Page 47 of Full Split (Forbidden Goals #8)

NILES

I’m nearly halfway through my backyard when he catches up to me.

“Niles! Wait.”

At first, I’m almost disappointed it wasn’t Wyatt that followed me out. If I had to argue with one of them, at least let it be the one I can make out with after.

I don’t turn around. Not until I feel him grab my sleeve, pulling me back just enough to make me face him.

“You can’t?—”

The words start sharp, like he’s going to chastise me for something. But then Weston cuts himself off. He hesitates. I can see it in his face that something in him has shifted.

When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. More cautious.

“You really love him.”

It’s not a question. There’s no doubt behind it. Just the quiet weight of realization.

There’s no need for me to pretend or downplay my feelings. It’s something I would have done in the past, but not now. Not with him. Not after all I’ve put him through.

“Yeah.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. “I kind of always have.”

Weston stares at me, his breath fogging the air between us. He seems stunned, like this is new information somehow. For a long moment, he looks at me like he’s seeing something that was always there but never made sense before.

“I knew you thought he was hot,” he says finally, slow and cautious, like he’s working his way through a puzzle that suddenly has all the pieces, “but?—”

I can’t help it, I laugh. It’s not a happy sound. It’s small and cracked and tired, but it’s real.

“You didn’t get a clue from the very specific type I had?”

He blinks, brows pulling together. “I thought you thought he was hot because he was your type.”

Then his expression shifts. Like something clicks into place.

“I didn’t realize it was the other way around.”

For the first time in days, I smile for real. It’s small, a twitch of my lips really, but it’s not forced or faked.

“I just thought…” Weston trails off, grimacing like the words taste wrong, “…you had, like, daddy issues or something.”

That makes me snort. “Issues about your daddy, maybe.”

Weston’s face twists like I’ve just personally offended every one of his ancestors.

“Gross, dude. That’s super disturbing.”

And somehow, despite everything, I’m laughing. Actually laughing. The sound startles me, cutting through the fog that’s been choking me for days. For one small, fleeting moment, I feel lighter.

Weston watches me, his expression softening.

“I don’t think I realized how serious you were about him,” he says quietly after a pause.

His voice is careful, not hesitant, but honest in a way that makes something tight pull in my chest. “And I want to apologize for that. For all of it. Even if you weren’t serious…

it wasn’t right, or okay, to say any of that.

I didn’t mean it, I was just upset. Not that there’s any excuse for it, because there isn’t. ”

I stare down at the grass, swallowing around the lump in my throat.

“I love you, Niles. You’re my brother. And I’m sorry.”

My next heartbeat is actually painful, like it’s being stitched back together.

I nod, my voice gone. “I love you, too.”

For a long moment, neither of us moves. It’s awkward, but not hostile. Not distant. Not quite the same, but I have hope we can get there.

Then Weston clears his throat, glancing sideways at me. “You’re still super fucked up, though.”

That earns a wide grin from me. I pump my eyebrows. “That’s no way to talk to your future stepdaddy.”

“Oh my God,” he mutters, and groans. He shakes his head, laughing softly as he turns to head back towards the house.

I watch him go, feeling the first flicker of hope stir somewhere deep inside my chest.

And then my phone buzzes. When I glance down and see a text from Wyatt, the world narrows to that tiny screen.

DADDY: Don’t do anything yet. Give me one more day. I love you.

The next night, my phone buzzes again, the vibration jolting through me like an electric shock. It’s been the longest day ever waiting to hear from him.

DADDY: Treehouse.

That’s all it says. But it’s enough to make my breath catch.

I spring off the couch, grab a hoodie, stuff my feet into some sneakers, and run out the back door.

My shoes crunch over the frost-bitten grass, the chill biting through my too-thin hoodie.

I should have grabbed an actual jacket, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

Because he’s here.

Wyatt stands beneath the crooked ladder, framed by the bare shadows of the trees, his arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s physically holding himself together. His head lifts when he sees me. His eyes catch the porch light behind me, glinting like wet stone.

For a moment, neither of us moves. It’s a little reminiscent of the way things were at first, when our affection was more tentative. I don’t have to wait long, though, before he’s stepping towards me. I close the distance, and the next thing I know, he’s pulling me into his arms.

I melt against him, pressing my face into his shoulder, breathing him in like oxygen after being underwater for too long. His arms tighten around me, strong and steady, and I don’t even realize I’m shaking until I feel him shift to hold me closer.

“I missed you,” I whisper against his skin, my voice breaking.

“God, I missed you too.”

His voice is rough, worn thin. I feel it vibrate against my cheek. Feel it in the way he clings to me like he’s scared I’ll vanish.

“Belgium ruined me. I can’t sleep without you anymore..”

“Me either.” His lips brush against the top of my head, featherlight. “I keep waking up thinking you’re there.”

I lean back just far enough to meet his eyes. I can barely see him in the darkness, but I can feel him watching me. I can feel how much he needs this too.

He kisses me again, slow and desperate. There’s nothing rushed or frantic. It’s just the real, solid, aching connection of two people who’ve spent too long apart. I lose myself in it, in the warmth of his mouth, in the steady grip of his hands on my back.

When we break apart, we’re both breathless. He nudges me towards the platform so we can sit and talk.

“I met with Mik,” Wyatt says softly, settling next to me and wrapping an arm around me. Like me, he’s only wearing a hoodie, but he’s like a personal space heater.

I blink, trying to catch up. “What?” I didn’t get the impression that Wyatt was a big fan of Mik’s, even after getting to know him a little better. The fact that he’s having meetings with him when he’s already untrusting of the media gets my attention.

“He sent me a really cryptic email that said he had something to talk to me about that might be able to help. He’s in Raleigh for a piece about the Carolina Rollergirls, so we met up for coffee.”

“And?”

Wyatt hesitates, his arms tightening around me. Then he pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression serious.

“He might have a good plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“He’s been doing a little digging behind the scenes, and made some calls.

There’s some footage that could change the narrative, statements from other people who’ve been harassed by Peter, and some ideas that he wants to present to USAG.

If we’re going to fix this, we need them on our side.

We might have to dish out some threats of our own to let them know we’re serious, but it could work. ”

I stare at him, the words sliding over me too fast to absorb.

“Footage of what?”

“Of Peter doing some unsavory things. Things that we’d never share or release to the public under any other circumstances, but I’m definitely asshole enough to threaten it.

Mik has a bigger following than him and that Senator he’s been working with put together.

The Senator, who, by the way, probably paid him with the coke he was caught snorting off some guy’s dick on an alleyway camera.

Mik and I both agree that we’d rather not throw another scandal into the mix to win a battle, when we could win the war with proof that Peter has a history.

Enough to start unraveling his story and make it clear that he’s the one lying, assuming he doesn’t call it all off himself. ”

“And he’s sure?”

“He thinks it’s solid. There’s more to it, but he needs a few more days to get in touch with some people that owe him favors or something like that. That part sounded suspicious to me, but he’s also connecting us with a lawyer that will meet with us before we present our case to USAG headquarters.”

“We?” My voice cracks.

Wyatt nods. “Yep. The plan is to go in strong as a team. You, me, Weston, Sid, Mik, and the lawyer. Mik also thinks it’s a good idea to invite a couple of your teammates to show a strong support system.”

I blink. “A lawyer?”

“Yeah. Her name is Millie Worth. I think she’s from Alabama. I don’t remember when or where Mik met her, but she’s a good person and apparently terrifying in court.”

Something inside me jolts. For the first time all day, I laugh. It’s weak, but it’s real. It’s a little scary to hope, but I can’t stop myself. I think Wyatt feels it too. He cups my jaw, his thumb brushing along my cheek like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

“We’re not going in there to ask for anything, Niles. We’re going in to tell them the truth. And to warn them. Either they stand with you… or they get exposed for not supporting their athlete to save face.”

I can’t speak. My throat is too tight. My chest aches from the force of everything I’m feeling.

“You’re not alone in this,” he says, kissing my forehead.

And just like that, I shatter. I pull him against me, and he lays me down across the platform. Our limbs entwine, hearts hammering against each other. My tears soak into his hoodie, but he doesn’t pull away. He just holds me tighter, like I’m something precious.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper.

“Don’t say that.”

I kiss him because I can’t find the words to tell him how much I need him.

The kiss, as it usually does, becomes heated. Hands roam under shirts and migrate south. I moan into Wyatt’s mouth as he rubs his cock against mine over two layers of sweatpants.

I want them gone. I want to touch him everywhere, taste him, feel him…

When I try to take it further, when my fingers find the hem of his sweatpants and slip beneath, desperate for something solid, something real, Wyatt stops me. His hand closes gently around my wrist.

“Not tonight.”

It’s impossible not to pout. “Why not?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Because Mik’s about to call.”

“That’s cruel.”

“I know.”

I rest my head against his chest, the steady thump of his heart grounding me.

“I don’t want to go inside.”

“I know.”

When he kisses the top of my head and nudges me softly, I stand. And despite not wanting to be away from him for another night, I walk away feeling a lot closer to whole than I’ve felt in weeks.

Because he’s right. I’m not alone.

I never have been.

When I step back inside, the warmth hits me like a wave, but it doesn’t help. I feel cold to my bones just being separated from Wyatt. Mom is on the couch, a mug in her hands, the TV playing some muted late-night show she’s not even watching.

She glances up as I peel off my shoes. Her gaze flicks towards the back door, but she doesn’t say anything right away.

Then, casually, like we’re talking about the weather, she murmurs, “The trees in the backyard sure are sparse this time of year.”

I freeze.

She nods towards the window. “It’s almost thinned out enough that I can see straight through to the Lincoln’s backyard.”

I don’t know how to answer. I stand there like an idiot, heart racing, lungs locked up. The silence stretches long enough to be suffocating.

Mom just waits. Patient as ever. Calm in a way that’s a little threatening. Smirking because she knows all my secrets.

I don’t mean to. I don’t plan to. But the words come pouring out of me before I can stop them. I tell her everything that I’ve been dying to tell her, because I hate keeping things from her and next to Weston, she’s always been my best friend.

I tell her about Wyatt. About how everyone knows I’ve had the hots for him all these years, but that I’ve been truly in love with him for even longer than that.

About how it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did.

How it’s real now. How I don’t know how to stop loving him, even if I wanted to.

How I’m terrified that everyone is going to judge or hate us, but I don’t care enough to give him up.

I expect her to cut me off. To get angry. To tell me I’m being stupid and reckless. Maybe selfish, even. I expect her to yell and tell me she’s disappointed, or insist that I’ve been groomed or something horrible like that.

But when I finally force myself to look at her, she just sighs.

I blink, confused. “What?”

She gives me a small, tired smile. “I’ve known for weeks, Niles.”

I shake my head, unable to make sense of that. “How?”

“I’m your mother. I notice when you’re disappearing, slipping into the treehouse every other night, and walking out of bathrooms disheveled and not alone.” She blinks like it couldn’t have been more obvious. “I was just waiting for you to tell me.”

I stare at her, too stunned to speak.

“The age gap is concerning, but you’re an adult.

And Lord knows no one can deny you once you decide you want something.

I know you both well enough to know the power dynamic is not in his favor.

And I’ve noticed a difference in him, too.

These past couple of months, he’s been strange around me.

A few times, I dare say he almost confessed. ”

I huff out a laugh because that sounds about right.

“I hope he treats you right,” she says softly.

I swallow. “He does.”

“Good.”

And that’s it. She turns back to the TV like we just talked about the weather.

“Invite him to dinner, will you? It’d be fun to screw with him before I give y’all my blessing.”