Chapter 27 #3
“I haven’t checked my email yet.” I race back to my ancient computer, hearing rushed footfalls behind me, but I don’t turn and see if Truett is trailing after me. I know he is.
I wiggle the mouse, waking up the computer and clicking on the email icon at the bottom of the screen. The computer makes a loud noise, sounding like it’s about to take flight, and takes its sweet time opening up the email. Each second drags by painfully slowly. Too slowly.
Just when I think the computer has given up, the inbox opens, and there’s a ton of new messages I quickly scan through. Some are spam, while others are birthday and party requests. I don’t have time to take it all in because my eyes land on the email I’ve been looking for.
There it is, in bold letters, a message from USBC. I think my heart stops. I click open the email, bracing myself for… something. The words are all there, laid out in great detail, but my brain refuses to comprehend. I read it once. Twice. And a third time before the words make sense.
It’s true.
Spare Time won the bid. Even with a lack of customers this past year and the recent debt settlement clearly shown on the financial report I sent.
Emotions I can’t—and don’t want—to control rush over me. My vision goes hazy with unshed tears, and I turn toward the only person I want to celebrate with. The only person I ever wanted to celebrate with.
I grab him.
I shouldn’t—god, I know I shouldn’t—but screw the rules, screw logic. I need him. Right now.
My arms wrap around him like they’ve been waiting to come home. My hands find his face, warm and familiar, and I pull him to me like I’m starving for air and he’s the only way I can breathe.
Then I kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Like I’ve been holding it in for far too long, and it finally breaks free. I brace myself for the rejection—for the shove, the anger, the sting of consequences I’ve earned. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, he kisses me back.
Like he never stopped wanting me. Like he’s been just as wrecked, just as lost. His hands slide into my hair, and he melts into me, like he belongs there. And I kiss him like it’s the only way I know how to say thank you.
Thank you for showing up.
Thank you for still seeing me.
Thank you for believing in something I could barely hold together.
I kiss him because I can’t say it out loud—but without him, none of this would’ve been possible.
I kiss him because I’m in love with Truett Thorne.
I could have stayed locked in this kiss forever, but I’m keenly aware we are in public and the feelings consuming us are very much private bedroom feelings. Still, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Reluctantly, I pull apart from Truett, but his hands are still on me, and I don’t let him go either. Even when we hear someone clear her throat next to us. We turn as one to see the woman from earlier standing there, smirking.
It hits me then why she looks so familiar. She looks just like Truett—or rather Truett looks just like her. I sigh, “@ThorneyPins.”
“Well, it seems like you two have a lot to discuss,” she says. “And considering Truett is no longer competing, you both have all the time you need.”
My head whips around so quickly, I hear it crack. “You aren’t competing? What?”
“Like I said, a lot to talk about,” Mrs. Thorne says.
“Why don’t I take over for you, Ezra? I can even take some photos of the crowd and post them.
The last photo we took of Truett in here blew up.
Now, I don’t think that’s the reason for all these people, but I can’t help but think I may have helped a little. ” She winks.
I barely register her words because I have questions for Truett that desperately need answering. Why did he decide to come here? Why isn’t he participating in the tournament? What does it all mean?
My thoughts are spinning, tangled and frantic, like I’m chasing answers through a corn maze.
Then—
A gentle hand slips into mine, grounding me.
Warm fingers lace through mine with a quiet familiarity that makes my chest tighten.
I meet Truett’s gaze, and his smile is small, hesitant—almost shy.
Like he’s not sure he has the right to be here, to hold my hand, to ask for anything.
But he’s the only person who has the right to know anything. To touch me whenever he pleases.
“Can we talk, Ezra?” he asks, voice soft but steady. “There are a few things I want to tell you.”
And I have a lot of apologizing to do. So, I nod, not able to trust my voice yet.
Mrs. Thorne takes over the counter, looking out of place with her high fashion in the least fashionable place I can imagine. She simply jumps in, running the counter like she could do it in her sleep. She even pulls out her phone, already snapping pictures in between guests as she said she would.
Truett tugs on my hand after a moment. “Let’s go,” he says, and I follow him. I will follow this man anywhere, because I’ve made many mistakes. Burned many bridges. But losing Truett is not a mistake I plan on making ever again.
He’s mine. Even if I have to beg.