Page 12 of Hero After Midnight (Gibson Hollow)

Ramsey

T he truck’s engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound in the otherwise quiet parking lot.

I sat there for a beat, hand still on the keys, the scent of turf and sweat clinging to my skin like a second uniform.

The regional combine had wrapped earlier that afternoon—a blur of timed sprints, verticals, shuttle drills, and interviews with scouts in branded polos who looked at me like a stat sheet in cleats.

Three days of pressure cooked down into forty-yard dashes and broad jumps and questions about whether I had the mindset to go pro.

I’d nailed it. At least, that’s what Langston said. I’d landed on the shortlist. And if all went well, I’d be invited to the national combine next. The one that could change everything.

My duffel bag was still slumped in the back seat, untouched since I left the field house.

I hadn’t been home yet. Hadn’t showered.

Hadn’t eaten anything that didn’t come vacuum-sealed.

My whole body was heavy with exhaustion, but somehow still wired.

Like my muscles hadn’t caught up to my brain, or maybe the other way around.

But it wasn’t the combine running laps through my brain. Not the scouts or the stats or what came next. It was Alia.

That kiss—God, that kiss—had been living rent free in my head since the second I walked away.

Not the first one, soft and hesitant and sweet like a secret we weren’t supposed to share.

The second one. The one in the parking lot under the glare of the streetlights, when she’d looked at me like I was something worth holding onto, and said “God yes” before I could even finish the question.

That kiss hadn’t felt like a maybe. It hadn’t felt like pretending.

It felt like everything I’d ever wanted and never let myself name. Her mouth on mine, warm and sure and so damned open. Like she wanted it just as badly. As if maybe she’d been waiting, too. That kiss had hit me straight in the chest and rewired something I didn’t know could change.

And I hadn’t been the same since.

I kept replaying it, over and over. The slide of her hands into my jacket. The way she’d leaned into me without hesitation. The way it felt like falling—but somehow safe. I kept telling myself it hadn’t meant more than the moment. That we were playing roles. That she didn’t know it was me.

But that lie was getting harder to hold on to every time I closed my eyes and still felt her against me.

And now, after the biggest shot of my career, after three days of being hyped and tested and pushed to the edge of what my body could give, the only thing I wanted was to see her again. To know if it had meant something to her, too.

To know if maybe it hadn’t only changed me.

I told myself I’d come here for Bodie. It was tradition. We always checked in after big games, after big milestones. This was the biggest one yet. He’d want to know how it went. He’d want the full play-by-play.

But it was really about her.

I hadn’t been able to stop wondering if she hated me for walking away. If she thought I was just another guy too chickenshit to follow through. Or worse, if she thought I hadn’t felt anything at all. Although surely after that kiss?—

I had to talk to Bodie. Not just because he was my best friend. Because he was her brother. Her twin. Because if I was going to cross this line—really cross it—I needed to do it right.

Even if I already knew what he was going to say.

That I was too close. Too important. That if I screwed this up—and let’s be honest, relationships ended more often than they didn’t—it wouldn’t just break her heart.

It’d blow up everything. Bodie had trusted me with his family, with his sister, because he believed I’d never cross that line. And I hadn’t. Not once. Not until now.

But I’d done it with eyes wide open. Because pretending I didn’t feel what I felt wasn’t working anymore. Because that kiss, that night, had meant something. And if there was even a chance that she wanted this too, I had to be man enough to face what came next.

With a long breath, I opened the door and stepped out into the cool night, the gravel crunching beneath my boots. The porch light over their duplex glowed faintly, the same as it always had, and I started toward it with something like dread and hope tangled together in my chest.

Bodie answered the door looking like he’d barely survived a minor war—sweatpants, hoodie from our freshman season, and a half-empty sports drink in hand. His hair stuck up like he’d been horizontal all afternoon and just remembered the existence of gravity.

He grinned when he saw me. “Dude. You made it back alive.”

I let him pull me into a one-armed hug, the familiar slap of his palm against my back grounding me for a second. I didn’t realize how much I needed that until it happened.

“Barely.” I stepped inside.

The living room looked the same. Low lamplight, a blanket tossed over the couch, the faint scent of lavender and lemon from whatever candle Alia always had burning.

My eyes scanned the room automatically, zeroing in on the details that mattered.

No shoes by the door. No bag on the armchair.

No soft rustle of movement from down the hall.

No Alia.

Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest, sharp and conflicting.

I told myself it was better this way. That if she’d been here with all that glossy brown hair down, soft sweater, bare feet padding into the room like some kind of casual dream, I might’ve lost my nerve.

Or worse, I might’ve kissed her again. And then what?

Bodie was already halfway to the kitchen. “Alia’s out with Blair—some late-night indie movie. You know the kind. Lots of long stares and a metaphor you don’t get till the credits roll. If you get it at all. Give me a good action flick any day.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose. “Cool. That’s… yeah.”

Better this way. We’d have privacy for what was sure to be an awkward conversation.

“So?” He tossed me a Gatorade and leaned his hip against the counter. “How was it?”

I rolled the bottle between my hands, condensation slick against my skin.

“Good.” My voice came out quieter than I meant it to.

“Better than good, actually. My verticals were clean. Forty shaved down to a 4.48. Talked to reps from three teams. Langston thinks I’ll get a national invite this spring. ”

Bodie blinked. “Holy shit.”

I looked up. He was staring at me like he hadn’t heard me right, or maybe like he had and didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“You serious?”

I gave him a small nod. “Yeah. They liked what they saw.”

“Dude,” he breathed. “That’s—Ramsey, that’s huge.”

I shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “It’s not the draft. But it’s a shot. One of the few that actually count.”

He straightened, eyes sharper now, no trace of the usual sarcasm. “That’s more than a shot. That’s your foot in the goddamn door.”

I gave a quiet laugh, mostly to cover the noise in my own chest. “Yeah. I guess.”

He frowned. “You don’t sound like a guy who just crushed one of the biggest weekends of his life.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again.

Because the truth was, even with the biggest break of my career sitting in my back pocket, the only thing I wanted to talk about wasn’t the combine. It was his sister.

“Just tired.” It was a lame response, even if it was partly true.

The pause that followed sat too heavy between us. I used it to glance at my phone like I was checking something important. I wasn’t. I just needed a second to get my footing before I asked the question that had been riding me since I the moment I got off the field.

“So…” I tried for casual, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip of the Gatorade I didn’t want. “How’s Alia doing?”

Bodie wasn’t looking at me. He was too busy grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and pouring himself a midnight mountain of Cinnamon Toast Crunch like we were still nineteen and cramming for finals.

“Better.” He opened the fridge again with his hip.

“Party helped. I think the whole warrior queen vibe reminded her she’s the badass in this equation. ”

I huffed a breath through my nose, the corner of my mouth tipping up. “Glad she’s getting back to herself.”

“She deserves better than what she’s had. No more football players, man.” He said it offhand, not even looking at me as he dumped milk on his cereal. But the words landed like they’d been aimed at center mass.

I went still. My grip on the bottle tightened, and for half a second I felt my pulse spike with panic. Did he know? Was this some kind of warning? A subtle way of telling me he’d figured it out?

But Bodie just shrugged and kept talking, still focused on the cereal in front of him like he hadn’t just ripped the floor out from under me.

“Half the team are dogs,” he muttered. “And the good ones—guys like you—you’re gonna be headed for the pros. Always gone. Never around. She needs someone who’s there, you know?”

I swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the pressure building in my throat. His words hit harder than he could’ve known.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Alia deserved someone who was steady. Who could show up and keep showing up. Who wouldn’t miss birthdays or calls or bad days. Who wouldn’t hide behind game schedules and travel days and excuses.

She needed someone who could offer a full heart, not just borrowed time. And God help me, I wanted to be that guy.

But I wasn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. Because if the combine meant what I thought it did—if the calls started coming in—my whole life was about to change. Again.

And Alia? She’d be left waiting. Wanting. And I’d be the reason she never got what she deserved. Because I could give her almost everything—but not all of it. Not the part that mattered most. Not my undivided time and attention.

I nodded like it didn’t hurt. Like my chest wasn’t folding in on itself with every word Bodie said.

I leaned back against the counter and took another drink, letting the Gatorade wash down the lump in my throat.

Because what could I say? He wasn’t wrong.

He was just… saying it without knowing the target he’d hit.

I’d come here stupidly hoping that I could find some clarity. That I could talk to Bodie and maybe figure out a way to tell him. To admit that I had feelings for his sister. That she was so much more to me than a friend. That I wanted that more. That I thought she felt the same.

But now? Now I knew I couldn’t. Because if I really gave a damn about Alia—and I did, more than I could say—then I didn’t get to be selfish. I didn’t get to hold on to a fantasy that was always going to fall apart the minute the season ended and the draft began.

She’d kissed me like I mattered. Like I was more than the guy who’d always been just out of reach.

And I’d kissed her like I wanted everything.

Because I did. I wanted her laughter and her fire and her quiet moments when no one was looking.

I wanted a future I hadn’t even dared imagine before that night.

But a kiss—no matter how perfect—couldn’t outrun reality. I was leaving. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon enough. And she deserved someone who stayed.

So I kept my mouth shut. Let Bodie keep talking about her like I wasn’t already breaking apart. Because if I told him now, it would be asking for something I wasn’t allowed to have. It would be planting hope in soil that couldn’t grow anything lasting.

I wouldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t. She deserved the whole damn world. And all I could give her was goodbye. I had to pretend that I hadn’t known. That she really had been a stranger. That the fantasy hadn’t been everything I could possibly want.

I left not long after. Mumbled something about needing sleep, and that I’d catch up later. Bodie didn’t question it. He just clapped me on the shoulder, then held out a fist for the bump we always traded. I gave it to him, solid and sure, even though my whole chest felt like it was splintering.

Once I was inside my truck, I didn’t start the engine right away.

I just sat there, staring straight ahead into the dark, the quiet hum of the night settling around me.

My duffel sat forgotten in the backseat.

My hands rested on my thighs, empty and twitching like they didn’t know what to do now that they weren’t holding her.

I looked up—just once—into the rearview mirror.

My face stared back, all shadow and scruff.

I was supposed to feel like a rising star.

Like a guy whose whole future had just shifted into high gear.

But all I felt like was a man who’d let something perfect slip through his fingers. Something he might never get back.

And maybe I was doing the right thing. Maybe this was what love looked like when you did it unselfishly. Quiet. Sacrificial.

But it didn’t feel noble. It felt like grief.

Still, I turned the key. Let the engine rumble to life. Told myself the lies I’d need to survive it. That one night could be enough. That the memory would be enough. That she’d be okay. And I would be too. Eventually.

But God, it didn’t feel that way as I pulled out of the lot and disappeared into the dark.

Hold the tomatoes!

I know. I know. This isn’t how you wanted this story to end. But I warned you in the beginning! That’s why it’s a PREQUEL. Because their story isn’t over!

They walked away without ever saying what mattered most. But some sparks don’t burn out—no matter how many years, secrets, or miles lie between them.

Catch your breath now. Because in Hero Ever After , Alia and Ramsey are about to collide all over again. Don’t miss Book 1 in the brand new Gibson Hollow series, releasing August 22nd!

I never meant to be anyone’s heroine.

Not when I became the acting mayor of my hometown after the flood. Not when I kept my law practice afloat out of a booth in my grandmother’s diner. And definitely not when my secret romantasy novels went viral.

Nobody in Gibson Hollow knows I’m the author behind the pen name. And nobody was supposed to kiss me at that book convention— least of all my brother’s best friend, cosplaying the hero he doesn’t know I modeled after him.

Now Ramsey Shaw is back in town. Volunteering. Smiling at me like I’m not on the verge of shattering. Like he remembers the kiss. Like he sees the truth.

I’ve spent my whole life being strong. Quiet. In control. But for the first time, I don’t want to be any of those things.

I just want to be his.

In a town held together by hope and heart, it’s the people who show up that make it shine.