Chapter 17
LEDGER
Morning came too fast.
Not because of an alarm or sunlight—our bedroom curtains did their job—but because my brain refused to shut up.
Roxie was warm beside me, despite the pillow wall, curled slightly onto her side, one knee pressed into my thigh like it had every night since we’d moved into this ridiculous arrangement.
I’d gotten used to that part. The shared space.
The breathing. The faint scent of her shampoo that lingered on my pillow even when I tried to pretend I didn’t notice it.
What I hadn’t gotten used to was the way my chest felt tight now. Strained. Like something had shifted and hadn’t bothered to ask my permission.
Last night replayed on a loop whether I wanted it to or not.
The walk home.
Her hand in mine.
The way she’d leaned in without realizing she was doing it.
The almost.
I stared at the ceiling, counting the faint cracks in the paint like that might center me. Like I hadn’t been the one who’d leaned in too. Like my breath hadn’t stalled in my lungs when I realized how close we were.
If she hadn’t shifted first …
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
Don’t go there.
Roxie stirred, her fingers flexing against the fabric of my T-shirt where she’d hooked them sometime in the night. I froze, my body going rigid on instinct, like movement might break something fragile.
Normally, this was the moment when she’d realize where she was, halfway on my side of the bed, and scurry back with a quick apology she pretended not to mean. We’d both act like it hadn’t happened. Like the quiet closeness of sleep didn’t count.
But this morning, she didn’t move right away.
She murmured something unintelligible, her grip tightening for just a second before loosening, and then she blinked awake.
For a second, she just looked at me. Sleep soft. Unguarded. No walls. No careful distance.
“Morning,” she said quietly.
“Morning.”
My voice came out rougher than I intended.
Her brow furrowed. “You okay?”
There it stood, undeniable. That question she always asked now, like she meant it. Like it mattered.
“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Just … didn’t sleep great.”
She studied me for another second, still close, still warm, like she was deciding whether to believe me. Her thumb brushed my chest once, absent and unconscious, and something in my chest pulled tight.
Then she nodded and rolled onto her back, slow instead of sudden. The sheet slid lower, exposing her collarbone, the soft line of her shoulder. Nothing I hadn’t seen before.
But everything felt different anyway.
We lay there in silence, the space between us buzzing. Her arm brushed mine. Not accidental. Not intentional either.
And the worst part was how much I liked that she hadn’t rushed away this time, even as it left me more unsettled than if she had.
The line was blurring. I could feel it.
She pushed herself up, stretching with a quiet groan. “I guess I should get up and get ready.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ve got to get to practice.”
We moved at the same time, legs tangling briefly before we untangled with awkward apologies that didn’t quite cover the tension.
In the kitchen, she made coffee while I leaned against the counter, failing not to watch her. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The way she bit her lip when she was thinking.
Last night, at the bar, she’d laughed more than I’d seen her laugh in weeks. I’d felt it then too, that tug. Like I wanted to be the reason for it. Like I wanted to keep her sheltered inside that sound.
She handed me a mug. Our fingers brushed.
It was electric.
She pulled back first.
“Thanks,” I said.
She avoided my gaze. “Yeah.”
We stood there, sipping coffee, the unspoken hanging between us. I wanted to say something. Anything. To acknowledge it. To clear the air.
But what would I even say?
Hey, sorry I almost kissed you even though our marriage is fake and I’m pretty sure I’m falling for you?
Yeah. Smooth.
“Shouldn’t you be leaving for the pool?” she said finally, glancing at her watch.
I checked my watch, and sure enough, I should have left five minutes ago.
“Uh, right,” I stammered, feeling dumb for getting lost in Roxie and losing track of time. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”
I set down my coffee and grabbed my swim bag, hurrying out the door, not only so I wouldn’t be late, but so I wouldn’t embarrass myself even more in front of Roxie.
The pool was the only place my head ever quieted.
The smell of chlorine. The echo of voices bouncing off tile. The comfort of routine. I needed that today.
I dove in hard, pushing off the block with more force than necessary, slicing through the water like I could outrun my thoughts.
Except it wasn’t working today.
Every lap, her face intruded. Her laugh. The way she’d looked at me last night when I stepped in front of that guy, like she was pleasantly surprised. Like she hadn’t expected me to be that for her.
I pulled myself out at the end of a set, lungs burning.
“You’re going to crack the tiles if you keep hitting the wall like that,” Talon said dryly from the bench.
I wiped water from my face. “Didn’t realize you were the pool police.”
“Just perceptive.” He tilted his head. “Something eating you?”
Ridge snorted as he toweled off beside us. “More like someone.”
I shot him a look. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting,” Ridge said cheerfully. “Because last night? Bar Ledger was back. Laughing. Relaxed. And you and Roxie were—”
“Different,” Talon finished.
I sighed, dropping onto the bench. “You guys analyzing us now?”
“We have eyes,” Ridge said. “And we’re not blind.”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped loosely like that might keep everything from spilling out. My heart was still racing from the workout, but this had nothing to do with laps or split times.
I should’ve shut it down. Made a joke. Told them they were reading into things that weren’t there.
Because whatever this was with Roxie, it wasn’t real. It was convenient. Short term. Built on paperwork and circumstances and a shared bed we pretended didn’t mean anything.
But then there was the way she’d looked at me last night. The way she hadn’t pulled away this morning. The way my chest still felt tight when I thought about how close we’d been on that sidewalk.
I scrubbed a hand over my face.
If I said too much, it became real. If I said nothing, it would keep eating at me.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I started, voice low. “It’s supposed to be simple. We have rules. Boundaries. This thing has an expiration date.”
Talon didn’t interrupt. Neither did Ridge. That somehow made it worse.
I swallowed. “But lately it doesn’t feel like pretending anymore. And that scares me.”
The words hung there, heavier than I’d meant them to be. I shook my head once, like I could physically shake off the thought, then exhaled hard.
“I almost kissed her,” I admitted, looking away because I wasn’t ready to see their expressions yet.
The truth was, I hadn’t almost kissed her because it was late or because we’d been out having fun or because the night felt exhilarating.
I’d almost kissed her because I wanted to.
And that was the part I didn’t know how to outrun.
Silence followed my admission. The silence was so long and loud, I finally turned to look at them.
Ridge’s eyebrows were about to hit his hairline, and Talon’s expression was one of understanding, which just annoyed me.
“Almost?” Talon asked carefully.
“Yeah.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “It just … happened. Or, almost happened.”
Ridge let out a low whistle. “Dang.”
“That’s … not part of the plan,” Talon said.
I gave him a glare. “Yeah, I know that.”
Another long silence filled the space.
Finally, I let out a long sigh, my shoulders dropping. “I think I like her,” I said quietly. “For real.”
I’d said it. The truth I’d been circling for weeks without letting myself touch it.
Ridge leaned against one of the blocks. “And like you said, that scares you.”
I nodded, staring down at my hands. They were still damp from the pool, fingers trembling just slightly. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, not like that. Not so plainly. But once the words were out, something in me burst open.
“Because it’s fake,” I continued, my voice rougher now. “Because it’s supposed to be temporary. Because the last time I thought someone loved me, she walked away the second she decided I wasn’t enough.”
Talon crouched in front of me. “Ledger—”
But I didn’t stop him because I didn’t want comfort. I didn’t even want advice. I just needed the truth out of my chest before it suffocated me.
I hadn’t planned on saying any of this. It wasn’t some rehearsed confession I’d been carrying around. It was just there. Pressing against my ribs until it spilled out, dragging everything else with it. And the worst part was realizing how long it had been building. How deep it already ran.
“Amelia said swimming wasn’t a career.” The old ache flared sharp and familiar. “Said potential didn’t pay bills. That she needed more.” I swallowed hard. “I’ve been running from debt my whole life, man. Still am—even now, when things are finally starting to look up.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, a bitter laugh escaping. “And Roxie—” I shook my head. “She comes from money. From security. From a world where the floor doesn’t fall out if you miss one paycheck.”
A sharp pain stabbed through my chest.
“What happens,” I asked quietly, “when she realizes I’m not enough either?”
The words sounded exposed. Too honest. I hated how small they made me feel, but at the same time, there was a strange relief in finally saying them out loud, like naming the fear took a little of its power away.
Before either of them could respond, before Ridge could crack a joke or Talon could try to soften it, I rushed on. If I stopped now, I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish.
“She has options,” I continued, voice low but even.
“Financial security. A future that doesn’t hinge on prize money or sponsorships or whether my body holds up another season.
” I swallowed hard. “And I keep thinking … if I wasn’t enough for Amelia, how could I ever be enough for someone like Roxie? ”
Talon stayed silent, his expression unreadable, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“Have you actually asked her what she wants?” he said finally.
I let out a hollow laugh. “No. That would require us not fighting long enough to have a conversation, one that I don’t know if I’m ready to have.”
“Well,” Talon said, standing back up, “without talking to her, you’re letting ghosts make decisions for you.”
Easy for him to say.
I shook my head. “This isn’t real. It can’t be. We built rules. Boundaries.”
“And you’re breaking them,” Ridge said. “Which means maybe the rules don’t fit anymore.”
That thought lodged deep in my chest, uncomfortable and dangerous.
Coach Saunders yelled for me and Ridge to get back to work, breaking up our conversation.
And though practice resumed, my focus didn’t fully come back. Every stroke felt heavier, slower.
Because the truth was, I didn’t just want Roxie.
I trusted her.
And I didn’t know where that left me.
So by the time I slid into bed beside her that night, the space felt charged. And although we’d both been busy, we’d also been avoiding each other. Or maybe that was just me.
She turned onto her side, facing me.
“Ledger?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Yeah?”
“About last night …” She hesitated. “We should probably talk about it.”
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
“Yeah,” I said. “We probably should.”
But neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.
The line was right there between us. Literally, if you counted the pillow wall.
And suddenly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay on my side of it.