Page 17 of Depths of Desire (The Saints of Westmont U #4)

ELEVEN

OLIVER

The room had gone quiet again, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

It curled around us like warmth, like sheets.

The only sound was Lennox’s breathing, steady against my chest, his cheek pressed just under my collarbone.

His fingers traced a slow, aimless pattern across my stomach.

I could feel every inch of it like it had been carved there.

I knew I had to leave soon.

Rhett would be back at some point. And while I didn’t think the guy would care too much, I cared. Not because I was ashamed of this—whatever this was—but because it was fragile. It was new. And I didn’t want anyone else’s nose in it just yet.

Still, I didn’t move. I stayed there, holding him like I had nowhere else to be. Like I hadn’t spent the last two months pretending this didn’t matter. Like I didn’t feel like I could breathe again for the first time in weeks.

Lennox was the one who broke the quiet.

“So…this isn’t a onetime thing, right?”

His voice was low. Not hesitant, exactly, but careful. As if he were trying not to ruin it by asking.

I didn’t answer right away. I felt the question hit somewhere deep, felt my gut tighten around it. “It can’t be,” I said finally.

He shifted just enough to look up at me. His expression was unreadable in the half-light. “Can’t be because it already wasn’t? Or can’t be because you’d lose your mind if it was?”

I gave him a dry look. “Yes.”

That pulled a small laugh out of him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got right now.”

He let that sit between us a moment, then nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. Maybe he was as wrecked by this as I was and just better at hiding it. “So…we’ll see each other again?”

I reached for his hand under the covers and threaded our fingers together. “Yeah. You’ll see me again.”

The tension that had been pulsing under his skin relaxed a little. I felt it in the way he settled back into my side. I didn’t say more. I didn’t want to promise something I couldn’t keep. I didn’t want to put walls around this or try to fit it into a shape it didn’t want to hold.

But I also wasn’t ready to walk away. Not again.

Eventually, I sat up. Lennox didn’t move at first, just watched me as I swung my legs out of the bed and reached for my shirt. “You really gotta go?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah.” I looked back at him. “You don’t want Rhett walking in to find us playing footsie in your bed.”

He groaned and flopped onto his back, one arm over his face. “I could kill him for existing.”

I laughed, pulled my hoodie on, and leaned over the bed. “You’ll survive.”

“Only barely.”

When I bent to grab my jacket by the door, he followed me. Barefoot, rumpled, flushed from the heat still lingering on his skin. I turned around to find him standing close.

“You’re going to kiss me again, right?” he said.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I grabbed him by the waist and pressed him hard against the door, kissing him like it had been years instead of minutes. His hands clutched the back of my hoodie, pulling me closer, anchoring me like he didn’t want to let go.

When I pulled back, I rested my forehead against his. “I live alone,” I said, catching my breath. “Corner of West Sixty-Third. Apartment 4B.”

Lennox blinked. “Seriously?”

“It’s all mine,” I said. “If you want to come over sometime.”

His eyes searched mine like he didn’t trust this gift, like it might dissolve if he looked too hard.

Then he nodded. “Yeah. I want to.”

I kissed him again, slower this time. A promise.

Then I stepped back, pulled open the door, and walked out into the Chicago night.

The cold bit at my skin, slicing through the heat still clinging to me, but I didn’t care. I shoved my hands into my pockets and tilted my head back to the stars.

For the first time in weeks, my chest didn’t ache. My lungs didn’t feel like they were gasping through water. The world still spun, deadlines still loomed, the pressure hadn’t gone anywhere, but for one breath, one sliver, I let myself feel good.

It was stupid. Reckless. Dangerous.

And worth it. Every second.

Just this once, I let myself savor it.

The next morning was too quiet.

No ticking clock, no clatter of neighbors, just stillness. The kind that made you aware of your own heartbeat.

I didn’t open my eyes right away. The warmth of the sheets still clung to my skin, a soft envelope around sore muscles.

His name echoed in the silence like I’d said it aloud. He was here all the same, burned into my consciousness, painted before my eyes.

I should’ve gotten up.

This was the part where I usually reset. Get out of bed, make coffee, stretch, and get a head start on training or catching classes. Clean the slate. Control the narrative.

Instead, I pulled the blanket tighter over my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined him sprawled on my bed. He had my address. He had my invitation. Any day now, or night, he would be here.

When I finally dragged myself out of the warmth of the bed, I moved through my apartment like I was underwater, slow and clumsy and half-aware.

My body went through the motions, turning on the kettle, opening the fridge, pulling eggs and spinach for a quick scramble, but my brain lagged behind like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the night was over.

The water didn’t even finish boiling before I turned it off. I cracked two eggs straight into a cold pan and stood there staring at them, yolks intact in a puddle of clear, unmoving whites. I forgot to oil the pan. Forgot to turn on the burner. I rubbed a hand down my face and started over.

My back ached from sleeping off-center, too long on one side of the mattress. Stretching usually helped. This morning, I forgot half the sequence and skipped right past the hamstrings. Didn’t breathe through the shoulder hold.

I’d slept like a man who didn’t want to wake up.

Little flashes kept cutting through the routine—Lennox, topless, grinning like he couldn’t help himself. The soft rasp in his voice when he said my name. The way he had drifted off beside me without armor, one hand loosely resting on my stomach like he’d forgotten there was a boundary there at all.

None of this was supposed to happen.

I leaned over the counter and stared at the tile, gripping the edge until my knuckles went white.

It was a mistake. That’s what I told myself. That was the deal going in. I needed release, he was there, we had chemistry, fine. I was allowed that much. One night. One outlet. No stakes.

But then he had kissed me like we were falling. And I had kissed him back like I didn’t care if we landed.

I tried to reason it out: my body had needed it, the pressure had built too high, and I’d cracked for a second. Nothing permanent. A lapse in control. But the excuses felt thin and flimsy like wet paper slapped over a fracture in concrete.

Anyone could have given me that release. The truth was, I didn’t want just anyone. I wanted him.

His voice, his stupid smirk, the way his fingers curled around the edge of my shirt like he couldn’t quite let go. I wanted the way he laughed without reservation and the way he looked at me like I wasn’t just an athlete or a name on a scoreboard.

That scared the shit out of me.

Because Lennox Ellery wasn’t a fling. He wasn’t a distraction I could shove back in a drawer when it got inconvenient. He was a complication I had invited into my bones, my very soul.

And I didn’t know how to walk away from him without leaving pieces of myself behind.

So I stood there in my kitchen, eggs ruined, routine shattered, heart thudding against a chest I’d spent years trying to keep locked up. And for once, I didn’t know how to fix it.

My phone buzzed on the counter while I was rinsing out the ruined pan.

I dried my hands, not expecting much, probably a reminder from my calendar app or a nudge from my coach about tracking macros, but it wasn’t either of those.

Lennox: Still alive? Or did I ruin your training schedule forever?

I stared at the message for a second longer than I should’ve. It was so him. Casual, a little cocky, perfectly timed. I smiled despite myself. It crept in before I could stop it, curling the edge of my mouth until my cheeks ached.

I opened the reply field and hovered. The pressure hit immediately—should I be funny, too? Clever? Cold? Nonchalant?

I drafted something about my heart rate monitor needing therapy. Deleted it.

I typed, You wish , paused, then erased that, too.

Third try, I just went with the truth.

Me: I’m still alive. Barely.

The dots appeared almost instantly.

Lennox: Damn. I was aiming for “completely ruined.” Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.

I snorted and leaned against the island, the edge cool beneath my forearms. The sunlight was finally cutting through the gray sky outside, turning the wood grain golden and throwing thin rays of brightness across the kitchen floor.

Me: You do seem like the overachieving type.

Lennox: You’re not wrong. I make a killer breakfast sandwich. Just saying.

I pictured him there in their shared kitchen, one sock on, pan in one hand, texting with the other. Probably grinning. Probably unaware that every word he sent loosened something in me I didn’t realize had gotten so tight.

Me: You just trying to lure me over with sandwiches and charm?

Lennox: Would it work?

I let the silence stretch before I answered.

Me: Maybe.

There it was again. That warmth. Like I’d stepped into a patch of sunlight after weeks of cloud. I still didn’t know what this was.

But for a few minutes, texting back and forth, I forgot about Nationals. I forgot about flip turns and qualifying times and the pressure sitting on my chest like a lead weight.

For now, there was only the soft glow of the morning light, the smile I couldn’t hide, and a string of words from a boy who made me feel a little more human every time he hit send.