Chapter 20
LIVVI
It had only been a few days since Talon came back from Austin, but somehow it felt like we’d slipped into a quiet rhythm I hadn’t seen coming. Evenings spent together had become … normal. Almost expected.
Dinner first—sometimes takeout, sometimes something simple thrown together in his kitchen—followed by time planted in front of the tank. Watching Sapphire. Talking about Sapphire. Talking about books. Talking about things I never thought I’d share with him.
The soft hum of the tank filled Talon’s apartment as I sat cross-legged on the floor, watching Sapphire dart in quick, playful bursts through the plastic coral.
She looked better than she had a week ago. Her scales gleamed brighter, the faint white spots fading as the medicine and warmer water did their work. A little victory. And somehow, it felt like ours.
I couldn’t have predicted how invested I’d get in a blue tang with attitude, but here I was.
I glanced toward the kitchen, where Talon leaned against the counter, sipping water from a tall glass. His hair was damp, dark strands curling at the nape of his neck after his shower, and his T-shirt clung to his shoulders in a way that had my stomach doing ridiculous gymnastics.
“I’m telling you.” I pointed at the glass as Sapphire darted through her coral castle. “She’s faster than she was yesterday. If she keeps this up, you’re going to have to sign her up for her own swim meet.”
Talon’s laugh rumbled next to me, warm and teasing. “You might be right. She’s got better form than Ridge already.”
I tried not to snort but failed. “Wow. Sibling shade and fish compliments. You’ve reached peak investment.”
He shot me a grin that had no business making my heart skip the way it did. “Don’t act like you’re not invested too. You gave her three pep talks before dinner.”
“That was different.” I straightened with mock indignation. “Mine were motivational speeches. You just sing to her.”
He chuckled. “She likes when I sing to her.” He pushed off the counter and made his way over.
Our conversation wasn’t always just about Sapphire, though. Somewhere between the tank light and his humor, I’d told him about the books I’d been reading, including the one I was devouring on BookPad, Shadow, Smoke, and Mirrors.
“I’ll have to check it out,” he’d said easily, like he actually meant it.
And I’d believed him. Because that’s who Talon was—straightforward, solid, someone who made even the smallest words sound like they mattered.
Tonight, though, the conversation drifted back toward him.
“So what’s your schedule like now?” I asked, moving over to the couch and tucking my legs beneath me as he dropped beside me.
His expression shifted—still relaxed, but more focused.
“Training’s a little more intense now that we’re coming up to when the Olympic Trials will be.
A month and a half isn’t long, so I’ll keep doing double sessions but start tapering as it gets closer.
I’ll continue with strength training and lots of recovery work.
Basically, my life revolves even more around the pool until mid-June. ”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” he admitted, then shot me a sideways glance. “But it’s worth it.”
I nodded, even though my thoughts were spinning somewhere else entirely.
Because here’s the thing—I was still talking to TheWriteGuy. Not as much as before, though. Our messages had thinned out, slipping between hours at work and late-night phone buzzes before bed, which I sometimes ignored because I was so tired after staying at Talon’s until late.
And that realization left me unsteady.
Because while TheWriteGuy had been my support for months, the one who always knew what to say, it was Talon who was becoming my constant now. Talon who made me laugh. Talon who made me feel like I was more than just my majors, my job, my future plans.
The comparison wasn’t fair. They weren’t supposed to overlap. But in my heart, they did. And more and more, it was Talon who was winning.
“Do you know what else is part of my training?” Talon asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Making sure I’m fitting in time to destress.” His voice dipped low, almost casual but not quite. “Dinner, stress relief, someone to talk to about Sapphire’s moods.”
I rolled my eyes, even though the corners of my mouth tugged upward. “Her moods? Really?”
“She was moody yesterday. You saw her hiding behind the castle thing.”
“She’s a fish, Talon.”
“Yeah, and we’re both obsessed with her.” His smirk was smug, and I shoved a pillow against his side.
It was ridiculous, this whole thing—sitting on his couch, joking about a fish—but the comfort of it tugged at something deep inside me. The same place that stirred when TheWriteGuy sent me a late-night message on BookPad, except … not quite the same.
With TheWriteGuy, it was an easy connection, words flowing in the dark when everything else was quiet. But with Talon—sitting shoulder to shoulder, sharing takeout containers, laughing until my cheeks hurt—there was substance to it. Something tangible. Something real.
Laughter lingered between us, tapering into something quieter. My eyes caught on the ink along the back of his forearm—a wing, feathers etched in careful detail, dark lines sweeping with motion as if they might lift off his skin.
Before I could think better of it, my hand moved, slow and hesitant. My fingertip brushed the curve of one feather, tracing the outline like I might smudge it if I pressed too hard. The air between us shifted, tightening, buzzing with an energy that made my pulse skitter.
I swallowed, eyes flicking to his. “Does it mean something?”
His gaze stayed steady on me, the corner of his mouth tilting, though softer this time.
“Yeah. Swimming makes me feel like I’m flying.
Like nothing else exists except the water and the finish line ahead of me.
The butterfly’s my best event—it’s all about power, motion, wings.
” He flexed his arm slightly, the ink seeming to ripple with the movement.
“This reminds me of flying. Of chasing what matters. Of not stopping until I reach it.”
I let my fingers linger one second too long before pulling back, the phantom shape of the feathers still warm against my skin.
My body ached with a new sensation, half awe, half danger.
Because sitting here, watching the way he looked at me, like I’d become part of that dream, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pull away or lean in closer.
Both our phones buzzed at the same time, breaking the moment. I frowned, reaching for mine on the coffee table. “That’s weird.”
Talon glanced at his phone too. “Group text?”
Nope. A shelter notification. My eyebrows shot up. “You’re on the rescue shelter’s notification list?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug, though his ears tinged red. “I signed up during the ich incident. Can’t be too careful, and I like knowing there’s somewhere that I can get help quickly if I need it for Sapphire.”
I smiled at his response, already opening the alert. And then I saw the photo. A large, very pink potbelly pig in what looked like a velvet pet bed, snout lifted with pure disdain, as though she were too good for this world.
“Oh, my gosh.” My laugh burst out before I could stop it. “Her name’s Princess.”
Talon clicked on the alert as well, and when he saw the picture, he nearly choked on the sip of water he’d just taken. “Is she … wearing pearls?”
I zoomed in. She was. “It says here she needs a home, but only one that meets her … unique needs. ‘Princess enjoys soft bedding, luxury snacks, and long naps in sunbeams.’”
“She’s a pig,” Talon muttered, but his grin betrayed him. “Why does she sound like Roxie?”
I snickered. “Don’t let Roxie hear you say that.”
“Hmm,” he mused as he continued to stare at the photo.
I watched his face and set down my phone. “Oh, no. You’re not thinking about adopting her, are you?”
Talon raised his brows. “Why not? Sapphire needs a sister.”
I slapped his arm this time with the pillow. “She’s not a sister! And you cannot bring a pig into your apartment.”
“Princess Everhart,” he said with mock gravity. “It has a nice ring to it.”
And just like that, the room filled with laughter again, the kind that made me forget about everything else.
Our laughter eventually faded into a quieter hum of comfort, the kind that sank into my bones like a warm blanket.
He let out a sigh. “Okay, so I can’t adopt Princess, but maybe I could help get the word out about her. My social media following is pretty good. Maybe someone out there is looking for a spoiled pink pig.”
His social media following was more than pretty good. When you looked like him, were making waves in the swimming world, and were half naked in most of your photos thanks to your sport, people tended to flock to that kind of account.
The thought of him posting about a potbellied pig on his page made me smile. “I think that’s a great idea.”
It was strange. How natural this had become.
How dinners and fish watching and ridiculous conversations about pigs now filled the parts of my day I used to cram with extra study sessions or longer hours at work.
I hadn’t realized how much space I’d been leaving for stress, how much pressure I’d been carrying just trying to keep up with what I thought was expected of me.
And now … here I was. Sitting on Talon’s couch, grinning over the idea of a spoiled pig moving in, and since who knows when, I wasn’t thinking about my résumé or what my parents thought about my “career trajectory.” I was just … happy.
That thought startled me.
I was beginning to think that being happy didn’t come from checking boxes on a to-do list or hitting milestones on a life plan. It came from this. From laughter that left me breathless. From quiet moments where someone sat beside me and didn’t expect me to be anyone but myself.
I glanced sideways at Talon. His head was tipped back against the couch, a small smile tugging at his lips as though he was still thinking about Princess Everhart. The lamp beside us cast a warm glow across his face, softening the sharp angles, and something deep inside me pulled tight.
Because I was falling for him. Not just in the easy way I had with TheWriteGuy—the comfortable escape of words on a screen. This was different. More complex. More terrifying. Because it was real.
And the scariest part? I liked it.
“You’re doing it again,” Talon murmured, his voice low and amused.
I blinked, pulled from my spiraling thoughts. “Doing what?”
“Getting lost in that head of yours.” His blue eyes flicked toward me, warm and sharp all at once. “I swear, sometimes it’s like you disappear without even moving.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. I did do that sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. “I was just … thinking.”
“Uh-oh,” he teased, shifting a little closer so his knee brushed mine. “Should I be worried?”
I laughed under my breath, shaking my head. “No. Just …” My words trailed off, harder to find than I wanted them to be. Because how did I explain that sitting here felt better than anything I’d planned for myself? That maybe happiness wasn’t a checklist? That maybe it was him.
“Just?” he prompted gently.
I shrugged, playing with a thread on the pillow. “Just realizing that it feels nice to slow down, that’s all.”
He studied me for a beat, his expression softening. “You don’t let yourself do that much, do you?”
“No.” The word came out before I could dress it up or dodge around it. “I’m always trying to get to the next thing. The next work project, the next class, the next grade, the next job …” I let out a small laugh, though it sounded brittle even to my own ears. “I don’t really know how to stop.”
His knee pressed more firmly against mine, sending a zing through me while simultaneously being solid and grounding. “Then maybe you just need someone to remind you.” His voice was quiet but steady. “To make sure you don’t forget that you’re allowed to breathe.”
Something inside me wobbled at that, threatening to tip me right over the edge of all the feelings I wasn’t sure I was ready to face yet.
So I smiled, small and shaky. “And I suppose you think you’re qualified for the job?”
His grin spread, slow and sure, like he knew exactly how to steady me and unravel me all at once. “I’m a swimmer. Knowing how to breathe is kind of my specialty.”
That broke the tension, and laughter bubbled out of me again, chasing away the heaviness before it could root too deep. But even as we drifted back into lightness, the truth of his words lingered, warm and terrifying in equal measure.
The sound of my laugh still lingered in the air when Sapphire swam past the glass, her little fins fluttering like she was putting on a show just for us. Talon glanced at the tank and then back at me, his grin softening into something that made my heart squeeze.
“See?” He nodded toward the fish. “Even Sapphire thinks you need to relax.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. “Pretty sure she’s just looking for more food.”
“Or maybe she’s just happy you’re here.” His words slipped out lightly, but there was meaning behind them, enough that my pulse skipped.
I looked back at the tank, at the soft glow of the water casting moving patterns across the walls, and let myself settle into the quiet, for once. No deadlines, no checklists, no racing thoughts. Just me, Talon, and a fish we were both too invested in.
“Maybe I am too,” I whispered, almost too softly to hear.
If Talon caught it, he didn’t call me out. He just leaned back beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched, and after what felt like endless months, I let myself breathe.