Chapter 16
ROXIE
There was a version of Ledger I’d almost forgotten existed.
Not the quiet, careful man who folded himself into the edges of rooms. Not the one who moved through our apartment like he was always calculating cost versus reward, risk versus outcome.
This Ledger was loud.
Laughing too hard, leaning back in his chair at the bar like he owned the place, arm slung casually over the back of the booth as he listened to Ridge tell a story I was pretty sure he’d already heard twice.
He had a water in his hand, sticking to his strict athlete diet, and a grin on his face that reached his eyes.
He looked happy.
Really happy.
And the realization hit me harder than I expected.
It had been a week since brunch with my parents, and we were at O’Malley’s, the same local bar we’d been going to since college. Same scuffed floors, same dartboards along the back wall, same sticky tables that never quite lost the smell of spilled beer and citrus cleaner.
Livvi and Talon were across from us, deep in their own conversation—close enough to be present, distant enough that Ledger and I had our own little bubble.
Ledger caught my eye mid-laugh and lifted his water in a silent toast.
“What?” I asked, smiling despite myself.
“Nothing,” he said easily. “Just feels good to be out.”
It did. And not just because the music was loud or we weren’t in our tiny apartment anymore.
Ledger had been lighter lately. More himself. The weight he’d carried, the money stress, the uncertainty, the fear of what came next, had eased now that sponsorships were lining up again and the US National Championships—Worlds trials—were on the horizon.
Swimming was no longer a question mark.
And it showed.
He was magnetic tonight. Charismatic in a way that drew people in without him trying. The Ledger who cracked jokes, who clapped Talon on the shoulder, and who challenged Ridge to darts like it was a personal mission.
That version of him had always existed.
Maybe it had nothing to do with me. Maybe it was just relief, momentum, confidence returning now that the ground beneath him felt solid again.
But I couldn’t help wondering if being friends—if being seen—had given him room to breathe.
I’d just never been on this side of things, of not being preoccupied with how much I disliked him.
“You’re trouble tonight,” Livvi said, eyeing Ledger with amusement.
He grinned. “Always am.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Oh, I absolutely will,” she said. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen him like this.”
Her words lingered.
Too long.
The dartboard loomed behind us, and my gaze snagged on it before I could stop myself.
A memory surfaced, unwelcome and vivid.
Last year. Same bar. Same dartboard.
“Hey,” Ledger said softly, pulling me out of it. “You okay?”
I blinked. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About darts?” he guessed, following my line of sight.
I snorted. “Is it that obvious?”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “A little.”
Before I could respond, Ridge was already on his feet. “Game on,” he announced. “Ledger versus Roxie. For old times’ sake.”
My stomach flipped.
Old times’ sake was one way to put it.
The last time Ledger and I had stood on opposite sides of a dartboard in this bar, it had ended with raised voices, bruised egos, and me storming out into the night, furious at him and more furious at myself for caring.
We’d been all sharp edges back then. Competitive, defensive, and too quick to assume the worst of each other.
Ledger glanced at me, eyebrows raised, not challenging. Asking.
The difference mattered more than it should have.
I wavered, memories tangling with the present.
Part of me wanted to say no. To avoid reopening something that had once split open so easily.
But another part, the part that had noticed how his hand found my back instinctively tonight, how he’d laughed more easily, how something between us had softened, wondered if maybe this time would be different.
If we were different.
I exhaled slowly, making a decision that felt bigger than darts. “Fine.”
Ledger’s mouth curved into a slow smile, like he’d felt the weight of it too.
We took our places in front of the board. He handed me the darts, our fingers brushing just briefly, and something settled into place.
The game was close. Annoyingly so.
Ledger still had that infuriating determination when he played, jaw tight, eyes sharp. He leaned in just a little too close when it was my turn, murmuring commentary under his breath that made my pulse jump.
“Careful,” he said as I lined up a shot. “You always rush when you’re irritated.”
I shot him a glare—and nailed the bullseye.
His grin turned feral. “Oh, it’s like that.”
Laughter bubbled up, surprising me. The tension that had once fueled anger now sparked something else. Something warm. Exciting.
We were tied when a guy at the bar leaned too close, eyes sliding over me in a way that made my skin crawl.
“Need help aiming, sweetheart?” he slurred.
I stiffened, fingers tightening around the dart.
Before I could say anything, Ledger stepped in.
“She’s good,” he said calmly. Too calmly. His body angled subtly between us, cutting off the guy’s line of sight like it was instinct. Like he’d done this before. “Back off.”
The guy scoffed, swaying slightly. “Relax, man. I’m just being friendly.” His grin widened as he shifted closer. “Aren’t I, sweetheart?”
He reached out to me, but Ledger was faster.
His hand closed around the guy’s wrist, not yanking, not violent, just unyielding. The kind of grip that didn’t need force to make its point. The guy sucked in a sharp breath, his grin faltering.
“Don’t touch her,” Ledger said evenly, his voice low and dangerous in a way that made my pulse spike. “Or you’ll be leaving here and heading to the hospital.”
The space around us went quiet.
The guy blinked, laughter bubbling up, thin and nervous. “Okay, okay,” he said quickly, raising his free hand. “Didn’t realize she was with you.”
Ledger didn’t loosen his grip. “She’s my wife.”
That did it.
The guy nodded frantically. “Right. Yeah. Got it.” He pulled back the second Ledger released him, muttering something under his breath as he retreated into the crowd.
Only then did I release a shaky breath. My heart hammered.
Not because of fear. But with something sharper. Hotter.
Ledger turned to me immediately, the steel in his expression melting into concern. “You okay?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I am.”
What I didn’t say, what I couldn’t quite wrap my head around yet, was how good it had felt to have someone step in without hesitation. Without asking if I needed help first. Without making it about ego or ownership.
He hadn’t acted like I was fragile.
He’d acted like I was worth protecting.
Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced before.
His hand hovered at my lower back, not touching, just there, until he was sure.
Something inside me shifted.
This wasn’t pretend. Not anymore.
Not the way my body leaned into his space. Not the way my heart expanded when he defended me without hesitation. Not the way I suddenly couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t wanted him looking at me like that.
The game finished, and I lost. Barely.
Ledger studied me for a second, then smiled. “Last time, this didn’t end so well.”
“No,” I admitted.
“This feels better.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “It does.”
As the night wore on, I found myself watching him instead of the room. The way he laughed—head tipped back, unguarded. The way he checked in with me without making it obvious, a quiet glance or a subtle shift closer. The way his knee brushed mine under the table and didn’t move away.
Want settled in my chest, heavy and undeniable.
This wasn’t curiosity anymore. This was desire.
And it terrified me.
Because wanting Ledger meant risking everything we’d carefully balanced. Our arrangement. Our truce. The fragile shield of pretending this was temporary. Wanting him meant asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer. And worse, ones I wasn’t brave enough to voice.
I couldn’t tell him. I wouldn’t.
Whatever this was, it had to stay right here, contained and unspoken. A side effect of laughter and late nights and the novelty of being out, of feeling wanted. That’s all it was. It had to be.
What would he think if he knew I was beginning to catch feelings?
The thought pulsed in my mind, tempting and dangerous, before I shoved it away and forced myself to breathe.
I just hoped he couldn’t hear my heart pounding every time he looked at me.
Across the table, Livvi was animatedly recounting a story, hands flying as she exaggerated every detail.
Talon leaned back in his chair, smirking, clearly enjoying winding her up, while Ridge chimed in with the occasional dry comment that sent Livvi into mock outrage.
It was easy, familiar, the kind of banter that came from shared history and inside jokes.
Ledger laughed along with them, relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time, and for a moment it was like I was slipping into something I didn’t quite belong to but desperately wanted.
We left the bar sometime after midnight, the night cool and clear, a relief against flushed skin and buzzing nerves.
Ledger tipped his head toward the street and said, “You wanna walk?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
The sidewalks were quiet, the town softened by darkness. Storefronts closed. Streetlights casting long golden shadows. Our footsteps fell into an easy rhythm, close enough that our arms brushed every few steps.
Neither of us rushed to fill the silence.
The faint hum of traffic carried in the distance, but mostly it was just us, the echo of laughter still lingering, the adrenaline from the bar slowly unwinding into something heavier. Warmer.
Ledger shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, then glanced at me. “You okay? After … earlier.”
I smiled faintly. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
He nodded once, like he understood exactly what I meant. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Then, more quietly, “Just wanted to make sure you were.”
We walked another block before he spoke again. “That guy back there—he shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I know,” I said. “Thank you. For stepping in.”
“That’s what a husband is for,” he said easily, like it wasn’t even a question.
Husband.
That word settled low in my chest.
The wind kicked up, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself. Ledger noticed immediately. He always noticed.
Without saying a word, he slipped out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.
“Ledger—”
“Don’t.” He smiled. “You’ll give it back when we get home.”
The fabric was warm. Smelled like him—clean, recognizable, soothing.
“See?” he added lightly. “Attentive husband.”
I rolled my eyes, but my smile lingered. “You’re going to start using that as an excuse for everything, aren’t you?”
His mouth curved, confidence slipping easily into place. Of course he’d make this a competition, something to win, something to excel at.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Since we’re doing this, I plan on being very good at it.”
Another stretch of quiet passed. This one felt different. Loaded.
My hand brushed his again. This time, neither of us pulled away.
Ledger’s fingers hesitated for half a second, just long enough for me to notice, before they curled around mine.
My breath caught.
We’d held hands before. At my parents’ house. Out of necessity. Out of performance. Out of duty.
This was neither.
His grip was warm, comforting. Not tight. Not tentative. But like it belonged there.
And maybe that was the most dangerous part.
I didn’t say anything. Mainly because I didn’t trust my voice.
We walked like that for another block, the town around us fading into background noise. Every nerve in my body seemed to tune itself to the simple fact of his hand in mine.
Ledger slowed near the corner of our street, finally stopping under a streetlight that cast his face in soft gold.
He turned toward me, still holding my hand.
“You were different tonight,” he said quietly.
My heart thudded. “Different how?”
He shrugged, eyes searching mine. “Happier. Or maybe more yourself.”
I swallowed. “I was thinking the same about you.”
Something shifted between us. The air tightened. His gaze dropped. Not to the ground, but to my mouth.
I felt it like a pull.
Like gravity.
For a moment, neither of us moved. We stood there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through his jacket, close enough that one step would erase the space completely.
Again, I wondered if he could hear my heart beating.
If he knew how badly I wanted him to close the distance.
Ledger’s thumb brushed across my knuckles, slow and deliberate.
“Roxie,” he murmured.
The sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver straight through me.
Yes hovered on my tongue—yes to whatever this was, whatever it could be—but fear rushed in just as fast. Of ruining things. Of wanting more than either of us was ready to give.
I shifted back a fraction of an inch …
And the moment broke.
Ledger exhaled, jaw tightening like he’d felt it too.
“We should go inside,” I said softly.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably smart.”
Reluctantly, he let go of my hand.
The absence felt louder than the silence had been.
We walked the rest of the way in companionable quiet, the door to our apartment clicking shut behind us like punctuation.
Ordinary. Manageable.
Later, we slid into bed like we always did—careful, habitual. His back to mine. A respectable pillow wall between us that felt wider than it ever had before.
Sleep didn’t come.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, hyperaware of every sound. His breathing. The shift of the mattress when he moved. The warmth at my back that I pretended not to notice. My hand still tingled where his had been, like my body hadn’t caught up to the fact that the night was over.
The walk.
The way his fingers had laced through mine.
How close his face had been.
How for one suspended second, it had felt like he might lean in.
Had he felt it too?
The pull? The hesitation? The almost?
The question curled in my chest, dangerous and hopeful all at once.
I wasn’t just pretending anymore.
And lying there beside him, wide awake in the dark, I realized something else that terrified me even more.
I wasn’t sure how to stop.