Chapter 18
The living room floor looks like a craft store exploded.
Beads, string, scissors, and snacks everywhere. Bri sits cross-legged across from me, head tilted, tongue poking out slightly as she threads another tiny letter bead onto a cord.
“Remind me again why we thought this was a good idea?” I ask, holding up a tangled knot of string that used to resemble potential.
“Because you said, and I quote, ‘It’ll be fun, Bri, we’ll make friendship bracelets for the entire team, it’ll go viral.’” She mimics my voice terribly, then laughs. “And because you bribed me with Love Island afterward.”
“Okay, fair.” I grin, sliding another bead onto my string. “But you have to admit, the fans, especially the girls, are going to love this. Each bracelet has their name, their country's team colors, and their jersey number. It’s wholesome content. They love wholesome.”
“Wholesome,” she repeats with air quotes. “You just want to see if Gallagher wears one.”
I flick a bead at her. “Do not start.”
She ducks, cackling, then holds up her half-finished bracelet. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. How was work today?”
“Actually, really good.” I can’t help the smile that creeps in. “June started today.”
“Oh yeah?” Bri perks up. “How’d it go?”
“Better than I could’ve hoped. She’s smart, organized, so easy to talk to. Picks things up fast. Honestly, I already feel lighter having her around.”
Bri wiggles her brows. “Sounds like June’s coming for my best-friend title.”
“Relax.” I laugh. “No one could replace you. But I might finally sleep more than four hours a night.”
“She sounds great. You’ll have to invite her over sometime so I can meet her.”
“Deal,” I say, tying a knot at the end of my bracelet. “She’s definitely your type of person. She’s funny, quick-witted, you’d love her.”
Bri’s eyes glint. “And speaking of people you love …”
I groan. “Don’t.”
“Oh, I’m doing it.” She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “How are things with you-know-who?”
I focus very hard on my beads. “Same as always.”
“Which means what exactly?”
“It means … minimal contact, maximum tension.”
Bri grins. “So, nothing and everything.”
“Pretty much.” I exhale, dropping the bracelet in my lap. “We haven’t really talked since the morning at the coffee shop.”
Her head tilts. “And?”
And. God, where do I even start.
We walked side by side afterward, quiet but comfortable, like we didn’t need to fill the air to feel connected. He escorted me all the way to the building, neither of us saying much but not wanting to say goodbye either.
“Thank you for the coffee,” I’d told him.
He’d nodded, then pulled me into a hug, brief, firm, but gentle. The kind of hug that says I see you more than goodbye, and for a split second, I swear he breathed me in, nose at the top of my head.
It wrecked me.
The next morning, the internet caught it. A blurry photo on some gossip site—Rogue Gallagher hugging a mystery woman outside an apartment building. His head resting on hers, his arms around her. You couldn’t see my face, but the speculation started anyway.
Who is she? Rogue’s secret girlfriend? The woman behind the star?
The headlines haven’t stopped since. Every other day, there’s a new theory. Some PR intern probably knows my shoe size by now.
And Rogue … well, he’s been quiet. Not cold, just careful. He still smiles at me when no one’s watching. Still makes my job easier, cooperating for interviews and giving me perfect content moments without needing direction. But we’re both pretending nothing’s changed, even though everything has.
“Cat.” Bri’s voice pulls me back. “You spaced out.”
“Sorry.” I force a smile. “He’s just … the same. Kind of. Keeps his distance in public, but I can tell he’s making an effort.”
“Effort how?”
“He helps without being asked. Makes sure I get the shots I need. Gives me that little grin when no one else is paying attention.”
“Ugh, the secret grin.” Bri throws herself dramatically back on the couch. “You’re living a fanfic, and you’re too emotionally stable to realize it.”
I laugh halfheartedly. “Yeah, sure. My life’s definitely a fantasy.”
She props herself up on her elbows, eyeing me. “And what about your mystery man? HalfWritten?”
That makes me blush. “He’s … amazing.”
Bri grins. “Define amazing.”
I roll a bead between my fingers, trying not to smile too hard.
“He just … gets me. We talk about everything. Stupid stuff like favorite ice-cream flavors, and serious things too, like what it means to chase a dream that might not love you back. He listens. He remembers things. He asked what my safe place was once, and I told him it’s the beach at sunrise.
The next day, he sent me a quote that said, ‘Somewhere between night and morning, the world exhales. Maybe that’s when we’re closest to ourselves. ’”
Bri softens. “Okay, that’s disgustingly sweet.”
“I know.” I grin despite myself. “It’s easy with him. No expectations, no pressure. Just words that somehow always make sense.”
“Do you think you’ll meet him?”
I hesitate, the knot of thread slipping between my fingers. “I don’t know. I want to. But … what if meeting ruins it? What if he’s not who I think he is? What if I’m not who he thinks I am?”
“Or,” Bri says gently, “what if it’s even better?” Bri studies me for a long moment, quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy with knowing. Then she sighs and nudges a pile of beads. “Can I say something without you overthinking it to death?”
I glance up. “That depends.”
She smiles, soft but pointed. “You’ve spent so long taking care of everyone else, planning everything, bracing for disappointment before it even happens.
Maybe this time, you should just give yourself a chance.
No expectations, no rules. Just … go after what you need.
Whether that’s this mystery HalfWritten guy or the sexy goalkeeper you definitely can’t stop thinking about. ”
I laugh, embarrassed. “You’re impossible.”
“Honest,” she corrects, looping the last bead through her bracelet and tying it off with a flourish. “You deserve something that feels good, Cat. Not safe, not logical, just good.”
Her words linger longer than I’d like. I toy with a loose thread, then nod slowly. “You might be right.”
“I’m always right.”
“Questionable,” I mutter, but I’m smiling now.
For a moment, it’s quiet again, the easy kind of quiet that comes from knowing someone so well you don’t have to fill the space. I nod, twisting the end of my bracelet between my fingers. “I talked to Anna this morning,” I say.
Bri looks up. “Oh, babe. How’s she doing?”
“She’s … doing the best she can, considering.”
Bri’s expression softens. “She decided about the trip?”
“Yeah. She’s booking her flight for next week.”
“That’s good. She could use a change of scenery.”
I hum in agreement, but my mind drifts.
Poor Anna.
She spent weeks trying to patch up something already cracked beyond repair, convincing herself Spence just needed space and things would get better once he stopped drinking so much and working so late. But space just gave her enough room to see the truth, there was someone else.
I can still hear the tremor in her voice when she told me, exhaustion outweighing heartbreak. She didn’t even cry, just sounded … empty. So, I pushed for her to come here, at least for a while, to start over, to remember who she is without him.
And maybe having her around will help me figure out what I want as well.
The next morning starts like most of mine do lately, with a message from him.
@HalfWritten:
Morning, sunshine. Hope your day’s kind to you.
I stare at the notification for a few seconds before opening it, rereading the words like they might mean something more than they should.
Last night we talked later than usual, longer than usual too. Somehow the conversation slipped into heavier territory, the kind you don’t plan for but end up staying awake thinking about afterward.
I told him about the pattern. About how the more my career grew, the smaller my dating pool got. How men liked the idea of me more than the reality of being with someone whose job never really turns off. He didn’t ask for specifics—he never does—but he listened. Really listened.
Then he told me about his ex. How he found out she’d been cheating on him long after it ended, when the damage was already done.
He said it made him question everything—his instincts, his worth, the kind of love he was capable of giving.
It broke my heart a little, the way he said it. Like the words still hurt to touch.
His words carry that quiet kind of sincerity that makes you want to read them twice just to feel them again.
I type back before I can talk myself out of it.
@OneLastLine:
Good morning. I hope yours is kind to you too.
It only takes a few seconds for his reply to appear.
@HalfWritten:
It already is. The thought of you tends to make my days easier.
I close the app with a stupid smile tugging at my lips and toss my phone into my bag. It’s too early for this kind of flutter in my chest, but there it is anyway.
By the time I get to the office, caffeine in hand, June’s already waiting by my desk, her laptop open and a look on her face that says something’s up.
“Morning,” I start, but she cuts in, eyes wide.
“Did you hear?”
My stomach dips. “Hear what?”
“All planes are being grounded.” She shoves her phone toward me. “They’re saying air traffic control got hacked. Literally every airport’s on pause right now.”
“What?” I blink, trying to process it.
“Yeah.” She scrolls through her feed. “My sister’s supposed to be flying to LA this morning, she’s stranded in Houston. Total chaos.”
“God, that’s insane.” I glance at the phone again, at the flood of breaking news headlines. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” June says. “She called me before you got here. She’s just trying to figure out what to do. She’s got some big interview and doesn’t want to miss it.”