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“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit quietly.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t offer false promises.

He just strokes my back and says, “We'll figure it out.”

It should make me feel safe.

But the truth is, I’m not just afraid of Griffin anymore.

I’m afraid of what I want. Of daring to hope. Of putting my heart in someone’s hands and praying they don’t drop it.

Still, one thing is crystal clear.

No one makes this decision for me.

Not Griffin. Not the team. Not Liam.

But as I stare down at the man holding me like I’m already his—

One thing settles in my bones.

Whatever comes next... I’m not facing it alone.

Not this time.

Chapter thirty-four

Liam

She’spassedoutcoldon my chest like she belongs there. One leg hooked over mine, her hand splayed across my ribs, breathing soft and steady like I didn’t just turn her world inside out. Like I didn’t nearly fuck everything up before I had the balls to admit what she meant to me. She smells like sweat, sex—citrusy, dark. Amber maybe? There’s this warm, spicy note too, or whatever the hell makes her smell like trouble and comfort at the same time. It's not perfume-y. It’s lived-in. Like her.

The kind of scent that’d get stuck in my sheets, my hoodie, the back of my damn throat. The kind that makes you forget everything else exists.

Her skin’s warm like silk, and that soft little snore? It kills me.

She’s fucking perfect. Not in a polished, untouchable way—but in the way that wrecks you. In the way that makes you want to ruin your own rules just to keep her smiling.

I tighten my arm around her waist, breathing her in. This is the part I usually run from. The part where it gets too quiet, too real. But I don’t move.

I just lay here, heart thumping, mind spinning, scared shitless and stupidly content .

How the hell did I end up here—waking up in the middle of a fucking PR stunt gone wrong with the same girl I couldn’t stop thinking about since that night I thought I’d never see her again?

She stirs, doesn’t open her eyes, just nuzzles closer.

I brush her hair out of her face and mutter, "Mornin'."

Christ. She’s beautiful.

I kiss the top of her head and it hits me harder than any hit I’ve taken on the ice—I don’twant this fake bullshit anymore.

The baby, the media, the mess—that’s all background noise. The thing I can’t walk away from? It’s her. It's this.

The second I’m not around her, I’m crawling out of my own damn skin. Like something’s missing and I can’t think straight until I’m back in her space. Food tastes off. Music’s just noise. Locker room talk makes me want to punch something. And the worst part? I don’t even try to fight it.

It’s pathetic. I check my phone like a junkie— drive by her place like a man with no self-respect. And the worst part, I don’t even care. Because being near her, It’s the only time I feel like I’m not two seconds from losing my shit.

“I’m gonna talk to your brother,” I say, low, more to myself than her.