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The summer rain started to fall—soft at first, cool droplets landing on my hot skin. It felt like the universe was trying to wash this moment clean, trying to erase the heaviness that had settled in my chest. I didn’t wait for Chris to react; I turned and walked away, stepping into the downpour.

With each step, the rain mingled with my anger and relief, soaking through the ripped fabric of my dress. My legs trembled beneath me, adrenaline still coursing through my veins as my heart raced. I could hear voices fading behind me—Chris’sprotestations, the murmurs of concern from teammates—but they grew quieter as I put distance between us.

I reached my car, flinging open the door and sliding inside. The familiar scent of leather and stale air hit me like a comfort blanket, but it was tinged with something sharper—a reminder of everything that had just happened. I cranked the engine and pulled away from the bonfire, feeling more like myself than I had in weeks.

Because I wasn’t a pawn anymore. I wasn’t a deal made in whispers or a trophy meant to shine for someone else’s glory. I was Knox’s. That realization ignited a fire within me—a sense of purpose that had been dimmed by too many expectations and pressures.

Even if he slammed the door in my face when I got to him. Even if he told me he was done with this messy entanglement we had woven together.

I would still choose him, anyway.

With every mile I drove away from the bonfire, my resolve solidified. The rain poured harder now, obscuring everything outside the windshield like a cleansing shroud. But instead of feeling lost or adrift, I felt anchored—a fierce determination surging through me as I turned down familiar roads toward Knox’s place.

As raindrops splattered against the glass like tiny fists demanding entry, all that mattered was getting to him—making sure he understood what this was for me: an acceptance of everything we were—chaotic, reckless, beautiful, and unafraid to embrace it all.

I got to his place, parked, and got out. I kept walking until I reached his door, and then all of the adrenaline that had been there immediately vanished.

What was I doing?

I stood on his porch, drenched, my dress clinging to my body like a second skin. The rain dripped down my hair, smudging the carefully applied makeup that had once made me feel put together. Now, it only reminded me of how fragile I was—heart pounding in my throat, nerves twisting tighter with every breath.

My knuckles hovered over the door, and for a moment, I hesitated. This was it. The moment I had built up in my head since I drove away from the bonfire, heart racing with confusion and longing. No cover. No lie. Just me—raw and exposed—asking him to want me back.

I knocked once.

Twice.

With each tap against the wood, my chest tightened further. What if he wasn’t home? What if he didn’t open the door? What if this was all for nothing? A part of me screamed that I was already losing him before we’d even started.

The silence stretched out in front of me like a chasm I couldn’t see across. My pulse thudded in my ears as the weight of uncertainty settled heavily on my shoulders. Would he look at me with those fierce eyes that promised possession and fire? Or would he turn away, leaving me standing here drenched and alone?

What if I was too late?

Chapter 28

Knox

Istood in front of the fridge, shirtless, sweat cooling against my skin, heart still hammering from the gym. My hand hovered over a beer, fingers curled around the neck of the bottle like it might be the thing to settle the storm inside me. The cold metal bit into my palm, grounding me for all of two fucking seconds before the restlessness kicked back in—sharp, clawing, impossible to ignore.

The weight room hadn’t burned it off. Nothing ever did.

Her name pounded through my skull in time with my pulse, a relentless rhythm I couldn’t escape. She was out there right now—at that bonfire—with him. Langley.

My grip tightened on the fridge door, the sick feeling in my gut twisting deeper. I could picture it too easily—her standing too close to him, her laugh lighting up the night, her fingers brushing his arm in that unthinking way that made men believe they had a shot.

They didn’t.

He didn’t.

But that didn’t stop the rage from curling through me, hot and volatile, setting my nerves on edge. I wanted to wrecksomething—someone—for even thinking they could get close to her. For making her think she had another option, when we both knew she didn’t.

Chris Langley’s face flashed in my mind, that easy, bullshit grin that made people think he was harmless. I knew better. And if he touched her tonight? If he looked at her like she was his for the taking?

I’d fucking end him.

My fingers flexed, aching to connect with something solid, to feel the crack of bone beneath my knuckles. Instead, I exhaled sharply and let the fridge door slam shut, the sound echoing through the empty kitchen.

I ran a hand through my hair, jaw locked tight. This wasn’t just jealousy. It wasn’t just anger. It was need—pure, primal, and all-consuming.