Chapter 51 #2
Jeremy huffs, “I hate him. He’s out there parading Celeste around like you’re a deleted scene in his blooper reel.”
Nolan’s voice lowers. “He’s out there trying to prove something. That doesn’t make it real. Or true. Maya, don’t shrink yourself just because someone else couldn’t handle the size of your light.”
Jeremy clutches his heart like he’s about to faint. “Okay, Shakespeare. Rorie, you better keep him.”
I roll my eyes, trying to hide the stupid smile tugging at my lips.
Nolan leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks at Maya again. “Whatever you do, don’t let his choices rewrite your story. He’s not the final chapter. You are.”
Maya swallows hard and nods, but her chin quivers slightly. “God, why does that make me want to cry even harder?”
“Because it’s true,” I say softly, reaching for her hand.
Jeremy, of course, breaks the tension. “Okay, but also because you’re high on those pumpkin enzyme fumes and that mask is probably harvesting your deepest traumas.”
Maya bursts out laughing and wipes under her eyes with the sleeve of the giant sweatshirt she stole from me earlier. “You’re both disasters.”
“Disasters with flawless skin,” Jeremy corrects. “And a developing plan for revenge.”
“Oh no,” I groan, flopping back against the pillows.
“Yes,” Jeremy hisses with glee. “We have glitter, crepe paper, a Bluetooth speaker, and access to the playlist I used to seduce my ex-boyfriend. Operation: Emotional Sabotage is a go.”
Nolan blinks. “Should I be concerned?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
Nolan raises a brow. “Please tell me this doesn’t involve glitter again.”
“Oh, sweet Rhodes,” Jeremy says, grinning as he picks up a notebook filled with hand-drawn maps and sticky notes. “It involves so much glitter.”
Nolan just leans back, towel turban slipping slightly, and says, “If anyone asks—I was never here.”
Maya lets out a long, slow breath. “Thank you. All of you. This was... what I needed.”
Jeremy raises his can of questionable seltzer. “To healing. And to not punching A-list actors. No matter how punchable their faces are.”
Nolan lifts his, too. “And to future sex tapes with people who deserve us.” He winks at me.
We all laugh, and for a moment, the heaviness lifts.
Later, Maya curls up in my bed, face wiped clean, breathing finally steady. Jeremy stumbles out the door muttering something about peeing in Asher’s exfoliant.
There’s a calm now, the kind that only comes after a storm of truth, carbs, and group confessionals under face masks that smelled faintly of menthol.
I turn and find Nolan still in my living room, standing barefoot near the window, hands in the pockets of his joggers, a soft navy tee stretched across his chest. The string lights from the patio cast golden specks across his face, and when he looks at me, there’s something in his expression that’s so open—so unguarded—it makes my throat tighten.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Hey,” he murmurs, just as soft.
The silence is no longer thick. It’s not fragile. It’s full of the kind of pull that brings you closer without a word.
I take a step toward him.
He meets me halfway.
Nolan reaches for my hand, threads his fingers through mine, and leads me through the connected door quietly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And it is.
We pause just inside his suite, the soft hush of the ocean still audible beyond the windows. He turns to face me, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand.
“I have something for you,” he says, voice almost shy. “Picked it up at the island market earlier today.”
My head tilts. “You got me a souvenir?”
His lips twitch into a crooked smile as he reaches into the drawer of the nightstand and pulls out a small, soft pouch. He presses it into my hand with no ceremony, only quiet intention.
Inside lies a modest bracelet, made of twine and wooden beads polished smooth by time. At its center, a small anchor charm sways gently when I lift it.
“I saw it and thought… yeah. That’s her.” His eyes meet mine, nervous and searching. “Stubborn. Strong. You make other people feel safe, even when your in the middle of your own storm.”
My throat tightens. “Nolan…”
“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, like he’s more nervous now. “But it reminded me of you.”
I stare at the bracelet in my palm, simple and honest and so utterly him, it makes my heart ache.
Then I look up at him, and I know.
I’ll wear this until the cord frays and the wood fades and the air wears it down to nothing. And even then, I’ll still feel the weight of it on my wrist.
Of him.
Of us.
“Put it on me,” I whisper.
He does.
And when his fingers brush my wrist, I swear I’ve never felt more claimed.
“You’re something else, you know that?” His other hand brushes a stray hair from my cheek, tucks it behind my ear.
“Is that your way of saying I looked hot in my avocado mask?” I tease, voice wobbling a little.
His smile is slow. “You looked like the woman I’m falling for.”
My breath catches.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he continues, voice low, reverent. “But it did. Every version of you—Textually Frustrated, fierce strategist, absolute menace with a razor sharp tongue… you undid me. Completely.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Then let me put you back together.”
He kisses me like we’ve got forever. It’s soft at first. Sweet. But soul deep. This kiss says thank you. It says I’m here. And it’s going to stay.
He lifts me gently, carries me to the edge of the bed where the world narrows to the sound of our breathing and the hush of linen.
Our clothes fall away like whispers, one by one, until there’s nothing between us but skin and truth.
His touch is slow. Devoted. Like he’s trying to touch every freckle, hear every gasp, feel every heartbeat.
Nolan’s fingers slip through my slick heat, teasing and stroking until I’m trembling with need then he pushes two fingers inside, filling me with a slow thrust that steals my breath. “So ready for me, aren’t you baby?”
A soft moan escapes my lips, encouraging him further as he skillfully twists his fingers, each movement deliberate and tender, creating a sweet symphony of pleasure within me.
The tension mounts, each pump amplifying the quickening pulse that beats persistently at my core. My eyes lock onto his, silently pleading for the exchange of his fingers for the hard, urgent presence of his cock.
When he kisses me, his tongue pushes past my lips, invades my mouth, delving with relentless force, exploring every corner with deep, fervent thrusts that leave me breathless.
“Please, Nolan, I need your cock inside me.”
Withdrawing his fingers, he palms one of my breasts, leans down to take my pebbled nipple into his mouth and I hiss at the delicious contact.
Nolan moves to settle between my legs, finally pushing into me after a beat. We move together in a rhythm, soft moans blending with murmured promises. Hands explore. Eyes lock. He kisses my temple. My throat. My nipples. The spot just below my ear that makes me shiver.
My legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, deeper.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And I believe him.
I feel him.
Inside and around me. Anchoring me.
When I come, it’s with his name on my lips and his hands in mine.
And when he follows, it’s with a groan that sounds like surrender.
We lie tangled in the aftermath, skin damp, breath slowing, hearts loud.
His arm wraps around my waist. My fingers trace lazy circles over his chest.
“Still falling?” I ask, voice sleepy.
He kisses the top of my head. “Every second.”
“Tomorrow, we have to go back to being mortal enemies.”
The thought creeps in, cold, even as Nolan’s hands keep me warm.
“I don’t care if we win or lose,” he whispers into the curve of my neck.“Your firm deserves it more.”
“You’re still gonna bring your A-game though, right?” I tease, nudging him gently.
The corner of his mouth curves up, slow and sure. “Nothing less.”