Chapter 16 #2
“It’s called an offline event but it’s a game just like the one you coach.
Witt, everyone doesn’t understand our world and that’s okay.
I don’t understand why someone would want to get tackled by a 300-pound man either.
” I smack Witt on the arm before I realize that’s not how a subordinate should act.
Witt asks, “Did they have time to produce jerseys?”
“Yes, merchandising took care of it. And I didn’t tell you this because I just thought of it this morning, but the winners will get bars to put on their jerseys like my brother and sister did in high school for lettering.”
J.D. smiles.
Greyson grins.
Parker blurts out, “Now I know why you love her so much.”
Everyone goes quiet before Parker realizes what he said. Annika, his fiancé, steps in and says, “Witt values you as an equal.”
Witt stays close without responding. And I’m wondering if he actually said he values me. I know, without a doubt he never said he loves me.
Everyone breaks off into different directions but Witt is never far. I guess he thinks his family is overbearing. They’re not. They’re the kind of family everyone should have, chaotic, loud, funny, teasing, loving.
When I need a napkin, he points to the stack before I ask.
When I reach for the wrong pitcher, he says, “Diet is on the left.” When one of the kids nearly collides with me, his hand touches the small of my back for half a second, guiding me out of the crash zone before disappearing like it never happened.
But I feel it long after.
Eventually, Parker drags us toward the arcade.
“Team tournament,” he announces.
“No,” Witt says.
“Yes.”
“I don’t participate in rigged competitions.”
Parker grins. “Scared?”
“No.”
I lift an eyebrow. “That sounded like scared.”
Witt turns his head toward me slowly. “It did not.”
“It kind of did.”
His eyes narrow. Oh, this is fun.
The game Parker picks is a retro racing arcade with two steering wheels, cracked vinyl seats, and graphics that look like they were designed before physics became standardized.
The kids gather around us immediately. So do several adults, because apparently watching Witt do literally anything is a family sport.
“You’re going down, Uncie Witt!” Witley yells.
“Unlikely,” he says.
I slide into the seat beside him. “You know, I’m very good at games.”
“I assumed.”
“You assumed?” I quirk a brow.
“Yes.”
“Because of my job?”
“Because you’re competitive and slightly irritating.”
I gasp. “Slightly?”
His mouth twitches. “Moderately.”
The race starts.
And for two minutes, I forget about almost kisses and unsent letters and whether I belong in Witt’s home or just his office.
I forget about Glitch sitting in an envelope in my purse.
I forget about the way my heart keeps splitting itself between a past I haven’t let go of and a present I’m starting to want too much, but that is probably out of reach.
All I care about is beating Witt O’Ryan.
He is annoyingly good.
Of course he is.
He takes corners too cleanly, times boosts perfectly, and never once looks rattled. I, however, use strategy, aggression, and possibly one accidental elbow bump that makes Parker yell, “Illegal contact!”
“Arcade racing has no officials,” I shout back.
Witt glances at me. “Convenient.”
“For me? Yes.”
The final stretch appears on screen.
We’re neck and neck.
Witley is screaming. Parker is screaming. I’m pretty sure Birdie is screaming and she doesn’t even know what game we’re playing.
I hit the boost at the last second and slide across the finish line half a car length ahead.
The machine flashes WINNER over my screen.
For one stunned second, I just stare.
Then I jump up with a ridiculous victory scream and turn toward Witt without thinking.
I throw my arms around him.
It’s pure instinct. A teammate hug. A walk-off home run hug. A holy-crap-I-beat-the-untouchable-genius hug.
Except the second my body hits his, my brain catches up.
Witt goes still.
I go still.
My arms are around his neck. His hands hover near my waist like they’re waiting for a clear instruction manual. The entire arcade seems to shrink around us, all the noise fading under the realization that I am hugging my boss in front of his entire family.
I start to pull back.
His hands settle lightly at my sides.
Not gripping.
Not claiming.
Just there.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly.
The words are so soft I’m not sure anyone else hears them.
But I do.
I feel them everywhere.
Parker whistles.
Birdie gasps.
Noelle says, “Oh, I like her.”
Witt immediately releases me.
I step back, face hot, heart hotter.
“Good game,” I say, because apparently that is the best my brain can do.
He looks at the screen, then at me. “Rematch.”
I grin. “Anytime.”
Across the room, Paulina appears beside Sutton, holding a slice of cake and looking younger than she did at the gala. Her gaze finds me.
“Hey, Maci. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“Is Tyler coming around again sometime?”
Every nearby adult goes quiet in the most obvious way possible.
Subtlety is not an O’Ryan family trait.
I smile. “Probably. He’s been texting me all day asking if it would be weird to come to the launch event.”
Paulina looks down at her cake. “It wouldn’t be weird.”
Greyson’s head snaps up from across the room. Sutton puts a hand on his arm without even looking.
Parker mutters, “Oh, this is fantastic.”
Greyson points at him. “Don’t.”
Parker holds up both hands. “I said nothing.”
“You thought loudly.”
Witt, standing beside me, says, “Family trait.”
I laugh, and the sound feels easy. Too easy.
A few minutes later, conversation shifts toward the adults. Someone teases Greyson about needing a hobby now that Paulina is older. Birdie says, “Your dad needs to date.”
The older man at the end of the table—Witt’s dad—leans back with a slice of pizza in one hand. “I’ll date when Witt does.”
Silence.
Then the entire table erupts.
Witt freezes beside me.
Parker nearly falls out of his chair laughing. Noelle covers her mouth. Birdie looks delighted in a way that should probably scare everyone.
I, unfortunately, choke on my soda.
Witt looks at his dad. “That seems unnecessarily punitive.”
His dad shrugs. “Then I’ll stay single forever.”
“Statistically probable,” Witt says.
I press a napkin to my mouth to hide my smile.
Birdie points between us. “I don’t know. The odds may be changing.”
Witt stands. “I need air.”
Parker laughs harder.
I watch him walk toward the back exit, shoulders tense but ears slightly pink.
Ears.
Pink.
Oh no.
I might be in trouble.
Later, after cake and presents and one very intense round of air hockey between J.D.
and a seven-year-old, the party finally begins to wind down.
Kids fall asleep against parents. Adults collect jackets and leftover pizza boxes.
Witley clings to her dinosaur habitat like she has been handed treasure.
She hugs Witt again before leaving. “Best present.”
Witt nods solemnly. “Correct.”
She giggles. “You’re funny.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t argue further.
That alone tells me she won.
When we leave the pizza place, the night air feels warm and heavy. The arena glows a few blocks away, all glass and steel and lights, the penthouse waiting high above it. Witt walks beside me without speaking, hands in his pockets, pace matched to mine.
I don’t know when he started matching my pace.
Maybe tonight.
Maybe earlier.
Maybe I’m only now noticing.
“I’ve never met a family like yours,” I say.
He looks ahead. “Neither have I.”
A laugh slips out. “That’s very fair.”
“They’re exhausting.”
“They love you.”
“I know.”
The certainty in his voice surprises me. Not because I doubted it, but because he says it without hesitation, like love is one of the few data points he doesn’t question.
“They show it loudly,” I say.
“Unfortunately.”
“But you show it quietly.”
His steps slow half a beat.
I keep walking because if I stop, I might say too much.
“You knew Witley wanted dinosaurs because she mentioned it once in April. You brought her the best gift because you listened. You let her climb all over you. You lost a game to her earlier.”
“I didn’t lose.”
“You absolutely lost.”
“She altered the controls.”
“She’s four.”
“She’s advanced.”
I laugh again, but when I glance over, Witt isn’t smiling. He’s looking just past my shoulder, thoughtful in the way he gets when something has landed deeper than he expected.
“You fit surprisingly well,” he says.
My heart stops.
Not dramatically.
Not in a romance-novel swoon.
It simply pauses, like my whole body needs a second to understand the words.
You fit surprisingly well.
Chase said I fit at Synatrix.
Witt is saying I fit with his family.
Those are not the same thing.
One is a career.
The other is a place in the middle of all this noise and love and chaos and pizza and arcade games and pink ears and dinosaur gifts.
I swallow around the sudden ache in my throat. “Surprisingly?”
His gaze flicks toward mine, then away. “Statistically.”
“Of course.”
But I’m smiling.
Because from Witt, surprisingly well might be the closest thing to I’m glad you were there that he knows how to say.
By the time we reach the penthouse, the easy warmth of the night follows me into my room. I change into pajamas, wash off my makeup, and sit on the edge of the bed with my purse in my lap.
The envelope is still inside.
I pull it out and stare at my own handwriting.
Dear Glitch.
For days, I’ve treated this letter like a decision waiting to happen.
Mail it, and I move forward. Keep it, and I’m still stuck.
But tonight, after pizza night with Witt’s family, after Witley’s arms around his neck, after his hands settled carefully at my sides when I hugged him, the choice doesn’t feel that simple anymore.
Maybe I’m not writing to Glitch because I need to let him go.
Maybe I’m writing because I’m terrified I already have.
The thought hurts.
I trace the edge of the stamp with my thumb.
Then I set the letter back in the drawer.
Not mailed.
Not forgotten.
Just waiting.
Tomorrow.
I’ll decide tomorrow.