Chapter 18
Skyler
The elevator ride to my floor lasted seven thousand years.
Jacks stood beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched, staring at the illuminated numbers on the silver buttons like they held the secrets of molecular biology, though I wasn’t sure either of us understood or cared about that.
The fluorescent light hummed overhead, harsh and unforgiving, making everything feel too bright and too real.
Neither of us spoke.
The silence from the car had followed us into the building, through the lobby, past the doorman who’d greeted me with a cheerful “Welcome home, Mr. Shaw” that I’d barely acknowledged. It wrapped around us now, thick and suffocating, filling the small metal box with everything we weren’t saying.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. Hell, the doorman could probably hear it, and we were ten stories above him and rising.
What was I doing?
What the hell was I doing?
I’d asked Jacks to come upstairs, to help with a bag I didn’t need help to carry, and now we were in an elevator together, climbing toward my apartment, and I had no plan for what happened next.
The numbers ticked higher. 14. 15. 16.
I snuck a glance.
His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He looked like a man bracing for impact, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I knew the feeling.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.
“This is me,” I said, stating the obvious like an idiot.
Jacks nodded and followed me down the hallway, his footsteps quiet on the carpet. I fumbled with my keys, nearly dropping them twice before managing to unlock the door.
My hands were shaking.
Why were my hands shaking?
My apartment was as I’d left it two weeks ago—clean, sparse, the kind of space that looked more like a model home than somewhere a person lived.
I’d never been good at decorating. The furniture was nice but impersonal, chosen by a designer the team had recommended when I’d signed my contract.
The only things that felt like mine were the FSU jersey on the wall (that I’d forgotten was there when I’d asked him up) and the stack of hockey sticks in the corner that I kept meaning to organize.
“Nice,” Jacks said, glancing around, because one of us had to say something.
“Thanks.” I dropped my duffel by the door and stood there, at a complete loss. “Do you, uh . . . want something to drink?”
“Sure.”
I walked to the kitchen on autopilot, grateful for a task. “I’ve got water, and, um, I think there’s some beer in the fridge. Or I could make coffee? I have one of those pod things.”
“Water’s fine.”
I grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator and handed him one, our fingers not quite touching during the exchange. He twisted off the cap and took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed. I watched, transfixed, then realized I was staring and looked away.
Get it together, Shaw.
“So,” I said, moving toward the living room. “We could watch TV? Or I have video games. The PlayStation’s got some multiplayer stuff if you want to—”
“Skyler.”
His voice was gentle, patient even. It was the voice one might use with a spooked animal.
I stopped rambling and turned to face him.
He was standing by the kitchen island, water bottle in hand, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“I should go,” he said. “Let you rest. You’ve had a long trip, and I don’t want to—”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I intended.
Jacks blinked. “No?”
“I mean—” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself, with this situation, with my complete inability to form coherent sentences. “Just . . . don’t go yet. Please.”
He set the water bottle down on the counter, his movements careful, deliberate. “Okay. I won’t go.”
We stood there, a football field apart, the silence stretching between us like a living thing.
I should let him leave.
That would be the smart thing, the safe thing, let him walk out the door, text him later that I was tired and that I’d see him at the bar in a few days and that everything was fine and normal and the way it had always been.
But I couldn’t.
Because everything wasn’t fine.
Everything hadn’t been fine since the oak tree, since the moment I’d touched his face and felt my whole world tilt.
I’d spent two weeks on the road trying to outrun it, trying to convince myself it was nothing, but the feeling had only grown stronger.
Every text, every phone call, every sleepy late-night conversation had pulled me deeper into something I didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
And then, in the car, when we’d been inches apart, when his breath had mingled with mine and—
I’d wanted to kiss him.
I’d wanted it so badly it terrified me.
That’s why I’d pulled back.
Not because I didn’t want it, but because I wanted it too much, and wanting it meant everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. Everything I was so sure of had been a lie.
Erik’s words echoed in my head.
She makes me forget everyone and everything else, just by walking into a room.
I stopped fighting it. I let myself want what I wanted.
Everything got simple.
I looked at Jacks—at his worried expression, his defensive posture, the way he was preparing himself to be let down—and I made a decision.
It was probably the stupidest decision of my life.
Or maybe the bravest.
“I need to try something,” I said.
Jacks’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I need to try something, okay? And, well . . .” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard and forced myself to continue. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
His face contorted in confusion, concern, and something that might have been hope, all flickering across his features in rapid succession. For a long moment, he didn’t respond, just studied me like he was trying to solve a puzzle he’d been working on for weeks.
Then, slowly, carefully, he said, “Okay.”
One word.
Permission wrapped in a blanket of trepidation.
I took a step forward.
My legs felt like they belonged to someone else, moving without my conscious input. Every step felt monumental, like I was crossing a threshold I could never uncross. The distance between us shrank—eight feet, six feet, four—and with each step, my heart beat faster.
Jacks’s eyes went wide.
He stepped backward, instinctive, and his back bumped against the wall beside the kitchen doorway. The impact stopped his retreat, fixed him in place, and suddenly he was trapped, watching me approach with an expression that was equal parts alarmed and hopeful.
I knew that expression.
I was wearing it, too.
I stopped in front of him, close enough now that I could see the rise and fall of his chest, the slight tremble in his hands, and the way his pupils had dilated until his brown eyes were almost black.
Neither of us spoke.
I raised my hand.
Slowly, like I was moving through water, I reached up and brushed a curl from his forehead. The gesture was deliberate this time, intentional—a callback to the moment under the oak tree when I’d done this same thing without thinking and everything had changed.
Jacks’s breath hitched.
His eyes fluttered half closed.
I leaned in.
The last few inches between us collapsed in slow motion, my heart hammering so loud it drowned out everything else.
I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, could smell the clean scent of his shampoo mixed with something that was uniquely him, could see the slight part of his lips as he realized what was happening.
And then I kissed him.
It was hesitant at first, barely a brush of lips, gentle and questioning, giving him every chance to pull away despite the wall and my bulk pinning him in place. My whole body was trembling, terrified of rejection, terrified of what it meant that I was doing this at all.
But he didn’t pull away.
For one breathless moment, he went still, frozen like a statue.
I started to panic, started to pull back, started to stammer out an apology—
And then he kissed me back.
His hands came up to cradle my face, and he pulled me closer.
Suddenly the kiss wasn’t hesitant anymore.
It was desperate and hungry and everything I hadn’t known I’d been missing for my entire life. He tasted like the water he’d drunk and something sweeter underneath, and the soft groan he made against my mouth sent thrills racing down my spine.
I’d kissed girls before.
Dozens of them, maybe more. Definitely more.
But nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this.
It was like coming home after years of wandering.
Like finding a piece of myself I hadn’t known was missing.
Like everything I’d been so sure I’d never feel crashing into me all at once.
When we pulled apart, we were both breathing hard. My forehead rested against his, our noses almost touching, sharing the same air. His hands were still on my face, warm and steady, anchoring me to the moment.
“Sky,” he breathed.
Just my name, barely a whisper.
“I know,” I said, even though I didn’t.
Even though I had no idea what came next or what this meant or how to navigate the complete demolition of everything I’d thought I knew about myself.
All I knew in that moment was that I didn’t want to stop.
All I knew was that this—that he—felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
“Is this okay?” I asked, suddenly uncertain. “I should have asked first. I should have—”
He kissed me again, cutting off my rambling, and I melted into it, my back now against the wall as he reversed our positions, his body pressing into mine with a confidence that made my knees weak.
When he pulled back this time, he was smiling that warm, easy smile that had been undoing me for weeks.
“Yeah,” he said. “This is okay.”
I laughed, the sound hysterical, and buried my face in his shoulder.
His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, one hand cupping the back of my head, giving more comfort and safety than he would ever know.
For a long moment we stood there, tangled together in my kitchen doorway, breathing each other in.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I admitted into his shirt.
“That makes two of us.”
“I’ve never . . . with a guy, I mean. I’ve never even kissed—”
“I know.” His hand rubbed soothing circles on my back. “We don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”
I pulled back enough to look at him, at the warm eyes I’d been trying not to notice for weeks, at the curve of his smile, and the way he looked at me like I was something precious, something worth waiting for.
“I’m scared,” I said.
“Me, too.”
“What if I mess this up?”
“Then we clean up a mess.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender. “I’m not going anywhere, remember? I told you that.”
He had said that.
Several times.
I’d thought it was something people said, thought he’d meant he wasn’t leaving the bar, that he’d be there with my favorite order and drinks when I came back from hockey trips.
Fuck me.
I knew that’s not what he’d meant. I was just too thick or ignorant or whatever to recognize it at the time.
Or too scared.
Yeah, that was more honest.
I was starting to realize Jacks didn’t say things he didn’t mean.
“Stay,” I said. “I mean, not like that. I’m not ready for . . . just . . . stay? I don’t want to be alone right now.”
His smile softened. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
He kissed me again, soft and sweet, and I let myself sink into it, let myself feel everything I’d been running from for weeks—maybe years, maybe my whole life.
I didn’t have any answers.
Hell, I barely knew what questions to ask.
I didn’t know what this made me, or what it meant for my career, or how the guys would respond. I didn’t know how I was supposed to navigate any of what came next. I didn’t even know what might come next.
But for the first time in as long as I could remember, I wasn’t fighting.
I was letting myself want what I wanted.
And everything—as Erik had promised—suddenly felt a little simpler.