Chapter 12
Breaking Point
Leo
The door shuts behind me with a thud that shakes the frame.
For a second, I just stand there — chest heaving, lungs burning, the smell of ice and sweat still clinging to me. My jersey sticks damp to my back, every muscle in my body wound too tight. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off. The rage hasn’t either.
I don’t even remember the drive here. Just the way Grayson’s smirk burned itself into my skull, the way the locker room went silent when the reporters started their questions, the way I had to choke out canned answers while the words lost his edge echoed in my head.
Now the apartment feels too small for all of it — too warm, too quiet. I pull my jacket off and let it drop to the floor.
Sage steps out from the kitchen, crossing her arms. Her expression’s a mix of concern and warning. “You could’ve texted,” she says, voice steady but soft. “Let me know you were coming.”
I bark out a bitter laugh before I can stop it. “And say what? That I’m getting baited on ice and blamed off it?” The words come out sharp, jagged, and too loud in the small space.
Her mouth presses into a thin line. “You could’ve said something.”
“I’m saying it now.” My voice cracks mid-sentence. I rake a hand through my hair, pacing, trying to bleed off the energy surging under my skin. “You have no idea what it’s like—every hit, every camera, every person waiting for you to screw up.”
Sage doesn’t flinch. “Then tell me instead of tearing the room apart.”
I stop pacing long enough to meet her eyes. There’s something about the calm in her voice that makes it worse—like she’s not afraid of me, but of what I’m becoming.
She takes a step forward, cautious. “Here,” she says, reaching for a bottle of water on the counter. “Start there.”
I take it without thinking—then shove it back onto the counter harder than I mean to. The sound echoes, sharp and final. She startles. It’s the smallest flinch, barely there, but it cuts through the noise in my head like a blade.
“I didn’t mean—” The words stick in my throat. I force them out anyway. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Silence stretches between us, taut and fragile. Her breathing is steady; mine isn’t. I can still hear the crowd in my ears, the jeers, the commentators dissecting every inch of me like I’m a product, not a person.
Sage’s voice is quiet when it comes. “You can’t just storm in here and take it out on me.”
“I’m not,” I start, but it’s a lie, and we both know it. My chest tightens, words scraping raw as I say the only thing that feels true. “You’re the only thing keeping me together right now.”
Her eyes widen, and for the first time all night, she doesn’t have a comeback.
The admission hangs between us, too heavy to take back.
Sage’s breath catches, barely audible. Her arms drop to her sides, fingers curling slightly — like she’s not sure whether to reach for me or run. The air in the apartment feels charged, the kind of stillness right before a storm breaks.
“I didn’t ask to be that,” she says finally, her voice tight but trembling underneath. “I’m not here to hold you together, Leo.”
“I know.” I drag a hand down my face, frustration burning through me. “I know, but—” I stop, because what the hell am I even trying to say? That she’s the only quiet I have left? That I keep coming back because she’s the only place I don’t feel like I’m drowning?
She crosses her arms again, chin lifting. “Then stop acting like it.”
The words sting more than they should. I look at her — really look — and realize she’s shaking. Just slightly, but enough to make something twist in my chest.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say quietly.
“Then stop breaking things that aren’t yours.” Her voice cracks mid-sentence, and I see the shine in her eyes before she turns away.
I take a step closer. “Sage—”
“Don’t,” she snaps, spinning back to face me. “Don’t say my name like that. You can’t come in here, angry at the world, and expect me to absorb it for you.”
Her words hit dead center, cutting through the last thread of restraint I’ve been holding on to.
I close the distance without thinking, until I can see the rise and fall of her chest, the pulse at her throat.
“You think I want to be like this?” I ask, voice low, raw.
“You think I don’t hate it every second it happens? ”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t back down. “Then what do you want, Leo?”
The question lands hard — too honest, too close. I don’t know the answer. Not really. All I know is that every nerve in my body is stretched thin, and she’s the only thing tethering me to something real.
I reach out, my fingers brushing her jaw before I can stop myself. She freezes, eyes wide. For one suspended moment, neither of us breathes.
“I just—” The words catch, half-confession, half-plea. “I can’t shut it off.”
Her lips part like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. The silence between us hums with everything we’ve been pretending not to feel.
Something in the air snaps.
The space between us disappears in an instant — I don’t even know who moves first. Her breath hits my chin, quick and shallow, and before I can think better of it, my mouth is on hers.
It isn’t soft. It’s too fast, too rough, all teeth and heat and frustration. She gasps against me, her fingers curling in my shirt like she’s about to push me away — but she doesn’t. She pulls me closer instead, and that’s all it takes to break the dam completely.
The kiss deepens, messy and desperate, all the words we couldn’t say burning through touch instead. The world narrows to the press of her body, the sound of her breath, the taste of salt and adrenaline still clinging to my lips.
Her back hits the counter. A pot clatters to the floor, but neither of us stops.
I can’t. My hands trace the curve of her waist, sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, searching for something solid to hold on to.
She arches against me, one hand tangling in my hair, the other gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Leo,” she breathes, half-warning, half-plea.
“I know,” I rasp, but I don’t pull away. “I know.”
Because I shouldn’t be doing this — not like this, not when my head’s still spinning from the game, from Grayson, from everything I’ve been holding in. But the second I touch her, the noise fades. The anger, the pressure, the ache — it all burns out in the heat between us.
She pulls back just long enough to look at me, her pupils blown wide, lips swollen. “This isn’t—” she starts, but the words die when I kiss her again, slower this time. Deeper.
Her protest melts into a sound that goes straight through me. I catch her around the waist, lifting her onto the counter in one motion. She wraps her legs around me, breath hitching as I press closer, the rhythm of our heartbeats syncing in uneven bursts.
Clothes scatter between us, lost to the floor one piece at a time. My mind blanks, every rational thought drowned under the simple, overwhelming need to feel her — to prove through touch what I can’t say out loud.
Her fingers trail down my back, nails scraping lightly across my skin. I groan into her mouth, the sound low and rough, and she answers with a breathless laugh that’s more surrender than defiance.
Sage’s legs tighten around my waist like a vise, her nails digging into my back as I press her harder against the cold granite counter.
Her breath comes in sharp gasps, mingling with mine, hot and desperate.
I can feel her heartbeat pounding against my chest, a rhythm that matches the throbbing in my cock, aching to be inside her.
“Leo,” she whispers, her voice raw and pleading, “not the counter—”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My mouth is too busy devouring hers, my hands are too busy tearing at the buttons of her shirt, exposing her soft, creamy skin.
The fabric gives way easily, revealing her lacy black bra, but I don’t stop.
My fingers fumble with the clasp, and her breasts spill free, full and heavy, her nipples already tight buds begging for my mouth.
I groan against her lips, a primal sound that vibrates through both of us.
She arches, a sharp cry escaping her as her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. Her taste is intoxicating—sweet and salty, like the woman herself. “Fuck, Leo,” she pants, her voice shaking. “Not here—”
But I am past listening. My belt is already undone, my jeans are sliding down my thighs, my cock throbbing, desperate for her.
I lift her hips, tearing her panties aside with a rough tug.
I position myself at her entrance. She is so fucking wet, her heat is radiating against my tip, teasing me.
I groan, low and rough, and thrust in, burying myself deep in one savage stroke.
Her scream is music, her walls clenching around me like a vice. “Leo—”
I didn’t give her time to finish. I pull back, and slam into her again, the counter creaking under her weight as I set a brutal pace.
Her head falls back, her ponytail brushing the edge of the counter, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. I grab one, squeezing, thumbing her nipple.
She gasps, her legs tightening around me, her heels digging into my ass.
“Harder,” she demands, her voice a ragged whisper. “Fuck me harder, Leo. Make me forget—”
I don’t need to be told twice. I grip her hips, bruising her skin, and pound into her, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room.
Her pussy is tight, so fucking tight, milking my cock with every stroke, and I knew I won’t last long.
But I don’t want to. I want to lose myself in her, in this, in the way she feels wrapped around me, her breath hot on my neck, her nails scratching down my back.
“Cum for me, Sage,” I growl, my voice hoarse. “Let me feel it—”