CHAPTER 16
OPHELIA
Iwasn’t supposed to be here.
I’d reminded myself that at least twenty times since leaving my dorm, but my feet clearly didn’t care about logic or dignity…or the hundred other promises I’d made to stop doing this.
The street was quiet, an early morning stillness that made every sound feel amplified: the crunch of gravel under my shoes, the whisper of wind brushing past the mailboxes, the occasional car door slamming somewhere blocks away.
And there I was, standing across from his house.
Matty’s, of course.
The porch was dark, only the faint spill of light from one window breaking through the shadows. It wasn’t hard to spot which one was his; it was the third from the left, blinds half drawn, a narrow band of warm light cutting across the glass.
I shouldn’t know that. I shouldn’t know what time his car usually pulled in after practice, or that he always turned off the porch light a little after midnight, or that when that single window still glowed against the dark, it meant he was awake, probably sitting on the couch with his legs sprawled, watching film or replay highlights until his eyes went heavy.
But I did.
Because I’d been watching him long before he ever saw me.
And now that he had, now that he’d looked at me like I wasn’t invisible, I couldn’t stop.
I shivered, the early morning chill cutting through my sweatshirt. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, wishing I could shake off the hollow, jittery feeling that came with being here.
Yesterday, I’d done so well. I’d stayed in my room. Stayed safe. Stayed sane. I even thought maybe I could handle it, handle him, like a normal person.
Even when the pizza showed up.
Someone had knocked, and I hadn’t even gone to the door at first. I’d assumed it was a mistake…because no one ever knocked on my door.
But after a minute, curiosity won. I’d cracked the door open, and there it was.
A pizza box sat right at my feet, still warm, grease staining the cardboard. No sign of a note or name.
I’d stood there staring at it, debating what to do.
Eventually, hunger had won over paranoia, and I’d carried it inside, telling myself it was just some weird mix-up.
I knew it wasn’t from him. Of course it wasn’t.
But the second I took a bite, my mind betrayed me anyway—picturing Matty in the hallway, that crooked grin on his face as he set the box down.
Like he knew I hadn’t eaten. Like he was thinking about me, too.
It was ridiculous. Impossible.
And I still couldn’t stop replaying it.
After that, the quiet had turned into noise, and the noise had turned into ache, and by midnight I’d cracked wide open with the urge to see him.
Now, I was standing under the faint streetlight across from his driveway, trying to convince myself that this wasn’t what it looked like.
I wasn’t stalking him.
I just…couldn’t stay away.
I just needed proof he was real, that the way he’d touched me and looked at me and said those things in that bathroom wasn’t something I’d dreamed up.
The wind picked up, tugging at my hair and the hem of my hoodie. I took a step closer to the curb, my pulse pounding so loud it echoed in my ears.
A shadow moved behind the blinds, and my breath hitched.
He was there. Awake. Moving.
I knew I should walk away before he saw me, before this crossed into something even worse than it already was.
But my feet wouldn’t move. They felt rooted to the pavement, like the sight of him had pinned me in place.
All I could do was stand there, staring at that sliver of light, pretending I wasn’t hoping he’d come to the window.
My throat burned as I tried to swallow past the mix of nerves and want twisting inside me.
A part of me almost called his name, just to see what would happen. Just to know if he’d come outside.
But the saner part, the one still clinging to pride and fear, kept me still.
Because if he saw me like this, standing in the dark and staring up at his window like the unhinged, lovesick mess I was, his expression would change.
I could see it already…his mouth curving in disgust, his eyes going cold.
He’d never look at me the same way again.
The front door opened.
The sound was so sudden and unexpected that my whole body jolted. My breath caught mid-chest, nerves snapping tight. For a second, I thought I’d imagined it…that my brain had finally turned on me completely.
But then light spilled across the porch as the door was opened wider, cutting through the dark.
Matty stepped outside. Sneakers on, keys in hand, hair messy like he’d been pacing instead of sleeping. A worn gray Henley clung to his chest, and for a second he just stood there, scanning the street.
His brow furrowed, like he was turning something over in his head. You’re being stupid, I thought I heard him whisper.
Panic surged through me, cutting through the haze of shock. Every part of me screamed to move, to run, to do something, but my feet were still refusing to obey, heavy and unresponsive, as if fear itself had pinned me to the ground.
His gaze swept the street until it locked on me, and in an instant, everything inside me went quiet.
He froze, just for a second, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
I braced myself, waiting for the dread and disgust to twist his face, waiting for him to finally see me the way every other man eventually did when they realized what I was.
Except…it didn’t come.
His eyes widened, and his whole face lit up, raw and real and achingly bright.
“Thank fuck,” he called in a voice rough with…relief?
Was that what I’d really just heard?
Before I could even think, he ran—across the walkway, down the steps, straight toward me.
I stumbled back a step, too stunned to do anything but stand there as he reached me, his hands catching my waist, pulling me into him like he’d been waiting his whole life to find me.
He buried his face in my neck, his breath shuddering, inhaling deep like he was gulping me in.
“I was losing my fucking mind,” he muttered unsteadily against my skin, the words vibrating against my throat. His arms locked tighter around me, like if he let go even for a second, I’d vanish.
I was still frozen, every nerve ending on fire.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands or my heart or the thousand wild thoughts clawing through my head.
I’d spent so long imagining this—him seeing me, wanting me—and now that it was happening, now that it didn’t seem to be a one time fluke… I couldn’t breathe.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes sweeping over my face like he needed to soak in every inch, to prove I was real. The porch light behind him haloed his silhouette, and when he lifted his head, his eyes were a fierce, impossible blue.
“I was beginning to think I’d made you up,” he said quietly, like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud. “Like you were just…in my head.”
My lips parted, but no sound came out.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he continued, a small, disbelieving laugh slipping through. “Every time I closed my eyes, you were there. And when I couldn’t find you anywhere, I started thinking maybe I’d dreamed the whole thing.”
He broke off, shaking his head as his thumb brushed my jaw, soft and trembling. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me again.”
The words hit somewhere deep. The thought of him searching for me was too much, almost unbearable. My chest felt like it might crack open from the pressure building inside.
“You…searched for me?” The question came out in a gasp before I could stop it, the sound shaky, like I was afraid of the answer.
Something flickered in his eyes…something that wasn’t just relief. It glimmered there for an instant, a flash of knowing that made my stomach twist. His thumb stilled against my cheek, his voice low but certain.
“I need your number,” he said, like it wasn’t a question. “Your dorm room. All of it.”
My breath caught. “Why?”
His gaze softened, but there was a thread of something else beneath it—possession, maybe. Or at least that’s what I was dreaming I was seeing. “Because I don’t ever want to lose you again.”
That single sentence stole what little air I had left.
I wanted to tell him I’d been here the whole time…just not where he could see me. That I’d wanted to go to him but couldn’t, because I was too scared he’d realize what I was.
“I—” The word barely scraped out, more breath than sound.
He didn’t let me try again.
Matty’s hand slid to the back of my neck, and then his mouth was on mine.
Warm, assured…a little desperate. The world tilted.
My fingers tangled in his shirt, clinging like I’d fall apart if I let go.
His other hand cupped my cheek, holding me steady as he kissed me again and again, like he was trying to relearn the taste of me.
It felt like stepping into sunlight after living too long in the dark. Blinding, overwhelming, and so warm it almost hurt.
He finally drew back, resting his forehead against mine while his uneven breaths brushed my lips. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Why are you crying, Ophelia?”
I hadn’t even realized I was until he said it. My face was wet, my chest tight.
“It hurts,” I whispered. It was all I could manage, all I could think to say. Because it did hurt—feeling this much, wanting this much, finally being seen after hiding for so long.
His arms tightened, gathering me closer until there was no space left between us. He kissed me again, slower this time, his lips barely moving against mine.
“I know,” he murmured against my mouth. His voice cracked just a little. “It hurts for me too, pretty baby.”
I let out a broken sound, half sob, half laugh, and sank into him completely. His heartbeat pressed against mine, fast and real, grounding me in the only truth that mattered.
For the first time, the ache didn’t feel like it was swallowing me whole.
It felt like it was being shared.