Chapter 17
FALSE OPENING (LIZ)
Idon’t realize I’m almost running until the sand turns dark under my feet, packed tight by the tide. I stop at the edge and pretend I came here for the ocean. Water licks over my toes, cool and sharp in the hot summer air.
Behind me, the beach keeps moving. Laughter. Voices. The steady, relentless percussion of waves.
Then I feel him behind me. Want lands fast and stupid.
“Liz.”
His voice is barely human.
I wait for the usual follow-up. The hand closing. The insistence.
It doesn’t come.
He stops beside me, close enough that I can feel the space between us, far enough that he’s still giving me room.
Another wave slides in, and I let it soak my feet, let the cold anchor me.
“Walk with me,” he says simply.
Movement instead of pressure.
“Where?” The word comes out thinner than I want.
“Atlantique.” His tone stays light, like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just fall apart under my hands. “Ten minutes.”
Ten minutes, and I can come right back. Earbuds in. Distance restored.
It feels safe. I lift my chin a fraction. “Okay.”
Leo holds out his hand like I’m the one in charge of the next move.
I stare at it, because the simplicity of it unsettles me more than pressure would. Then I lace my fingers through his.
Public choice. Private mistake.
We start down the shoreline, the tide sliding in and out with lazy insistence. The air smells like salt and sunscreen and grilled food drifting from somewhere farther up the beach.
Leo keeps the pace easy.
Ahead, wooden stairs rise out of the sand, leading up to the boardwalk. Leo takes the steps first and pulls me up behind him.
The second our feet hit the planks, the world changes.
Noise. Music. Laughter.
The boardwalk is a parade of bare skin and string ties, linen tossed over swimsuits like an afterthought. Kids running sticky and fearless. String lights already on even though the sun hasn’t dipped.
We cut toward the stand with the lights and the clatter of bottles. An older man behind the counter looks up, sees Leo, and breaks into a grin.
“Leo!” he calls, stepping out. Sun-weathered, familiar. “There you are.”
Leo smiles. “Hey, Sal.”
Sal’s eyes drop to our joined hands, then up to my face. His grin widens.
“Well, I’ll be damned. That’s your girl. I recognize you from the news.”
“Hi,” I say.
Sal claps his hands once. “Congratulations. Seriously. You two are everywhere.” He points at Leo. “And you cleaned up.”
Leo’s mouth shifts. “It’s the sunscreen.”
Sal’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, it’s sunscreen now. Sure.”
My face gives me up before I can stop it.
“Two beers,” Leo tells Sal. “And a Sour Patch.”
Sal beams. “My man. Always.” He turns back, still grinning. “I always keep a stack for you, buddy.”
I glance at Leo. “So you’re candy loyal.”
“When you know, you know,” he says, perfectly straight faced.
But his eyes don’t smile.
They wait.
The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. “Sour Patch is my favorite too.”
Something sharp flickers across his face, like hope trying to stay hidden.
“We’re candy compatible,” I add lightly. “Huge for our future.”
Leo’s grin shows up quick and dangerous.
I should roll my eyes.
I don’t.
Sal slides the beers onto the counter, then drops the Sour Patch beside them with unnecessary ceremony.
“On the house.” He turns to me, delighted, “He’d come for these every day. Fifteen summers in a row.”
I pick up the bag and pop the seal.
Then I look at Leo over the top of my sunglasses. I hold my palm out between us. “Open.”
He blinks once, deciding. Then his mouth parts slowly, controlled, and his eyes stay on mine like he’s giving me permission to do damage.
I drop one onto his tongue.
My gaze snaps to his mouth, traitorous. Heat crawls up my throat.
His eyes close briefly, then open again, darker. I hate how much I like him like this. Quiet. Still. Letting me do things to him.
“You’re up,” I say, because if I don’t move first, I’ll lose my nerve.
He tips a single piece into his palm and lifts it toward my mouth.
I part my lips.
The candy slides in, and his thumb grazes my bottom lip as he pulls back.
Barely there. Everywhere.
Leo doesn’t smile. He looks held together by willpower alone. For half a second, I see what it costs him.
Then a squeal cuts through the music.
“Oh my God,” a girl says, loud and thrilled. “Wait. Are you guys them?”
The girl is already pulling out her phone, her friend bouncing beside her. “Can we get a picture? Lionheart? Please?”
Leo answers before I can. “Yeah. Sure.”
He keeps his tone easy, like this is normal. I tuck myself slightly behind his shoulder and let it happen.
The girls rush in, giggling, trying to arrange themselves around us. One of them whisper-shouts, “He’s so hot.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Yeah, tell me about it.” Low enough that no one else hears it. Loud enough that Leo does.
His head turns slightly, heat flashing in his eyes like I just touched a wire. Then he shifts. Half a step. His body between me and the crowd. His palm finds my waist.
That touch should make me panic. Instead, it steadies me. He leans in close, mouth brushing the edge of my hair.
“Smile,” he murmurs, for me alone. “Hot boy will behave.”
Recklessly, I test him. “What if he doesn’t?”
I feel his smile at my temple. “Then you tell him to stop.” His mouth brushes my hair. “If you want.”
The phone flashes. Once. Twice.
The girls squeal and scatter. I step back, reclaiming my space.
A familiar voice cuts through the music, snapping the moment in half.
“There he is,” Adam Novak announces, loud and pleased.
He comes down the boardwalk with Matthias Lindberg beside him—blond, broad-shouldered, contained. Two girls in cover-ups trail behind them, both smiling.
Adam takes in the candy, the beers, our joined hands. His eyebrows jump.
“Lionheart eats candy? Nobody will believe me.”
“Don’t judge,” Leo says lightly. “It’s a childhood favorite.”
Matthias reaches for the bag and reads the label like it’s a warning sign. “Sour Patch?”
Before anyone can stop him, he pops one in his mouth.
Chews once.
Freezes.
“Nope,” he says flatly, and spits it into a napkin. “This is not candy. This is a prank.”
Leo coughs a laugh. “Welcome to America.”
Adam loses it. Sal shakes his head, amused, then slaps a bag of Haribos on the counter. “Here. Imported. These might be more to your taste.”
Matthias nods at Sal and pops a gummy bear into his mouth. “Now this is candy.”
Adam turns back to Leo, curiosity replacing menace. “Okay. Real question. What’s it actually like in there? In the ring?”
“It’s hot,” Leo says, after considering it for a moment. “Smaller than you think. The ropes are right there. The lights are too bright. You can taste the canvas and the sweat. And the noise stacks up—crowd and corner and your own breathing—until there’s no room for anything else.”
Adam’s face shifts. “And you just… go.”
“You lock in. It’s the only place I’ve ever been where the world stops asking for pieces of you. There’s just the man in front of you and the next half second.”
Matthias’s gaze flicks to Leo’s shoulders, to his stance. “Footwork is everything.”
“Same as skating,” Leo says.
Adam exhales. “The narrowing. The quiet.”
“When it is loud, it is quiet.” Matthias takes another gummy bear from the bag Sal shoved at him, chews once, and looks at Leo as if the answer is obvious. “Pressure is only noise when you have no pattern.”
Leo’s eyes lift approvingly. “Exactly.”
Adam points at him, changing the topic. “Fireworks on the beach tonight. You two in?”
I shrug, careless. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Adam pops another Sour Patch into his mouth and looks between Leo and Matthias. “Whole league feels weird this summer. Everybody’s pretending nothing’s happening and checking their phones every ten minutes.”
Leo glances over. “About what?”
“Ownership chatter,” Adam says. “Defenders side, mostly. Rumor only, according to Jess. Still enough to make people twitchy.”
Matthias’s expression doesn’t change. “New men always move pieces.”
Adam points at him. “See? That’s exactly the kind of sentence that makes me think you know things.”
“I know patterns,” Matthias says.
“We hit the gym tomorrow at seven,” Adam says, turning to leave. “Don’t be late, boxer boy.”
“I’m never late.” Leo smirks, saluting them.
Matthias waves at me, polite as ever, and follows Adam and the girls down the boardwalk.
We are left at the counter with cold beers sweating, candy between us, and the air between our bodies charged.
Leo picks up one beer, still unopened.
I take the other and press it lightly to his chest, right over his heartbeat. He looks at me like I’ve just made things harder for both of us.
“Beer after,” I say, low. “Walk me back first.”
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t ask the question I can’t answer.
Then, without warning, I step in and slide my arm around his waist. My palm finds the strip of skin above his shorts.
I feel him stop breathing and look up at him, gauging the damage. He turns his head. One eyebrow lifts. A question in his eyes that he refuses to ask out loud.
I hold his gaze over the top of my sunglasses.
I don’t explain.
I don’t apologize.
I just keep touching him.
There are no cameras here. No one watching who matters. I’m doing this because I want to.
For half a second, he gives too much away. Then it’s gone.
Which makes me want to press closer just to see if he can hold it.
He takes my hand again, and we head for the stairs, holding the beers.
It’s just a walk. Ten minutes. Nothing.
His thumb moves over my knuckles, like he’s already decided something I haven’t said yes to yet.
Nothing.