Chapter 34 #2
I told her I’d wait, and I meant it, but waiting with nowhere for the ache to go is its own kind of hell.
I’ve spent most of the day replaying her voice in the garage, the way she whispered like every word scraped along her skin on the way out.
Until I find myself standing in my doorway with my keys in hand, staring at the elevator button before forcing myself back inside.
The team doesn’t want me at practice. The franchise doesn’t want me anywhere public.
PR wants me invisible until they figure out how to clean up the mess.
I understand why, but that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to sit still.
The sun goes down, and the condo grows dim around me.
I’m still pacing, still checking my phone every five minutes, even though I know she won’t text.
I rub the back of my neck, gripping at the tension that’s been building for hours.
The only thing I can do is wait and hope she isn’t slipping further away while I’m trapped here doing nothing.
Then I hear two soft, barely there taps on the door.
No one comes here unannounced. The entire team practically lives in the condo building, so I doubt that a random reporter managed to find their way to my specific condo.
I mean, this was Beau’s old condo before he and Alise bought a house in Redwood Falls.
Maybe it could be— Don’t do this, I tell myself.
Don’t hope because it's the quickest way to bleed again.
But the knock comes again like the person on the other side is losing courage with every second that passes, and something helpless breaks loose inside me.
My feet move before my brain catches up, carrying me through the living room, toward the door.
For a moment, I stand with my hand hovering over the knob, heart pounding in my throat, breath suspended.
Whatever is on the other side will change me.
I turn the handle, open the door, and Alycia is standing there. Her eyes are glassy with something that looks so close to defeat and determination tangled together that my legs nearly give out.
“Alycia,” I breathe, because her name is the only thing my body knows how to make right now.
She just stands there on the other side of the threshold, her shoulders tight, her breath shallow, her eyes flicking everywhere but me.
Her hands are shaking enough that anyone who knows her would see the tremor hiding in the spaces between her fingers.
It hits me so hard I have to brace a hand on the doorframe.
She didn’t just come here. She fought her way here.
Every step, every hallway, every elevator button, she battled herself tooth and nail to reach my door.
That realization reaches inside me and twists something loose deep inside me.
“Sweetheart,” I say, softer this time, letting the door fall open wider. “Hey.”
Her eyes finally lift, not all the way, but enough for me to see the exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin and the ache she’s been trying to outrun.
“What are you doing here?”
A part of me wants to drag her inside, hold her against me, and let every jagged edge between us soften. But the other part—the terrified, wrecked, honest part—needs to know she didn’t come because she had nowhere else left to go.
She swallows, her breath catching on the way down. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
“That’s not a reason to come here,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady, even as my heart slams against my ribs.
A small, fractured sound escapes her lips as she steps inside without waiting for permission.
Like she can’t stand in that hallway one more second without falling apart.
I close the door slowly behind her, and she flinches at the soft click of it shutting us into the quiet, dim space of my apartment. “Alycia, look at me.”
The second her eyes meet mine, the world narrows to the few inches of space between us. Her expression flickers with fear, longing, and something so deep it almost knocks me back a step. Her throat works, a tight swallow, and when she speaks, it isn’t steady.
“What are you doing here, Alycia?” The question is softer now, steadier, but it vibrates with something that feels like the edge of a cliff. “Please. Tell me why you came.”
Her hands rise helplessly, as if she’s trying to grasp words that won’t form fast enough. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
The confession latches on to something inside me and pulls it wide open. “Not good enough. I need the truth.”
She stares at me, eyes filling, lips trembling. Her entire body folds in one breath before she forces the words out. “Because I can’t pretend it doesn’t matter anymore.”
A tremor runs through me so hard I have to steady myself against the back of the couch. “Alycia—”
She cuts me off, the words collapsing out of her like the dam finally gave way.
“You walked away last night, and it felt like something was tearing out of me. Because the thought of losing you made me sick all day. Because every rumor, every photo, every headline hurt more than it should. Because I told you it couldn’t be real and then spent all this time trying to survive the lie. ”
“And because—” Her knees weaken, and she catches herself on the edge of my counter. “Because you love me.”
I don’t move because she looks like one wrong move will scatter her into a hundred pieces, and she’ll never find her way back. I step closer, and her breath hitches so sharply it might as well be a sob.
“Alycia, tell me the part you’re still holding back.”
“I love you,” she whispers, then again, barely audible, “I love you, and I’m terrified.”
The words hit me with a devastating impact, yet somehow, the softest thing that’s ever touched me.
For an entire lifetime that fits inside one second, I stand perfectly still.
Then I move slowly toward her, as if she’s a flame I’m stepping close to for the first time, letting the heat pull me in inch by inch.
“Alycia,” I whisper, but it comes out wrecked. I lift a hand and let my fingers brush the back of hers where she’s gripping the counter for balance. “Come here.”
She shudders, the breath leaving her like she’s been holding it since the moment I walked away in that garage.
Her fingers uncurl with effort, shaking like she’s peeling herself out of fear’s grip.
When she places her hand in mine, her palm is cold and damp with everything she’s been carrying alone.
I tug her gently into my space, and she comes like her body has been waiting for this exact pull. Her forehead presses against my chest first, but she doesn’t move to wrap her arms around me. She presses her face into me like she’s relearning what it feels like to breathe.
“I’m terrified of how much I want you,” she mumbles against my shirt.
“I know.” I close my eyes, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head, breathing into her hair. “I feel it.”
Her fingers are tentative when they catch my shirt near my ribs, tugging once, like she’s asking for permission without knowing how to form the words.
I wrap my other arm slowly—slow enough for her to pull away—around her waist. She exhales, a sound that skitters down my spine, and her body softens against mine.
“I walked away because I thought it was what you needed,” I murmur against the crown of her head. “Not because I wanted to.”
Her breath hitches, a broken exhale that slides warmth through the cotton covering my chest. “I didn’t want you to go.”
I tilt her face up with both hands, framing her jaw gently, forcing myself to move with reverence even though my pulse is a drumbeat in the hollow of my throat. Her eyes are wet and wide, fear flickering there like a candle in a storm.
“You came to me terrified,” I whisper, brushing my thumb along her cheekbone. “So let me be the one thing you don’t have to fear.”
Her lips tremble, parting with something like a quiet surrender. Then she leans up, and her mouth grazes mine. Not a kiss. Just a soft, searching touch of breath and the ghost of her lips on mine, like she’s testing the ground before stepping forward.
I answer her with stillness. She inhales sharply, and that’s when she kisses me so full of ache it feels like the room narrows around the two of us. Her fingers slide up my chest, curling at the base of my throat, and her mouth moves like she’s memorizing the shape of me in real time.
My lips part, not to deepen it, just to breathe with her. Her breath slips inside mine, filling every hollow space in me that’s been aching since the night before.
“Kyle,” she whispers against my mouth, and the sound is so honest, it feels like she’s placing her heart in my hands.
I slide my palms down her sides, fingertips tracing the shape of her waist through her blouse, slow enough that she has time to feel every inch.
She arches slightly, but enough for me to feel her body reaching.
I kiss her deeper, but not harder. Her hands move up my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tugging gently like she’s grounding herself.
The pull draws an indistinct sound from my chest—soft, not rough—and she swallows it with a shaky kiss that lands just at the corner of my mouth.
“I didn’t know if you would let me touch you again,” she whispers into my cheek.
“I’ll always let you,” I whisper back, brushing my nose along hers. “Always.”
Her body shudders, and I feel it everywhere. I slide a hand to the small of her back, guiding her gently until her hips meet mine, and the soft gasp that leaves her lips nearly buckles my knees.
“Kyle…”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, cupping her cheek, letting her see the truth etched into every line of my face.
Her gaze flickers to my mouth, and she leans in again, kissing me with more certainty this time. I let my hands find the hem of her blouse, sliding underneath with the lightest touch. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft beneath my fingertips. She inhales so sharply I feel it in my own lungs.
“Tell me if anything is too much,” I whisper into the shell of her ear.
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “It’s not enough.”
That confession pours heat low and deep through me. I guide her backward slowly, step by step, my mouth barely leaving hers. She bumps softly into the edge of the couch, and her breath stutters as I steady her hips with my hands.
“Kyle,” she whispers again, not with fear this time, but with quiet, almost reverent need.
I lean my forehead to hers. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
She swallows, her fingers trembling as they slide down the front of my shirt, tugging the fabric gently. “Touch me.”
Heat flashes through me, but I keep my touch slow, sliding my palms up her sides. My thumbs brush the underside of her ribs. She arches into the contact like her body has been waiting all day for someone to touch her without asking for something in return.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, guiding her gently onto the couch and lowering her into a promise instead of a mistake. Her back sinks into the cushions, and I follow her down, letting my weight settle only when she pulls me closer with both hands.
“I need you.” Her breath feathers across my jaw, warm and shaking.
“You have me,” I whisper, my lips brushing her throat, capturing the tiny, trembling pulse beneath her skin.
She shivers, her hands sliding under my shirt, fingertips tracing up my spine with a tenderness that absolutely wrecks me.
I lift the fabric over my head, tossing it aside, and her eyes drink me in with something that hits deeper than desire.
I lower my body to hers but keep enough space so that she can breathe, my forearm braced beside her head.
Her hands skim my torso, mapping every line, every breath, every tremor.
“Is this okay?” I murmur against her collarbone, kissing a trail up the curve of her neck.
“Yes,” she breathes, arching into me. “More.”
So, I give her more. The slide of my mouth along her jaw, the warmth of my hands at her hips, the slow drag of her blouse upward until she lifts her arms and lets me pull it over her head.
She lies beneath me in just her bra, eyes soft and trembling and sure.
“Jesus, Alycia…” I whisper, brushing my thumb under the strap on her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”
Her breath shudders out of her as she reaches up, grabs a fistful of my hair, and pulls me down into another deep kiss.
When her legs slide around my hips, drawing me flush against her, the soft moan she gives me is enough to make every part of me vow to never let her fear anything here again.
Her fingers trace my jaw, my cheek, my mouth—touches like confessions, soft and shaking.
“I love you,” she whispers again onto my lips. “I love you.”
I kiss her like those words are the first ones I’ve ever understood.