Chapter 35
“So, it’s a ligament tear?” I ask, studying Zach’s wrist under the stadium parking lights. Even though it’s wrapped tight, I can still clearly see the purple bruising underneath and his swollen fingers.
How the hell was he playing with this for so long?
“Yeah,” he says, drawing me closer to his chest to try to keep me warm.
We’ve been lying in his truck bed under a blanket ever since he was cleared by medical, neither of us really ready for the night to end.
“It’s only partial, though. Gonna have surgery on it next week, and then he says I’ll need to take it easy for four to six months before I can play again. ”
My stomach lurches at the thought.
“Craig said I was lucky it wasn’t a full tear, as that would’ve taken me out for the entirety of next season.”
“You’re an idiot. You know that?”
He laughs, and the sound reverberates through me, so I whack him on the chest.
“I’m serious. You’re having surgery, Zach.” I shuffle to a sit so we’re eye to eye.
“It’ll be fine. They’re just inserting a screw for a hundred days and then taking it out. It’s nothing major.”
“You’re kidding, right? You could’ve really hurt yourself out there.”
“But I didn’t, and we won, so the risk was worth the reward, I’d say.”
“And what happens when the risk stops working out in your favor?”
He studies my face.
“I’ll worry about that when I get there. Right now, though, taking risks got me you.”
He cups my chin with his good hand, coaxing me in for a kiss.
“Yeah?” I say against his lips. “Well, maybe I’d like you in one piece for our wedding.”
He pulls back. “Our wedding?” His grin turns stupidly boyish. “Damn, say it again.”
I roll my eyes to hide my smile because I’ll never get bored of saying it. I’m marrying Zach Evans. My best friend, my soulmate, the only man I’ve ever truly loved.
“You’re lucky I like you,” I mumble as his fingers slide through mine.
When I feel his thumb brushing over the ring on my finger, I feel this strong sense of calm.
He’s mine.
I’m his.
He brings my hand up between us and kisses every single one of my knuckles. Then, he turns my hand slightly and kisses the ring.
I watch his face as he does it. He's focused entirely on the ring, as though he still can't comprehend that this is real. I get it. I might’ve been wearing this ring for a few weeks now, but it hasn’t felt real. Not until Zach knew about it.
“I love it, Zach. It’s perfect.”
“Good. I’d be pretty devastated if you hated the symbol of my lifelong obsession with you.”
I can’t help smiling at the absurdity of this somehow becoming my life—lying in the back of Zach’s truck, wrapped in his sweatshirt, wearing his jersey... and his ring. Security will probably come kick us out soon, but until then, I’m staying exactly where I am.
The cold air nips at my cheeks, but everywhere Zach touches me feels warm.
His thumb traces the inside of my wrist slowly before his eyes flick back to mine.
“You wearing my ring is doing something to me,” he admits.
“Mhm.” I drag my fingertips lightly down his chest. “Imagine how you’re gonna feel when I’m wearing nothing but the ring,” I tease.
He growls, dropping my hand and pulling me in for another kiss. That’s when every thought melts away. His wrist will heal. Everyone will accept we’re engaged I’ll be able to live the life I want. Finally, I can enjoy being in his world, because it’s mine now too.
When he pulls back, the streetlight catches his face, and he just looks at me for a second. “I love you, Honeycomb. Always have.”
“I love you too, Zach.”
His mouth claims mine again, deeper this time. Under the blanket, his good hand slides up my thigh, his fingertips slipping beneath the hem of the oversized Evans jersey I’m wearing.
I shift, pressing my body against his, and Zach responds by pulling me closer. Before I know it, I’m half on top of him with our lower halves tangled in Zach’s old St. Michael’s blanket.
I feel his hips lift slightly to meet mine, and when I match it, I feel the groan at the back of his throat.
“Fuck, Honey,” he breathes against my mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
The cold night air brushes my skin as his palm glides higher. I tip my head back as he teases the edge of my lace panties, tracing the fabric slowly, deliberately, never quite giving me what I want. I rock against him, chasing his touch, but he just chuckles.
Me chasing him. I guess the tables have finally turned.
“Zach...” I whimper, nipping at his bottom lip.
His fingers finally slip under the lace, and he lightly strokes along my slit. He groans when he feels how wet I already am.
“All this for me?” He circles my clit once, twice, then pulls back to tease my entrance, dipping just the tip of one finger inside before retreating again. The slow, maddening rhythm has my thighs trembling around him.
“Zach...” I rock against his hand, chasing the friction.
He kisses down my neck, sucking at the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “I hate this stupid brace,” he breathes, voice rough. “I want both hands on you. Want to hold you open and—”
Headlights sweep across the truck bed.
We both freeze.
A sharp knock sounds against the side of the truck.
“Evening, folks,” a deep voice calls out. “This is stadium security. Y’all can’t be back here after hours.”
I yank the hem of the jersey dress down fast, my heart hammering at being caught. At least the blanket was there to hide anything.
Zach pulls his hand away, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he shifts me off his lap. His jaw is tight, his eyes still dark with frustration and lingering heat.
The security guard’s flashlight beam dances over us. He’s an older guy, probably in his fifties, with a tired but amused expression. “Zach Evans... figured that was you. Congratulations on the win tonight. But you know the rules—lot clears out after cleaning staff leaves.”
Zach runs his good hand down his face, clearly trying to will away his obvious arousal. “Yeah, man. Sorry. We were just... talking.”
“Talking,” the guard repeats, deadpan, glancing at my flushed cheeks and the way I’m still straddling Zach’s lap. “Sure looked like it. Look, I get it. But I gotta clear the lot. Take it somewhere else before I have to write a report.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing as pure embarrassment floods my face. Zach sighs heavily, then calls back, “We’re moving. Give us two minutes.”
The guard grunts and walks a respectful distance away, but doesn’t leave entirely.
Zach drops his forehead to mine, breathing hard. “Worst timing in the history of the universe.”
I kiss him quickly, still needy and throbbing from his touch.
“Where are you staying tonight?” he asks quiet enough that only I can hear.
“I want to take you home.” His thumb traces my cheekbone.
“But I still live with Dax, and as much as I want to show you how much I've missed you, I don't particularly want him listening to me eat you out until you beg me to stop.”
I laugh and whack his chest lightly. He pulls me fully against him. “Mr. Evans, are you trying to imply that you're shy? After all those sessions at St. Michael's?”
He shrugs. “I prefer to say I'm selective. That ring tells everyone what they need to know. You're mine. I'm yours. No need to make you scream my name in public for them to figure it out anymore. Doesn't mean I'm not going to make you scream my name when we're alone, though.”
“How very mature of you.”
“Yeah, well, I've got a fiancée now,” he says with amusement. “It's about time I grew up. Granted, asking my fiancée where she's staying tonight doesn't exactly sound very mature.”
I laugh and drop my head back against his chest. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“If it’s to say you brought Chris, I’m going to kill him.”
“No,” I say calmly because what I’m about to admit isn’t a joke. “I don’t have a hotel.”
His brows furrow.
“I’m staying about fifteen minutes from here, though.”
“Did you get a rental for the game? Shit, Honeycomb. You were seriously that invested in coming to this game for me, you emptied your bank account?”
“No.” I pause, trying to hold back the smile on my face. “I have an apartment.”
He looks down, and I can see the math happening in real time.
“Your apartment,” he says slowly, still not completely getting it, or maybe he doesn't want to believe me.
“Yeah. I live in Rome.”
He closes his eyes. “You—” his voice breaks off. “What?”
“I transferred to Rome U.” I try to keep my tone light, but my heart is hammering in my chest now. “I’ve been there since September.”
His face changes instantly.
Shock first. Then confusion. Then hurt.
His mouth opens.
Closes.
Then he sits up, which brings me with him.
“Are you fucking serious?”
He says it loud enough that the security guard looks over at us. Not that Zach cares.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I accepted a transfer on the last day of the cruise. I was in a dorm for a while, but then I wanted to prove to you that I was serious about us, so I got myself an apartment a couple of weeks ago. No more visiting hours for me,” I say nervously.
He stares at me for a minute. “You're—Honey. You mean to tell me that you've been fifteen minutes away from me this entire—” He stops and takes a breath. I can hear it in his voice. He’s pissed, but I expected that.
Zach runs a hand through his hair, trying to comprehend it. “This whole time you’ve been right here?”
I place my hand on his chest, forcing him to look at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just wanted to settle into everything before I told you.”
He laughs bitterly. “I’ve been losing my mind.
I want you to know that. I’ve been—” He stops.
“The calls, and the texts, and not knowing where you were, and watching you jump off a cliff on a video and thinking—” He doesn't finish that sentence either. “I didn’t know I could’ve just popped in my truck and seen you. ”
“That was the point, Z,” I say lowly, knowing the security guard is no doubt listening now. “I’ve always wanted to be where you are. That’s why it took me so long to leave St. Michael’s, but this time it had to be different. I needed to find myself first before I could find you.”
His expression softens. Just a little.
“And did you?” he asks quietly.
Holding his gaze, I nod. “I did.”
He looks at me for a long moment. His eyes searching mine for the truth. It's all there.
The parking lot feels impossibly quiet suddenly.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
Then he grabs my face and kisses me as though he’s making up for every mile he thought existed between us. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard.
“I love you so fucking much,” he says, smiling.
“I love you too.”
I plant one more kiss on his lips, and when he pulls back, he's laughing.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing, it's just—” Another laugh, disbelieving. “Rome was the first school I took off the list.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“In my investigation,” he says. “The hundreds of schools I was looking at. I eliminated Rome in the first pass because I thought there was no way you'd be bold enough to come here. I thought you'd want distance. I thought you'd—”
“I didn't want distance.”
He goes quiet.
“I never wanted distance,” I say. “I just needed to find you on my own.”
He looks at me. At the ring. Back at me. Something in his face shifts, and all I see is the happiness I feel inside reflecting back at me.
“Then what are we waiting for?” He drops his forehead to mine. “Take me home, Honeycomb.”