Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MIA
The second I kiss him, I know I’ve crossed a line I can’t uncross.
His lips are soft but unyielding, and for one long, suspended breath, he doesn’t move. And then he does. Slowly and deliberately, like he’s been holding himself back for too long, and now he’s unravelling, piece by careful piece.
I feel it in the way his hand lifts to my face, thumb grazing my jaw, reverent and unsure all at once. He kisses me like I’m breakable. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he gets it wrong.
And it would be easier if I could pull away. If I could backpedal and pretend this is nothing. But I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like this. Not when his mouth tastes like every question I’ve been too afraid to ask.
We stay there, still pressed against the kitchen counter like we’re trying to anchor ourselves to something real. His breath is warm against my cheek when we pause, foreheads nearly touching, and I’m close enough to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest.
“Mia,” he whispers, my name sounds like a confession when he says it.
I swallow hard and pull back a fraction to look at him. His eyes are stormy, wide and searching, and his hand hasn’t moved from my face. He’s holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him steady.
And maybe I am. God help me.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur.
His lips twitch like he might smile, but it never quite happens. “Not gonna lie to you,” he says, voice gravel-deep and quiet, “if you tell me that was a mistake, I might actually lose it.”
I exhale shakily. “It’s not that it didn’t mean anything, because it did. That’s the problem.”
“Then don’t pretend it didn’t.” He closes the almost invisible gap between us, and the air shifts. “Don’t give me that look like you’re already trying to take it back.”
I press my palms flat to the counter behind me, trying to steady myself. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Dylan.”
“Neither do I,” he says. “But I’m not gonna pretend this isn’t real.”
There’s a silence that stretches between us like wire; thin, sharp, and definitely dangerous.
“I spent half the night thinking about you,” I admit, the words escaping before I can stop them. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face. Heard your voice. And it made me feel like I was losing something by not letting you in.”
His eyes darken, and he steps in fully, caging me in with his arms. His chest is warm against mine, and I can smell the clean scent of rain on his jacket, the faint trace of whatever aftershave he uses. It’s all too much, but not enough at the same time.
“You’re not losing anything,” he says, his voice low. “You’re just scared.”
I nod because it’s true. “You terrify me.”
“I know.” He leans in, brushing a kiss to my cheek so soft it makes my chest ache. “I’m scared too.”
And somehow, that’s worse. Because Dylan doesn’t scare easy. On the ice, he’s reckless. Bold. The kind of player who never hesitates. But this? Us? It’s got him spooked. Which only makes me want to fall harder. I close my eyes, letting my forehead rest against his. “This isn’t how I imagined it.”
He huffs a soft laugh. “You imagined it?”
“I’m not made of stone.”
A slow, lopsided smile spreads across his face. “Well, thank God for that.”
There’s another pause, and another shared breath. And then I pull him in again, this time slower, deeper, with everything I haven’t said conveyed into the kiss.
His hands slide around my waist, careful and steady, pulling me tightly against him. I feel the shift in him, the way he holds himself back even as he melts into me. I feel the way he could devour me, but doesn’t.
Because he’s waiting for me to say yes. To say yes to something more than this.
His mouth trails along my jaw, down to the hollow of my throat, and I gasp softly, my fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. I feel every inch of him pressed to me, every heartbeat that echoes my own.
When we break apart again, I’m breathless, shaky, and feel like I’ve come undone at the seams. “I should stop,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move, he doesn’t even flinch. “Do you want to?”
I hesitate. “No.”
He nods like he expected that, like maybe he didn’t quite expect me to say it out loud. “Then don’t.”
It’s not a command. It’s not even a suggestion. It’s an offering.
I slide my hands up his chest, over his collarbones, and into the curve of his neck. I feel the tension there, the way he’s wound tight like a spring, holding himself together for my sake.
“You can stay,” I say, so quietly I’m not sure I’ve actually said it.
He freezes. Then almost whispers my name, “Mia.”
I swallow. “Nothing has to happen. I just…” I cut myself off and sigh. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
He leans in, presses his lips to my forehead, and it’s somehow more intimate than the kiss we shared. “Okay.”
I grab his hand and lead him through to the lounge. The flat feels too small suddenly, like the air can’t quite hold us both. I drop onto the sofa and he sits beside me, close but not touching, like he’s waiting for me to make the next move.
So I do.
I curl into his side and rest my head on his shoulder. His arm slips around me instinctively, and we sit like that, silent and barely breathing. And full of too many things we can’t name yet.
“Do you always carry that much weight?” I ask after a moment, my voice quiet against the fabric of his shirt.
“What weight?”
I lift my head and meet his gaze. “The stuff about your dad. About proving yourself.”
He exhales slowly. “Most days, yeah.”
I reach for his hand and link our fingers together. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
He looks down at our joined hands like they’re something precious. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
The next silence isn’t heavy, it’s soft and feels safe. There’s something about the way his thumb moves over mine that makes my heart beat a funny rhythm. After a while, I yawn and shift closer. He chuckles under his breath. “You falling asleep on me already?”
I smile into his chest. “It’s been a long twenty-four hours.”
“Get some rest, then. I’ll be here.”
“You sure?”
He kisses the top of my head. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
I don’t know what this is yet. Or what happens tomorrow. But right now, I know this; Dylan Winters is here. Warm and solid and holding me like I matter.
And that’s enough for now.