CHAPTER 14 #2
“Sounds like you’re famous now. I’ve autographed footballs, but never babies. Good for you,” I said dryly.
He glared. “Famous? She just asked if my autograph would help with child support, Matthew. Help!”
Ophelia laughed then, soft at first, then a full, bubbling laugh that made my chest tighten all over again.
Garrett’s head snapped toward her mid-groan. The second he saw her, his expression shifted—brows lifting, mouth parting like he’d just put something together he wasn’t supposed to.
Ophelia’s laughter faltered instantly. I felt her hand tense in mine, her fingers slipping until she was barely holding on.
“Hey,” I started, frowning, but she was already shaking her head, eyes darting between Garrett and me.
“I have to go,” she said suddenly in a thin, panicked voice.
“Go?” I repeated, completely thrown. “What—”
But before I could finish, the Sharpie girl finally made it to us, waving the marker like a weapon.
“You can run, but you can’t hide!” she squealed. “You have to sign my baby!”
Garrett recoiled like she’d pulled a knife instead of a marker, and in the chaos, Ophelia slipped free.
I caught the flash of her hair as she darted into the crowd, gone before I could even call her name.
Something snapped inside me.
Before I knew it, my fist was buried in Garrett’s gut.
He doubled over with a strangled wheeze, nearly dropping the Sharpie the baby-lady had handed him. “Son of a bitch—What the hell, Adler?”
“What did you do to her?” I snarled, catching his shoulder as he straightened. “Why were you looking at her like that?”
He blinked, eyes watering. “I wasn’t—What are you—” He sucked in a breath, clutching his stomach. “I just—She looks familiar, okay? That’s it! I swear to—Matty, I wasn’t trying to—Holy shit, you hit hard.”
I stared at him, trying to read if he was lying, but Garrett just groaned and waved a hand weakly toward the crowd. “Seriously, man, I can’t place it. I just know I’ve seen her before.”
That didn’t help. At all.
My pulse hammered as I looked past him, scanning the crush of people spilling through the hallway. Music and laughter swelled from the main room, flashes of orange light from the TVs playing the game replay. But no Ophelia.
“Damn it,” I muttered, already moving.
“Matty!” Garrett called after me, still half bent and nursing his stomach. “If you find her, tell her I’m sorry for existing!”
I ignored him, pushing through the crowd, heart racing like I was still on the field. I shoved past a group of guys in team jackets, ignored the slap on my shoulder from one of the linemen, and pushed through the back door into the night.
Cool air hit my face, sharp enough to burn in my lungs.
I scanned the street, empty except for a few stragglers smoking by their cars, headlights flashing as people backed out. No Ophelia.
“Fuck.”
I ran a hand over my face, chest tight, and that’s when I remembered Jace’s text.
With her dorm room number.
I didn’t think twice. I took off down the sidewalk. Every streetlight I passed felt too bright, every shadow too long. My legs moved on instinct, just like they did on the field…driven, focused, refusing to stop.
I didn’t slow until I saw a brick building ahead. Her dorm.
I jogged up the steps two at a time and yanked open the front doors. The warm air inside hit like a wall after the cold outside.
The RA at the front desk froze mid-sip of her soda, her eyes going wide. “Uh—aren’t you—”
But I was already moving.
I jogged straight past her, the slap of my shoes echoing down the hallway.
I barely registered the cheap dorm carpeting, the smell of popcorn and floor cleaner, the half-closed doors leaking music and laughter.
My chest heaved, not from the run, but from the mess of adrenaline still coiled under my skin.
I didn’t stop until I was outside her door.
My hand lifted automatically, ready to knock…and then I froze.
What the hell was I doing?
It hit me like a helmet to the gut. I knew her room number. I shouldn’t know that.
Any normal girl would think it was creepy as hell if some guy showed up outside her dorm when she’d never told him where she lived.
Fuck.
I lowered my hand slowly, the wood of the door inches from my knuckles.
“Think, Adler,” I muttered under my breath, but the words came out rough, useless. I didn’t have a good excuse, no explanation that didn’t make me sound insane.
I leaned in, pressing my ear to the door. There was noise—movement, maybe—but not crying. Thank fuck.
Still, the tension in my shoulders refused to ease.
“You can’t scare her off,” I whispered to myself.
Because then I’d have to do something crazy to keep her with me…and our house didn’t have a basement like Parker’s.
My fingers flexed against the doorframe, reluctant to let go. Finally, I dragged myself back a step, then another, until the door blurred into the rest of the hallway.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I’d fix this.
I’d “run into her” outside her dorm, play it casual, make her smile again.
And this time, she wasn’t running from me.
Not ever again.
OPHELIA
The door clicked shut behind me, and I just stood there for a second, forehead pressed to the cool wood, lungs fighting to keep up. The quiet of my room hit like an aftershock—too still, too soft after everything that had just happened.
My heart wouldn’t slow down. It thudded against my ribs, wild and uneven, like it didn’t know how to stop chasing him.
“You’re an idiot,” I muttered, shoving both hands into my hair.
I’d run. Again.
He’d said the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, and I’d bolted like the building was on fire.
But the second Garrett had looked at me like that—like he’d just solved a puzzle—I’d panicked.
Because I was pretty sure he’d seen me before.
Not just anywhere. That last time I’d parked near the field during practice, watching Matty run drills like I always did, Garrett had walked right by my car.
He hadn’t looked in—at least I didn’t think he had—but the window had been cracked, and every time I saw him since, a little jolt of terror hit.
What if he remembered? What if he told Matty?
The thought made my stomach twist. Matty would think I was insane.
He couldn’t find out.
I pressed a shaking hand to my mouth, trying to breathe past the panic clawing at my throat.
“You’re an idiot,” I whispered again, this time softer, almost like a prayer.
Because all I’d ever wanted was for him to see me. And now that he finally did…I was the one who couldn’t face it.
I let my forehead rest against the door a second longer, then pushed off, a tiny, secret smile tugging at my mouth. My legs felt like jelly, thighs brushing together with every step, and the soreness hit sweet and insistent between them. I stopped mid-room, breath catching.
I may have run…but it didn’t change that…
It had happened.
He’d kissed me. His fingers, his tongue…they’d been inside my body. He’d growled my name like it belonged to him. I shifted again, wincing at the tender ache, and the smile widened. Proof. Real, undeniable proof etched into my body.
My hand drifted to my lips, still swollen, still tasting him. I could feel the ghost of his teeth, the heat of his breath, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the universe. My knees buckled a little; I sank onto the edge of the bed, pressing my thighs together to chase the throb.
He gave me orgasms. Plural. Loud, shaking, his. And he’d come in his jeans just from tasting me. I bit my lip hard enough to sting, a giddy laugh bubbling up.
I dropped onto the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, then closing as my heart thrashed in my chest, refusing to calm.
I was back in that bathroom again, hearing his wrecked voice, touching the wet spot, savoring the grin he’d given me, like I’d handed him the world.
My fingers curled into the sheets, and I let myself feel it all: the soreness, the ache, him still clinging to my skin.
I’d spent so long imagining this moment—what it would feel like if he looked at me, really looked—and now that he had, the room seemed to sway under the weight of it.
My eyes fluttered open, catching on the floor. My shoes I’d kicked off yesterday after class were there, one of them lying on its side. The sight of something so ordinary after a night like this felt unreal, like the world should look different now, because I did.
Then I saw the mess.
The torn pages, ripped photographs, scraps of tape curled like wilted petals. The pieces of everything I’d sworn I was done with.
Sliding off the bed, I crouched down, my fingertips grazing the pile. Bits of glossy paper stuck to my skin. There he was—half a smile, a flash of dark hair, his number scrawled on a jersey sleeve. My throat tightened.
I’d destroyed it all when I’d promised myself I’d stop. I’d told myself I wasn’t that girl anymore—the one who waited outside practice, who memorized the shape of his shadow against the field lights.
But tonight had changed everything. Hadn’t it?
The thought was soft, coaxing. I smoothed a torn corner of his face, tracing the outline of his grin. It didn’t feel like madness now. It felt like hope.
I gathered the fragments carefully, laying them on the desk in a trembling mosaic. My fingers moved before I could think. Strip after strip, I pressed the pieces together, fitting them like a puzzle until his image began to reappear.
Each click of the tape made my heart jump.
His smile returned first, that lopsided curve that had wrecked me the moment I saw it on the computer screen. Then his eyes, that impossible blue that never looked the same in pictures. I kept going—his hands, the edge of his uniform, the faint smudge of dirt across his jaw.
By the time I finished, the wall looked almost whole again. Imperfect, patched, some tear stains visible in the right light…but he was back where he belonged. Watching me.
I stepped back after I hung up the ball cap I’d taken from him, my breath trembling out of me. “You’re mine,” I whispered before I could stop myself. Not loud, not certain, just a tiny promise that seemed to fill the room anyway.
My desk chair bumped against my knees. I sank into it, heart still racing, and pulled the new journal from the drawer.
I’d bought it yesterday to replace the one I’d torn apart.
The cover still smelled like fresh paper and glue, the corners crisp, unbent by restless hands.
Opening it to the first blank page, I picked up a pen and hovered it over for a second before my hand started moving.
Mrs. Adler.
The ink bled slightly where I pressed too hard.
Mrs. Ophelia Adler.
The name looked beautiful—too beautiful to be real.
I wrote it again, slower this time, tracing each letter like a prayer.
The words blurred as my eyes stung, but I didn’t stop.
The page filled with the shape of his name next to mine, the curl of the M looping into my O, over and over until it felt like breathing.
My pulse steadied as I wrote. The chaos in my head quieted, every thought narrowing to the rhythm of the pen.
When I finally lifted my hand, the page was full. Dozens of tiny futures stared back at me.
I turned to the next page.
Our wedding, I wrote at the top of the page.
The words wouldn’t stop coming, the blue ink curling across the page faster than I could think.
White lights strung through the trees.
The smell of honeysuckle and roses in the air.
He’s waiting for me at the end of the aisle, hands in his pockets, that half-smile that makes my heart stumble.
His hands find my waist.
He looks at me the way he did tonight—but softer. Certain.
He says my name, not rough or hurried, but steady. Forever.
My breath hitched into something that almost sounded like a laugh.
It wasn’t crazy to dream about this. Not anymore, right?
He’d kissed me. He’d wanted me.
He’d never know the real me, the girl who’d waited and watched and loved him long before he ever saw her, but that was okay.
He’d still love a version of me, which is all I’d ever wanted.
I pressed my palm to the journal page, smudging a few of the words, and closed my eyes. I could almost hear his voice again, saying my name like he was treasuring it.
For the first time in years, the ache in my chest eased.
The world outside my window was silent, the campus asleep, but inside my tiny dorm room everything glowed—my wall, my words, my perfect dream.
And sitting there, ink on my fingers, surrounded by his face and his name, I let myself believe it.
Just for tonight.