Chapter 24 #4
“Creed,” he groans, and then he comes too, buried deep, his whole body locking above mine.
For a few seconds, there is nothing but breath.
His. Mine.
Both too fast.
He lowers himself carefully, like even now he is thinking about my bruises, my ribs, the places the season marked me. His face presses into my neck. His mouth is hot there. His hand still holds mine.
I don’t let go.
Neither does he.
We stay like that for a long time, tangled, slick. Trembling, the room too bright around us, the sheets ruined, my body open and spent beneath his. His heartbeat pounds against my chest. Mine answers just as hard.
It occurs to me, slowly, that I am happy.
After a whileHalston lifts his head.. His eyes move over my face in that searching way that should annoy me by now, but never does.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod.
He doesn’t accept it.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Creed.”
I swallow. My throat feels raw from breathing, from wanting, from being known this closely and surviving it.
“I miss her, but I’m okay,” I say.
His thumb moves over my knuckles.
The words are not enough. I can tell by his face. He needs the truth, and somehow, after all of that, I still try to reach for a safer one.
I fail.
“I’m better than okay,” I say. “I’m fucking alive.”
His face softens so fast I have to look away.
He kisses my forehead.
It should not undo me. It does.
Then he eases out slowly, careful even with that, and I wince as my body protests the loss before it registers relief.
Halston notices. His hand goes to my hip, rubbing once, a quiet apology.
He rolls to the side and pulls me with him before I can make some useless comment about needing a formal recovery plan.
I let him.
We lie facing each other, legs tangled, our breath starting to even out. He keeps one hand at the base of my spine, fingers tracing slow circles that make my body go warm in a different way. Not exactly aroused. Held.
That word moves through me before I can stop it.
Held.
I close my eyes.
Halston is the first to speak.
“So,” he says, voice rough. “How do you feel?”
I open one eye. “Like I just survived a Category Five Halston event.”
His laugh breaks against my hair, muffled and surprised.
I love making him laugh. It feels illegal,like stealing something from a locked room and getting away with it.
“You’re amazing,” he says.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.” His mouth brushes my temple. “But I love you.”
My chest hurts from how badly I want to make a joke. Humor is easier. It lets me survive the moment without having to stand inside it.
But his hand rest on my back. His body is warm against mine. Liv’s absence is still here, not a gap anymore, but a place waiting for her. Last night I won the Cup, and this morning Halston gave me a day when I didn’t have to be anyone’s proof of anything.
I touch his face.
His eyes search mine.
“I love you too,” I say.
The words land between us and stay there.
Halston pulls me closer, not hard, not fast, just enough that my forehead rests against his collarbone and his mouth finds my hair. His fingers spread across my back, claiming nothing, keeping everything.
For once, neither of us rushes to fix the feeling.
Eventually, he says, “We should probably get cleaned up.”
“Yeah.”
I don’t move.
He doesn’t either.
The room hums around us. The city continues below the window. Somewhere across an ocean, Liv is probably walking through a museum, pretending she isn’t checking her phone every seven minutes.
I miss her so much it cuts.
I want her here.
I want Halston exactly where he is.
Both truths exist in the same breath, and for once they don’t tear at each other.
“Five more minutes,” Halston offers.
“Ten,” I counter.
His mouth curves against my skin. “You’re negotiating after sex?”
“I negotiate best when emotionally compromised.”
“Liv would disagree with that strategy.”
“Maybe, but it works for me.”
“Liv would extend the recess to fifteen—ask for more.” He laughs. “She’s never satiated.”
I smile with my eyes closed.
“Then fifteen,” I say.
Halston kisses my shoulder and settles in like we have all the time in the world.
Maybe we don’t.
Maybe we have schedules, flights, families, cameras, rules, and the long, brutal work of deciding what love looks like when it has more than two hands reaching for it.
But right now, his body is warm against mine. Afterward, he stays where he is for another beat. Forehead against mine. Breathing. His hand resting on the side of my face.
I say, “Hal.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
His brows pull together. “For what?”
I could say, For this.
For your mouth. Your hands. Your patience. Your body. For seeing every bruise and not making me feel weak for having them. For knowing when I need to be taken apart and when I need to be put back together.
Instead, I give him the truth that can hold all of it.
“For taking the day off for me.”
His eyes close.
One second. Maybe two.
When they open, the dangerous parts of him remain. The guarded parts too. But beneath them, something has eased.
He kisses me once, soft and brief.
“I’d take more than a day,” he says.
I believe him.