Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Camille
Fool the Defense with Some Slow Burn
The crisp night air brushes against my skin, biting just enough to remind me that I probably should’ve grabbed a sweater. The skyline stretches out before me, the city lights look like a thousand tiny promises just out of reach. My glass of wine sits forgotten on the coffee table, and the book I meant to lose myself in lies abandoned on the small table beside me. I’ve spent the entire day preoccupied with Scottie’s proposal, yet the tension pressing at me now has a very different name.
“Killion Crawford,” I mutter, the words tasting bitter and sweet at the same time. I shouldn’t have watched his game. I told myself I wouldn’t. But it felt . . . important. Like I’d miss something if I didn’t.
And then, as if my thoughts have somehow conjured him, his voice cuts through the quiet. “Evening, beautiful.”
Startled, I turn to see him leaning against the divider of his balcony, all casual arrogance wrapped in a hoodie and joggers. The warm light from his apartment spills onto him, softening his edges in a way that feels unfair. His broad shoulders rest easily against the railing, and his hair—a deliberate mess—makes him look maddeningly effortless.
“I was hoping you’d be here,” he adds, his grin infuriatingly self-assured, like he already knows he’s charmed me.
“Hoping, or were you stalking me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and folding my arms across my chest.
“Hoping,” he says, holding up his phone like it’s a Get Out of Jail Free card. “I just got here a few minutes ago. Got comfortable, came outside, and voila, there you were. If that hadn’t worked, I was going to text you. See if this time you’d give me more than, ‘I’m busy, Crawford. Leave me alone.’”
“I don’t think I ever said that,” I reply defensively. I have been short with him all week, but still. “And I sent you a good-luck text before the game today. You never replied.”
“Cam,” he says, giving me a look that’s half-annoyed, half-amused. “You sent it while I was playing. I didn’t see it until afterward.”
He leans in, just a little, and I hate how much space he seems to take up—even when he’s technically on his own balcony.
“It’s late,” I say, turning away from him to focus on the skyline. Anything is better than his stupid, arrogant grin.
“Late enough that you could just ignore me,” he teases, his voice light but persistent. “But I hope you don’t.”
“Do you need something, or are you just here to ruin my evening?” I try not to sound sarcastic but fail miserably.
“We need to talk, Cam,” he says, his tone softening. “Preferably tonight. Like I said the other day, I gave you space but . . .”
“Why?” I whip back toward him, arms still crossed like I’m trying to shield myself from whatever he’s about to say. “Can’t it wait? You waited fourteen years, didn’t you? What’s a few more days—or weeks? ”
His grin falters, replaced by something unguarded that flashes across his face. It’s enough to make me pause.
“Is that your way of asking why I didn’t come back sooner?” he asks.
I shrug, forcing indifference into my posture. “Maybe. Or maybe I think this isn’t the time for whatever grand speech you’re planning. It’s been a long week for both of us and you might still be buzzing with adrenaline after the game.”
His gaze locks onto mine, steady but full of something I can’t quite name. “The answer to your silent question is simple,” he says. “I wasn’t smart enough to come back for you. I listened to the wrong people, let fear make my decisions for me, and convinced myself that leaving you alone was the right thing. It’s pathetic, I know. It is.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “But now that you’re here I want a chance to show you that I’m serious. Camille, I screwed up. I’ve been screwing up for fourteen years, and I’m done pretending it doesn’t matter.”
His words claw at the edges of my resolve, and I hate how much they stir something in me. “I thought we agreed you’d give me space. Why do we have to do this now?” I ask, my voice sharp with frustration. “Why show up like this and act like you can fix everything with a heartfelt speech? ”
“I’m not trying to fix it with words,” he says, his voice firm. “I’m trying to fix it by showing you I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. That I’ll do whatever it takes for you to believe in me again.”
I snort, swirling the wine in my glass idly. “And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”
“By starting here,” he says, his voice steady. “By telling you I’m sorry every day if that’s what it takes. By showing up, over and over, until you know I mean it. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll find something that does. But I’m not giving up on this, Camille. Not this time. However,” he adds, his lips twitching into a faint smile, “I need you to stop shutting me out. It’s hard to maneuver when you’re rejecting me most of the time.”
His words hit a nerve I didn’t want to acknowledge. I glance at him, my defenses wavering. “You say that now, but what happens when life gets messy again? When it gets hard? Are you just going to walk away like before?”
“I won’t,” he says, his tone firm but not defensive. “I know I don’t deserve your trust right now, but I’m asking for the chance to earn it. I’ll fight for you this time, Camille. For us. Even if it takes the rest of my life. It doesn’t matter if your father tries to shut down my career. I care about you. Us.”
I swirl the wine again, more to give my hands something to do than anything else. “Big words, Killion. Let’s see if your actions match. ”
“They will,” he promises, his eyes never leaving mine. “And if they don’t, you can throw that wine at me. I’ll deserve it.”
The corners of my mouth twitch despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he says, his grin returning full force. “But I’m also not going anywhere.”
I look back at the skyline, letting the silence stretch between us. He doesn’t fill it, and I don’t ask him to leave. Maybe that’s enough for now.
Killion watches me in silence for a moment, the soft glow of his apartment framing him like a golden reminder of everything I shouldn’t want but can’t seem to resist. Then, as if deciding something, he straightens.
“Can I come over?” he asks, with a low steady voice.
“What?” I blink, caught off guard.
“Can I cross over to your side?” He nods toward the small divider separating our balconies. “Unless you’d rather I try to impress you by climbing over that wall, which, for the record, I can do. But I feel like that’s not the move that wins me points right now.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the tiny smile tugging at my lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Completely. But I’m also asking nicely.”
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my wine glass. The rational part of me screams no, but the part of me that’s tired of pretending I don’t care nods, almost imperceptibly .
Killion takes that as his answer, stepping over the low divider with infuriating ease. Soon enough he’s beside me, his presence suddenly overwhelming. I want him closer and yet I want to run away, fearing that I’ll do something stupid. Like beg him to fuck me against the glass wall—again.
“So, this is what it looks like from your perspective,” he murmurs, glancing around before his eyes settle on me. “I like it.”
I cross my arms, trying to ignore how close he’s standing. “You’ve been here before, but was there a reason you wanted to come over, or are you just here to invade my personal space?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he closes the distance between us, his expression turning serious in a way that makes my pulse stumble. “There is a reason,” he says, his voice quiet but deliberate. He takes away the glass of wine from my hand. “I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you ten minutes ago, Camille. But I’m asking first. Can I kiss you?”
My heart stutters, and for a moment, all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, and it’s undoing me.
I nod, barely trusting my voice. “Yes.”
The word is barely out before his lips are on mine, and everything else falls away.
His kiss isn’t tentative. It’s bold, deliberate, like he’s trying to himself into this one moment. His hands frame my face, steady and reverent, as his lips move against mine with a determination that leaves me breathless.
I grip his hoodie to ground myself. But grounding myself is impossible because this kiss—it doesn’t just touch my lips. It seeps into me, passes through every inch of my soul like a wildfire, burning away every doubt I’ve held onto for so long.
His kiss speaks of apologies he’s too afraid to say out loud, of promises he’s desperate to keep, of a love that has stubbornly refused to fade no matter how much time has passed. It’s overwhelming, consuming, and exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, his forehead resting lightly against mine. His thumb brushes my cheek, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the intensity of the kiss.
“I’m going to prove it to you,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “Every single day. I’ll show you that you can trust me again. That you can trust us.”
I can’t find the words to respond, my thoughts still spinning, so I just nod.
Killion smiles faintly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead before stepping back. “Goodnight, Camille.”
He turns and steps back over the divider with maddening calmness, leaving me standing there, my lips tingling and my heart racing.
I glance down at my empty hands, then back at his balcony where he’s already heading inside. Satiated and frustrated, I exhale sharply, muttering to myself, “That man is going to be the death of me.”
Ben jumps onto the table, giving me a disapproving look before curling up like none of this ever happened. At least one of us is unfazed.