Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Amelia
The stadium feels different during the day. It’s less electric, more real. The echo of cleats on concrete, the muted hum of voices drifting down the hallway, the faint smell of turf and coffee blending together.
I’m seated across from Susan in her office, my tablet open, notes pulled up from the morning sessions. She’s reviewing something on her screen, then looks up at me with a smile that makes my stomach tighten.
“You’re doing wonderful work, Amelia,” she says.
“Thank you,” I reply, keeping my tone steady.
“No, truly,” she continues. “I’m impressed. The way you’re reaching the players. Especially Wilder.”
My pulse stutters.
She leans back in her chair. “It’s been difficult for years trying to get him to open up. He’s charming, deflective, stubborn as hell. But with you? It’s effortless.”
Guilt creeps in slow and heavy.
Effortless.
If she only knew.
Part of the reason he opens up to me is because I’ve seen him in the dark. Because I’ve held him when he couldn’t breathe around his grief. Because we’ve built something far beyond this office.
I force a professional smile. “I think he just needed the right approach.”
Susan nods thoughtfully. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
We both return to our notes, the tapping of keys filling the silence. I focus on my breathing, on the clinical language in front of me, trying to drown out the image of Wilder’s hands on my waist last night.
Then Susan speaks again, casual.
“You know,” she says, not looking up, “I had an intern once who started sleeping around with several players.”
My entire world tilts.
My fingers freeze on the tablet.
“It was career-ending for her,” Susan adds.
My throat goes dry.
She knows. She has to know.
“That’s terrible,” I manage, keeping my voice level. Calm. Controlled.
“It was,” Susan says. “These guys can be enticing.” She glances up at me, studying. “I think that’s what impresses me most about you. You don’t let them charm you the way I’ve seen happen before. It’s refreshing.”
Relief hits first. Sharp and dizzying.
She doesn’t know.
Then guilt slams in harder.
Because I am letting one of them charm me.
No. That’s not even accurate anymore.
It’s not just charm.
It’s not just want or lust.
I’m falling in love with him.
And that realization is terrifying.
“I’m going to tell you something,” Susan says with a small smile.
I brace myself.
“When you first got here, Kamden came to me and asked me to let you go as my intern.”
My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure she can hear it.
“He was so worried you’d get hurt,” she continues, a light laugh in her voice. “I told him I wouldn’t do that. He was furious.”
I swallow.
“He was especially worried about Wilder,” she says.
Of course he was.
“He told me he was afraid Wilder would make a move on you that you’d be foolish enough to fall for.”
Ouch.
The word foolish lands like a bruise.
“Is that so?” I ask, keeping my expression neutral, my tone perfectly measured.
Inside, though, everything feels dangerously close to unraveling.
The word foolish won’t stop echoing.
Career-ending.
Foolish enough to fall for.
I nod at something Susan says, I don’t even know what, and force a smile that feels brittle around the edges.
“I’m just going to run to the bathroom,” I say, gathering my tablet even though I don’t need it. “Be right back.”
She hums absently, already back to her notes.
The moment I step into the hallway, the air feels thinner.
My chest tightens. My pulse races. I keep walking, fast, head down, like I’m late for something. I make it halfway to the bathroom before the first tear slips free.
I wipe it away quickly.
Another follows.
Then another.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself, pushing through the door and into the empty restroom. I grip the counter and stare at my reflection.
Career-ending.
Foolish.
The words feel like accusations.
Because what if they’re right?
What if I am foolish?
What if everything I’ve worked for—every late night studying, every sacrifice, every step toward building something of my own—gets ripped away because I couldn’t resist him?
I blink hard, but the tears keep falling.
The door opens and I quickly exit before anyone asks what’s wrong.
I step back into the hallway with uncontrolled emotions.
“Doc?”
The voice hits me like a jolt.
I lift my head.
Wilder stands at the end of the hallway, eyes already locked on mine.
“Amelia?” His expression shifts instantly. “Oh fuck. What’s wrong?”
He crosses the distance in seconds.
And the minute his arms wrap around me, I lose it.
Completely.
My face presses into his chest, and the tears come harder now, messy and unfiltered. His hand cradles the back of my head, holding me like I might fall apart without him.
“Hey,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “Talk to me.”
His comfort is steady. Familiar.
Dangerous.
Because it’s exactly what I’ve come to need.
And I’m suddenly terrified that the thing making me feel safest is also the thing that could destroy everything.
I stiffen.
Reality slams back in.
We’re at the stadium.
Anyone could walk by.
I pull away abruptly, swiping at my face. “Not here,” I hiss.
He doesn’t argue. He grabs my hand, firm but careful, and leads me down the corridor, up the narrow stairs, to his spot overlooking the field.
The quiet up here feels sacred.
The grass stretches out below us, empty for now.
He turns to face me, hands settling at my waist.
“What is going on?” he asks, searching my face.
The vulnerability in his eyes makes my throat tighten all over again.
I draw in a shaky breath.
“Susan told me about an intern she had,” I say, voice unsteady. “One who slept with players. It ended her career.”
His jaw tightens.
“She said Kamden tried to get me fired when I first got here,” I continue. “Because he was afraid I’d get hurt. Especially by you.” My voice cracks. “He said he was worried you’d make a move on me that I’d be foolish enough to fall for.”
The word tastes bitter.
“I’m risking everything, Wilder,” I whisper. “My career. My brother’s trust. The league. All of it. And I don’t know if I’m being brave or stupid.”
The wind shifts slightly around us, lifting a strand of my hair.
“I don’t regret us,” I add quickly, meeting his eyes. “But I am scared.”
Scared of losing everything.
Scared of loving him.
Scared that both might happen at the same time.
I can see it the second the words leave my mouth.
He’s shaken.
Not defensive. Not cocky. Shaken.
Anger flashes first, sharp and protective. Then hurt. Then something deeper that looks a lot like disappointment.
“When I first saw you in the locker room,” he says slowly, voice rough, “I did make a comment to your brother. I had no idea you were his sister.”
I swallow.
“When I found out,” he continues, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration tightening his jaw, “I drew a line I never intended to cross.”
His eyes lock on mine.
“When my father died, there was no escaping being around you. Coach. The league. Everyone said I needed to talk about it.” He huffs out a breath. “And there you were.”
His hand finds mine. Squeezes.
“I found comfort in someone I wasn’t supposed to,” he admits. “I found a connection that was undeniable.”
There’s something almost vulnerable about the way he says it.
Then that familiar, dangerous grin curves his mouth.
“I won’t lie and say I wasn’t attracted to you the second my eyes landed on you,” he says. “And I can’t deny that the closer we got, the more I wanted you physically.”
Heat flickers in my stomach despite the tears still clinging to my lashes.
He pulls me closer, his hands settling firmly at my waist, thumbs pressing into my sides as he searches my face.
“But if it was all just physical,” he says, eyes dark and steady, “I would’ve walked away. With a hard on, but I would’ve done it.”
A laugh escapes me through the tension, half incredulous, half relieved.
He doesn’t smile this time.
“But it was more than that,” he continues, quieter now. “It is more than that. It was a connection I couldn’t deny. You make me feel things I never knew were possible.”
His voice softens in a way that steals the air from my lungs.
“And I know without a doubt,” he says, staring straight into me, “looking at you right now that I love you.”
Everything inside me stills.
My heart stops.
My breath leaves me in a fragile exhale.
I’m frozen, caught in the depth of his eyes, the truth shining there without hesitation. There’s no performance. No bravado. Just Wilder. Completely exposed.
A tear slips free, sliding down my cheek.
He brushes it away gently with his thumb.
“I love you too, Wilder,” I whisper.
The words feel terrifying and right all at once.
His mouth is on mine before I can say anything else.
The kiss isn’t rushed or desperate.
It’s sealing.
Certain.
His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me flush against him as the world below us fades into nothing but green field and blue sky.
For the first time since this all began, the fear doesn’t disappear but it doesn’t overpower the feeling either.
Because loving him isn’t foolish.
It’s undeniable.