, holding me there, and his mouth trails to my jaw, teeth grazing before he sucks a spot just below it. His tongue flicks. My knees damn near buckle.
Fuuuck.
I gasp. My hips jerk. I’m hard, pressed against him, fully exposed now as the towel slips and hits the floor with a dull thud I barely register.
His palm slides to my bare hip, fingertips digging in, memorizing the shape of me. Like I’m someone he’s finally allowed to touch. His hips press against my hard shaft, and I groan as he rubs against me, my head falling back to the brick wall.
It’s too much.
I tear away from him as though I’ve been scorched, shoving him back with both palms on his chest. Colton stumbles. His eyes are blown wide, mouth flushed and swollen. I snatch up my towel and wrap it around my waist with shaking hands.
“Don’t follow me,” I whisper, throat tight, heart slamming inside my chest, trying to serve itself up to him on a silver platter.
“Micah—”
I don’t wait. I leave him there, lips parted, chest rising and falling like he’s the one who just got his heart put in a blender. And I don’t look back.
Even though every cell in my body is begging me to.