Chapter 23
BECCA
Theo is already in the water when I make it out to the pool.
Behind me, the house is dark and quiet, so I assume our mothers have both gone to bed. I’m grateful; I’m not sure I could handle one of my mother’s piercing looks. Not when I’m already so close to undone.
The patio lights are off, but there’s a hazy blue glow coming from the pool, and the moon is hanging heavy over the horizon, reflecting off the gulf below.
I drop my towel on a nearby deck chair and edge around the pool to the stairs at the far end. Even this late, the air is still thick with heat and humidity, so the cool water is a welcome relief. I descend the stairs even as Theo swims over, stopping a few feet away.
“This was a good idea,” I say as I immerse myself down to my shoulders.
“It’s hard to believe there’s anywhere hotter than Atlanta,” Theo says, “but I think Florida wins.”
I make my way back to the stairs and sit down, letting my hands float on the top of the water.
Theo follows, sitting close enough for a conversation to be easy, but not so close that we’re touching.
There’s a tension in his body that makes it clear he has something to say, like the words have filled him up and he isn’t going to relax until he says them all.
We sit for a long moment, the silence stretching long enough that now I’m starting to feel tense. But then Theo clears his throat.
“The night my dad died,” he begins, “Carter had to do some extra sprints after practice, so Dad and I went to get food, then said we’d circle back to get him after he was done.
So we left and picked up some burgers. We ate them in the car, but before we headed back to the rink, Dad confronted me.
” He glances over and meets my eye, his expression warm, a little rueful. “About you, actually.”
My eyebrows lift. “About me?”
“He, uh…” He lets out a little chuckle. “I guess Mom had been doing laundry and she went through my gym bag and found a box of condoms?”
Heat crawls up my cheeks as I suck in a gasp. “Oh no.”
Growing up, I never thought I’d be the girl who had sex in high school.
My parents always encouraged me and my sisters to wait, if not for marriage—which was definitely their preference—at least until we were old enough to be sure it was what we wanted.
To be careful, intentional, and old enough to accept the consequences of our actions.
But I was so desperately in love with Theo. I was sure. Even with how things ended, I can’t regret that he was my first. That we figured it out together.
“I was totally mortified,” Theo says, “but in retrospect, I realize how much worse the conversation could have gone.”
“Was he angry?” I ask.
He shakes his head no. “I think he was disappointed we didn’t wait until we were older, but he wasn’t angry. He said he was glad we were being safe. He asked if I was in love with you. I said I was, and he told me that’s the way it should always be—that love should always be a part of it.”
He lifts his hands to the back of his neck and takes an intentional deep breath, and there’s a slight quiver to his exhale. He lets out a little laugh. “Sorry. I’ve never actually told anyone about this conversation.”
No one. Not even his brother?
“You’re doing great,” I say softly, my heart squeezing at the realization that this would have been the last conversation he had with his dad.
Theo gives me a small smile, his eyes soft.
“He told me he hoped the two of us made it. He loved you, Bec. He always said he thought you were good for me. But then he made me promise that if we ever broke up and I was dating again, I would always treat sex like something important—that I would never let it mean more to the other person than it did to me.”
“Your dad was a good man, Theo,” I say. “That’s good advice.”
He nods. “I promised. Told him I understood. Then we left and drove back to the arena, and that’s when we were hit.” He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching as pain slices across his expression.
I scoot closer and pick up his hand, weaving our fingers together.
“I never forgot the promise I made him that night,” Theo says, his voice so soft, I can barely hear him. “Which is why…”
His words trail off, and I wait, my heart rate climbing with every passing second of silence.
“There’s never been anyone but you, Bec,” Theo finally says.
My breath catches in my throat.
But … no. He can’t mean what I think he means. He can’t be telling me that he’s never been with anyone else.
“What do you mean?” I ask, almost afraid to hear his answer.
He lifts his gaze to mine. “You already know that you were my first,” he says gently. “But you were also my last.”
There’s a raw vulnerability to Theo’s words that assures me he’s telling the truth. But it’s still hard for me to process. “But that … it’s been eight years.”
He lets out a little chuckle, sending tiny ripples across the top of the water.
“I’m well aware. I’ve been on a lot of first dates, half as many second dates, even a few third or fourth dates.
I’ve looked at a lot of women and wondered if she would finally be the one to break the spell.
But it never happened. Every time I thought about taking a relationship to the next level, all I could think about was you.
” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I couldn’t do that to someone.
It didn’t feel fair to let anyone think my heart was available when it’s always been yours. ”
I squeeze Theo’s hand a little tighter and close my eyes, letting the waves of emotion roll through my body.
This is why he’s never wanted to talk about his relationship history.
Because there isn’t one. And he couldn’t tell me that without telling me why.
It’s almost too much to process. My skin is tingly, my heart is racing, my entire body is trembling. His confession almost feels too big—too much for me to hold.
There is no part of me that needed Theo to not have a dating history. My hesitation wasn’t truly rooted in jealousy, but fear. Fear that I wouldn’t measure up. That I might disappoint him. That I would let myself fall and wind up with a broken heart all over again.
But all this time—all these years—he’s been thinking of me.
And if I’m truly honest with myself, I’ve been thinking of him too. Mia was right when she said I chose Rory because he was safe. Because I didn’t want to fall for him. Not really.
I didn’t want to fall for anyone who wasn’t Theo.
I think I recognized our inevitability the moment I saw him standing in the parking garage, apology on his lips and heart in his hands. I was just too afraid to call it what it was. To admit that a part of me has always believed life would eventually lead me back to him.
“I know you’re scared, Bec,” Theo says. “And I get it. But—”
“I’m not,” I say, cutting him off. I shift closer, moving so that I’m kneeling on the stair directly in front of him, my body wedged in between his knees. Cool water splashes against my flushed skin as I lift my hands to his face. “I’m not scared,” I say. “Not anymore.”
Then I lean forward and press my mouth to his.
For days, the tension has been building between us—our uncertainty melting into moments of almost that were all leading us here. Now that we’ve broken through, I cannot get enough of this man.
I am almost frantic with the need to touch him, to take him in, to anchor myself to him. I lift my hands to his chest, sliding my fingers over the smooth planes of muscle until his skin is alive with goosebumps.
Still, I get the sense that Theo will not be hurried.
He kisses me slowly, patiently, one hand moving up to my face then sliding into my hair.
His fingers press into my scalp, and for a moment, he pulls away, his forehead against mine as he takes several ragged breaths.
Suddenly I feel the weight of this moment for him—the longing, the waiting, and I understand without words that he’s been holding back for a very long time.
And I’ve just given him permission to let go.
When his lips meet mine one more time, the kiss is different.
Charged. Electric in a way that I’ve never experienced before.
Theo tilts his head, deepening the kiss, exploring, tasting.
When his tongue brushes against mine, he makes a sound low in his throat that undoes me completely, sending a shot of white-hot longing right to my center.
Theo was an excellent kisser when we were young.
Patient, attentive, intentional. But this is far better than anything locked in my memories.
There is nothing boyish or inexperienced about how he’s kissing me now.
He’s owning my mouth like a man who knows exactly what he wants.
But there is restraint here too—like he understands just as well as I do how much is at stake.
Like he wants to protect whatever is blooming between us.
He slides a palm up the ridges of my spine to my nape, then tilts my head, exposing my neck. I’m tempted to cry out when he abandons my lips, but then he presses a kiss to the skin just under my earlobe and my complaint evaporates into the heavy night air.
His kisses continue, creating a trail down to my collarbone then across to my shoulder. My skin is on fire, each brush of his lips a current right to my heart.
“Theo?” I whisper on an exhale.
“Hmm?” he asks in between kisses.
“We should have done this sooner.”
He chuckles, then he drops his hands into the water and settles them on my hips. He lifts me easily and pulls me onto his lap. My legs wrap around him, then he moves us off the stairs and into the pool, dropping down so we’re both immersed up to our shoulders.
“I’ve been thinking about it since we got here, if that counts for anything.”
“You’ve been very patient,” I say. Then I lift my hands to his face and kiss him again.
His fingers press into my hips, his grip tightening as we kiss and kiss and kiss.
When our fingers are pruney, and we’ve completely lost track of time—it could be one a.m. or four a.m. for all I know—we finally climb out of the pool.
Theo picks up the towel sitting near his phone and wraps it around me.
He holds the ends closed just under my chin and uses it to tug me in for another kiss.
“I want to try again, Bec,” he says when he pulls back, blue eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “Can we do that?”
There is a mountain of emotion behind his eyes, a vulnerability that somehow tears me open and stitches me back together at the same time. “I would really like that,” I say, and I mean every single word.
Later, when I’m finally in bed, wet hair piled on my head, sheets cool against my skin, my mind starts to tally all the things I don’t know about what this relationship will look like.
If I’ll still leave Atlanta at the end of the month. How we’ll manage his travel schedule. What we’ll even call each other. Is he my boyfriend? With anyone else, it might feel premature to use that word, but with Theo, it almost doesn’t feel big enough.
The point is, I’m staring into the unknown, something that would usually have me running for the hills. But after tonight, it’s like my body has forgotten how to be afraid.
Because Theo doesn’t feel like a risk.
He feels like home.