35. Maisie
MAISIE
I wake up to the feel of sunlight on my cheek and the weight of his arm slung heavy over my waist.
His chest pressed to my back, one of his legs tangled with mine like he couldn’t bear to stop touching me, even in sleep.
I turn my head just enough to look at him.
His face is soft and peaceful in a way it never is when he’s awake.
His mouth is parted slightly, his lashes brushing his cheek, and I can’t help but smile.
And I’m still floating over what happened last night, wrapped in the hazy glow of everything he whispered, everything we did, everything I felt. I didn’t think I could have something like that.
I let my eyes fall closed again and smile softly into the pillow, feeling… full. Like a piece of me I didn’t even know was missing has finally clicked into place.
I feel him stir and glance up at him. “Mm,” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep. “You’re still here.”
I arch a brow and chuckle. “Good morning to you too.”
Austin nuzzles into my hair. “Didn’t mean it like that. Just… happy.”
His hand squeezes my waist and he shifts closer, pressing his body firmly against mine. I can feel the unmistakable weight of him against my lower stomach.
He groans softly and kisses my shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Morning wood. Science. I can’t control it.”
I laugh, still half-asleep and completely drunk on him. “It’s okay.”
He kisses my shoulder again, softer this time. “You sore?”
“A little,” I admit, voice barely a whisper.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Too much?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Just… new.”
He studies me for a long moment, eyes gentle. His thumb strokes slow circles over my side. “You’re okay, though?”
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” He leans down and kisses me, slow and warm. “If you want me to shut up about it, I will. I just… I care about you.”
“I know,” I reply, unable to stop smiling.
He tugs me onto my back and props himself over me with one arm, the sheet slipping dangerously low on his hips. “Can I kiss you some more?”
I nod, my heart doing somersaults as he leans down and presses his lips to mine.
His mouth moves lazily over mine. I curl my fingers in the back of his neck, letting myself melt into the bed, into him, into this feeling I never thought I’d get to have.
His hand slides up under the sheet, skating over my hip, my waist, the dip just under my ribcage. My skin tingles everywhere he touches.
He groans against my mouth. “You’re gonna kill me, Maisie.”
“You said that last night,” I tease.
“I meant it then too.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, then the line of my jaw. “I need a shower or I’m gonna do something very stupid.”
“Is it stupid if I want it too?” I ask him, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth.
He groans, his eyes locked on mine. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
I smile a little. “I mean it.”
He kisses me again, lingering, then rolls off the bed and heads for the bathroom. “Don’t move,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m taking you out after this.”
My heart stumbles and I sit up, pulling the sheet over my naked chest. “What?”
“A date, Maisie.” He glances back at me and smirks. “Try to keep up, baby. I’m doing this boyfriend thing right.”
He flashes me a wink before disappearing into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start a second later. I flop back onto the bed, my cheeks aching from smiling so much.
A date.
Just a few months ago, I had absolutely no one, just an anonymous number on my phone, a stranger who somehow got me through the nights I felt completely alone.
And now…
Now I have two best friends who show up for me without me having to ask. I have a group chat that actually makes me laugh. I have people who want me around.
I have him.
My eyes flick toward my phone on the nightstand. I reach for it, scrolling out of habit, and see a text from Isabella.
Isabella:
Want to grab coffee before practice?
I smile a little as I type back, but my thumb hesitates before I close out. Because right above our chat, I see his name.
Six.
I haven’t clicked it in weeks. But now my finger hovers—and then taps.
The thread opens, and there they are. All the old messages. The late-night jokes, the gentle check-ins, the way he always knew how to talk me down when I was spiraling. My chest tightens.
He never replied to that last text I sent.
Which makes sense. I asked him not to.
It was the right thing. The healthy thing. But staring at the empty screen now, all I can think about is how not empty it used to feel.
He saw me. Long before anyone else did.
And yeah, maybe we were just words on a screen. But those words kept me company when nothing else did. They gave me something to look forward to. They helped me hang on.
I swallow hard, pressing the phone to my chest for a second before locking it.
I don’t regret choosing Austin. Not for a second.
But a small part of me still misses the boy who helped me feel a little less invisible.
So I type out a message.
Me:
I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I wanted to say thank you for every message.
Every confession. You helped me more than you know.
I miss talking to you, but I understand why you haven’t replied.
I just wanted to tell you that… I met someone.
His name is Austin, and I’m really happy. I think you’d like him.
Send.
The second my thumb taps the screen, something shifts. I exhale slowly, like I’ve just let go of something I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto.
I set the phone down beside me on the bed and sink back into Austin’s pillows. My cheeks ache from smiling.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, something glows, and I glance over.
Austin’s phone lights up on his nightstand, and I almost don’t think anything of it.
Until I see the preview.
And my whole body stills.
It’s my message. The one I sent not even thirty seconds ago.
Still glowing on his screen.
My heart stops.
No.
No no no no?—
I sit up, heart hammering in my chest.
That can’t be right. That can’t be right.
I sit up too fast, sheet clutched to my chest, heart thudding. Maybe it’s a glitch. A shared contact name. Something— anything —that isn’t what I think it is.
But when I get up and walk across the room, I see it again. I just stand there and stare at the screen like it might blink away and tell me I imagined it.
It’s not?—
It can’t be?—
But it is.
Cherry.
Right there. Clear as day.
There’s no mistake.
The contact name. My words. The timestamp.
And just like that, everything tilts sideways.
The world. My stomach. My brain.
Because this entire time—every message, every night, every stupid inside joke—I thought it was someone else. Some faceless stranger who somehow got me when no one else did.
But it wasn’t a stranger.
It was Austin.
Austin is Six.
And he knew.
He knew exactly who I was the whole time.