Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kyle
The door clicks shut behind her, and I stand there for a second in the cool Portland air, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal human.
Alycia steps out of the car like she’s done it a thousand times—shoulders settling, chin lifting with that clean, practiced confidence she wears like armor.
But then she turns toward me, and the world gets painfully, stupidly small.
“You ready?” she asks.
I nod because vocal cords are apparently optional now. She steps closer, fingers brushing my lapel, smoothing it like it’s muscle memory, as if touching me isn’t the landmine it is.
“Kyle,” she murmurs without looking away, “remember to stay close and smile when you can. Don’t engage unless I cue you.”
“Right.” My voice comes out rough. “Your ideal boyfriend.”
Her lips curve, fragile around the edges. “Tonight, you’re not playing a part. You’re supporting the event and me.”
Her hand squeezes mine gently, and that small pressure threads straight through my ribs. She’s reminding me she trusts me, that she needs me steady, and she believes I can be.
“I can do that,” I tell her.
“Good,” she says, glancing toward the photographers. “Because the second we step into that light, they’re going to decide what they see. We need to make sure they see what we want them to.”
I lean in, voice low. “You mean, I can’t just stand there and look pretty?”
Her laugh breaks out immediately, melting half the tension in my chest. Then she turns forward and guides us toward the velvet rope, her hand still locked in mine, like she’s not letting go for anything. The cameras fire before we even reach the rope line.
“Kyle! Over here!”
“Alycia, look this way!”
“Is this official?”
She leans in just slightly, our shoulders brushing like it’s nothing, but it sends a hot line of awareness down my spine. “Ready?”
But I hear what she’s really asking: Can you handle this with me?
I angle my body toward hers, thumb tracing a slow circle at the back of her hand—not for show, just for her. “Yeah. I’m right here.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull back. We hit the carpet, and the world splits open—lights, shouts, flashes—but she holds my hand like none of it can reach her as long as I stay close. She holds my hand like we’re not faking a damn thing.
If she’s nervous, I’m the only one who can feel it.
Her palm presses more firmly into mine when someone shouts “Kiss!” but she stays poised and anchored to me.
I swear that one point of contact threads through my entire body like a live wire.
“Let them talk,” I murmur, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “You and I know what’s real.”
Alycia’s fingers tighten around mine like she’s bracing for something she can’t name yet. She doesn’t look at me, but I feel everything she’s trying not to say in the way she leans a fraction closer instead of pulling away.
“You can’t say things like that,” she whispers, but the tremor in her voice gives her away.
“You want me to lie?”
Her fingers flex again, a tiny tremble I feel down to my ribs. “I want tonight not to be complicated.”
“Too late,” I say softly.
She looks up at me then—hesitation, want, and fear all tangled together. And as the crowd flashes white light over us, she turns away, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. Her thumb grazes mine, a quiet confession of its own.
“Okay,” she breathes, so quiet only I hear it. “Then we stay like this.”
“Like what?”
“Together. Even if we’re the only ones who know what that actually means.”
It’s the closest thing to an admission she’s given me. I squeeze her hand once, like a promise I’m not brave enough to say out loud. “Then together it is.”
She nods, pulling me forward with her like she already knows I’ll follow. Inside, the ballroom glows gold and white and champagne-soft, but it feels like the threshold between two worlds: the one where we still pretend, and the one we’ve already slipped into without meaning to.
“Look at you two,” someone calls as we cross the entrance. “Power couple of the night!”
Alycia gives a polished laugh, warm but distant.
I turn toward her, bending my head just enough to catch her eyes.
The moment she meets my gaze, something inside her eases.
This isn’t the version she shows donors, reporters, or executives.
This is the version from last night, who let me steady her without pulling away.
“Are you still okay?” I ask her quietly.
Alycia nods once, but her fingers shift in mine, gripping tighter. “Only because you’re here.”
That one sentence nearly knocks the breath out of me.
Maybe she feels the way my pulse stutters because she looks away quickly, like she’s afraid she’s already said too much.
I want to tell her it’s too late for that because everything changed the moment she let herself lean into me instead of away.
But the room is watching. The job is watching. Her future is watching.
I lift our joined hands and brush my lips lightly against the back of hers, just enough for the cameras to catch the softness but not the truth. Her eyes go wide, unguarded for one suspended beat.
“Come on,” I murmur, letting my voice fall low and warm for her alone. “Let’s give them something beautiful to write about.”
Her shoulder brushes mine like a secret she doesn’t know how to hold yet, and we move through the ballroom together.
The crowd parts without us asking. Alycia’s fingers stay threaded with mine as we near the edge of the dance floor.
I feel her pause beside me, not hesitant exactly, but caught between professionalism and something that doesn’t fit neatly into either of our boundaries.
I angle toward her, dipping my head so only she can hear me. “Torres.”
She looks up, eyes bright, like she’s standing too close to something she shouldn’t want. “Kyle…”
“I’m not asking for anything, just a dance. You and I, moving for a minute before the night owns us again.”
She blinks hard, weighing the risk of letting herself have even one small indulgence. “One dance.”
The music is something slow, a rhythm easy enough to fall into without thinking.
My other hand settles against her waist, fingers brushing the exposed skin where her dress dips.
She lifts her free hand to my shoulder, fingertips just grazing the back of my neck.
It’s a small touch, but it feels seismic.
“Everyone’s watching,” she murmurs like she’s trying not to get swept under.
“Let them,” I say as we start to move.
Slow steps that aren’t really steps at all, more like drifting around each other.
She fits against me, as if the night rearranged itself until we lined up exactly right.
For a few beats, neither of us speaks. The world shrinks to the heat where her hand rests on me, and the way her pulse flutters under my thumb, where I’m still holding her hand.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
She lets out a tiny laugh. “I’m aware.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she says instantly, and then she softens. “I’m afraid of… what this feels like.”
I tighten my hold, not to pull her closer, but to steady her and myself. We keep moving, orbiting something neither of us has the courage to name.
“I know what tonight has to be, but you don’t get to rewrite what happened between us and pretend I imagined it all.”
Her grip tightens, and for one suspended moment, she lets her body melt into mine in a way she’s too controlled to do unless something inside her slips first. “It felt real, and that scares me.”
I close my eyes because the ache in her voice is so raw it scrapes something open in me. “It scares me, too.”
The song dips into its final chorus, strings swelling around us like a slow tide. She lifts her head, and her eyes are glassy, not with tears, but with vulnerability so stark it feels holy.
“Kyle,” she says softly, almost like a confession. “I don’t know how to want something I can’t keep.”
“You don’t have to keep it,” I answer, my chest tightening so sharply it’s almost painful. “Just… don’t run from it.”
For a heartbeat, she doesn’t. She stays right there with me, letting the truth sit between us without shoving it away. Then the song ends, and the applause rises, breaking the spell. She swallows, shoulders trembling once before she steels them back into place.
“We should make our rounds.”
“Yeah,” I respond because I know she’s right.
Her hand stays locked in mine as we weave through the crowd. The ballroom hums around us—laughter, clinking glasses, the muted glide of gowns brushing marble—but none of it reaches me the way her fingers do. Every tiny adjustment of her grip threads straight into my pulse.
She’s quiet for a few steps. I know her well enough now to recognize the way her mind races behind her eyes, sorting the night into the parts she can control and the parts she can’t. I squeeze her hand once, and she exhales like she’s been holding her breath since the moment the music stopped.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“For what?”
“For… not pushing me.” Her thumb brushes the side of my hand, the smallest movement. “I don’t know how to navigate this with you without messing something up.”
“You couldn’t mess this up if you tried.”
“You have a lot of faith in me.”
“No, I just see you. That’s different.”
Something soft and startled flickers through her eyes as if I nudged a truth she wasn’t ready to have touched. We slow near the edge of the room again, a small cluster of donors drifting past us. She turns her face slightly toward me, voice barely above a breath.
“Kyle,” she says. “What if… wanting this makes everything else worse?”
“It probably will, but…” Her breath catches as I lift our joined hands between us. “It doesn’t mean you have to pretend it isn’t happening.”
Her lashes lower, like a weight that hits somewhere deep. Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts sharply through the air. “Kyle! Alycia!”
She stiffens instantly, and my jaw clenches.
I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.
Bennett Reed, of course. Of all the reporters present at this gala, he had to be the first person we ran into.
The man who set this whole fake dating thing into motion because he wanted to get to me.
It’s like the universe is incapable of letting us have one unruined moment.
Alycia’s hand tightens in mine in preparation, and that’s all it takes for something in me to shift. Whatever this reporter thinks he’s about to do, he’s not ready for what I’ll do back.
We turn together and face him. Bennett’s eyes flick between our still-linked hands and Alycia’s composed expression, and I can see the moment he decides he’s going to push.
“Quite an entrance,” he says lightly, recorder already in hand like this is a conversation we agreed to have. “You two making things official tonight?”
Alycia straightens a fraction, her grip on me never loosening. “We’re here to support the foundation, Bennett.”
“Right,” he says. “And that’s the story you’re sticking to?”
My jaw ticks once, but Alycia’s thumb presses into my palm, reminding me to let her handle this.
“If you’re looking for a comment,” she says, voice even and professional, steady in a way that makes pride twist hot through my chest, “it needs to be about the foundation. Otherwise, we have nothing to add.”
“Strange, considering the chatter online. Lots of people are wondering if this little… partnership,” Bennett’s smirk sharpens, “is mutually beneficial.”
Alycia’s spine goes rigid, but she doesn’t falter. “Speculation?”
He shrugs, faux apologetic. “Some are saying it’s convenient timing. A PR golden girl getting cozy with the team’s newest Hendrix. Helps clean up certain messes. Makes the organization look unified and gives you some padding if the season gets… choppy.”
“Bennett,” she says slowly, each syllable wrapped in steel, “if you’re implying I use my relationships to maintain my position—”
“Hey,” he cuts in, palms lifting like he’s innocent, though the glint in his eye says otherwise. “I’m just asking what people want to know. Transparency is good for the franchise, right?”
I take a step toward him before I realize I’ve moved. Alycia moves with me, not pulling me back, but staying with me. Matching my energy and holding the line so I don’t cross it.
“You’re out of line,” I say, and my voice is low, razor-sharp, the kind reporters usually know better than to poke at.
“If you want to question me, fine. Question my game, my penalties, my attitude. But you don’t get to stand here and pretend you’re doing journalism when you’re implying she slept her way into her job. ”
Bennett’s smirk falters. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I shoot back. “You wanted me to react? Congratulations. You got it.”
Alycia’s fingers shift against mine, not restraining or pleading, but communicating. Kyle. Remember what’s at stake. I unclench my jaw just enough to speak without snapping.
“You want a quote? Here it is. Alycia Torres doesn’t need me—or anyone else—to validate the work she does for this organization. She’s earned every inch of ground she stands on.”
Bennett opens his mouth, but Alycia beats him to the next strike.
“And if you’re looking for dirt,” she says, voice soft in that terrifyingly precise way only a woman who knows exactly where to cut can manage, “you’re going to have to look elsewhere. Whatever narrative you’re trying to build here is sloppy and beneath you.”
Bennett clears his throat, mumbling something about “needing the foundation statement,” but Alycia doesn’t give him an inch more. She delivers it concisely, without ever letting go of my hand. When he finally retreats, tail tucked so far between his legs, I’m amazed he can walk straight.
Alycia exhales shakily and says, “Thank you for not making it worse.”
“You didn’t need me to save you. You handled him.”
“I know, but having you there...” Her voice trembles slightly. “For the first time, it didn’t feel like I was standing alone.”
“You’re not,” I murmur, dipping my head. “I’d burn down this entire ballroom if it meant making tonight easier for you.”
Her breath catches, and she grips my jacket like I said something dangerous, eyes widening. “Kyle, don’t—”
“I’m not taking it back,” I say, voice low. “Not tonight.”
She swallows hard, her throat working once—twice—before she steadies herself.
“We should get back out there,” she says, but the words feel like armor she’s lifting with two shaking hands.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I answer.
Alycia nods and gently threads her fingers through mine again. Then she steps forward into the swirl of golden light and champagne laughter, pulling me with her. Not because she needs the optics, but because she wants me there.
And for the first time in a long time, something inside my chest feels steady.