Page 12

Chapter 12

RYLAN

T he first thing that registers is the warmth. Not just physical warmth, but bone-deep contentment. I let myself sink into the comfort, into the solid weight of the arm draped over me and the gentle breath ghosting across my neck. In this half-awake state, everything is right. I'm safe and warm in a little cocoon where nothing can touch me.

Then reality crashes in like a blindside hit.

Oh my god. Oh fuck. What have I done?

Every muscle in my body goes rigid as memories crash over me like a fucking tsunami. Jamie's hands on my skin. His mouth trailing fire down my chest. The way his whispered words made me feel wanted and cared for and safe. The way he looked at me like I'm something precious instead of something broken. The sounds he made when I—

No. Stop.

Nausea rises in my throat, bitter and sharp. My heart pounds against my ribs and cold sweat breaks out across my skin.

All my years of careful control, of keeping this part of myself locked away… all undone in one moment of weakness. Because Jamie fucking Pirelli offered me some comfort. Because he listened to me. Because he saw me, the real me, for the first time since my brother died. And like an idiot, I let my walls crack, let myself believe, just for a second, that I could hand someone else a piece of this weight I’ve been dragging around for almost half my life.

Behind me, he shifts closer,sleepilytightening his arm around my waist and pulling me back into his chest. He nuzzles into the back of my neck and drops a soft kiss on my shoulder, which makes me shiver with the force of my desire. Fucking traitorous body. All I want to do is melt back into him, to pretend for one more minute that this is something I can have.

"Mmm."His voice is gravelly and satisfied."Good morning."

The way he says it is soft and intimate, like we're something real. Like last night was something more than a lapse in my control. It hits me like a body check, almost knocking the air out of me. This is worse than the biggest hit I've ever taken, because this pain isentirelymy own fault.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I pull away from himabruptly, ignoring how cold Isuddenlyfeel. Jamie makes a confused sound, propping himself up on one elbow. The sheet pools around his waist, and I force my eyes away from all that golden skin. From the marks I left there last night when I forgot myself.

"This was a mistake."The words burn like acid on my tongue."A huge mistake."

Jamie sits upfully, all traces of sleep gone from his face, replaced by understanding. Like he expected this. Like he knew I'd break this thing between us before it could even start."Hey, let's talk about this—"

'There's nothing to talk about." I start grabbing my clothes from the floor, my craving for order warring with my desperate need to escape. My hands are shaking sobadlyI almost drop the shirt I just picked up. "This cannot happen again. Ever."

"Rylan. Don't do this."His voice is so gentle it hurts."Please don't shut down on me. Last night was—"

" Stop ," I cut him off.

I can't talk about it. I can't talk about how I let myself believe, just for a moment, that I could have this. I can't let myself remember how good it felt when he touched me like I'm someone who's perfect and whole and desirable instead of the broken shell I am. I can't let myself remember how right it felt tofinallygive in to this desire that's lived inside me for as long as I can remember.

"This wastotallyinappropriate! I'm—fuck! I'm, I've never—"

In an instant, he's out of bed, coming toward me, and,instinctively, I jump back. The hurt that flashes across his face makes me hate myself even more.

"This isn't who I am,"I say, the lie bitter on my tongue."No one can know about this. It was just—I was confused. Upset after talking to my father. It was a… a moment of weakness."

" A moment of weakness ?"His words drip with bitterness."Is that what you call it when someone sees you? The real you? When you let yourself feel something instead of beingcompletelyin control every fucking second like some kind of robot?"

"Stop." My voice cracks. "Please.."

"Why? Because I'm right?"He runs a hand through his sleep-mussed curls, his muscles tight with frustration."Because you're scared of how right last night was?"

I don't answer, disappearing into the bathroom instead, clutching my clothes to my chest like armor.

Ibarelyrecognize the man in the mirror looking back at me—my lips still swollen and marks blooming across my neck and collarbone like a map of everywhere he touched me.

I trace a vivid mark above my collarbone with my fingertips, rememberingexactlyhow it got there—Jamie's mouth hot against my skin, whispering sweet, filthy words while I gasped his name. I press into it, savoring the dull ache, before yanking my hand away like I just touched a hot stove.

This is not who you are , I tell my reflection. You don't get to be this guy.

But the man in the mirror looks wrecked in ways that have nothing to do with the physical. My eyes are too bright, too vulnerable. I look...almost blissed out. Or, at least I did before I remembered who it is I'm supposed to be.

My hands shake as I put on my clothes. Fumbling and dropping the toothpaste, my hairbrush, my deodorant. I'm sure Jamie's wondering if I'm having some kind of seizure in here. Once my teeth are brushed and I've splashed cold water on my face I take a deep, cleansing breath before opening the bathroom door.

When I emerge, he's pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. His walls are up now too, his normal, easy warmth replaced by cold distance.

"We need to be on the bus in an hour."My voice is steady, even if nothing else is.

"Right."His smile is sharp enough to cut. "Captain."

That word—my title, my responsibility—lands like a slap. But even though it stings, it's a helpful reminder. I don't get to just be whoever I want. I don't get to fuck around with teammates.

I grab the rest of my things, jamming everything into my baghaphazardly, telling myself I'll just have to deal with wrinkled clothes.

I need to leave. I have to put some distance between us before I do something stupid like turn around and kiss him. Like I did last night when he looked at me with those eyes and saw someone worthwhile…

Stop. Stop. Stop.

"I'm going for a run."I can't meet his eyes."I'll shower in the hotel gym. I'll catch you on the bus."

I'm out the door before he can respond, running from the hurt in his eyes. From the memory of his hands on my skin. From how perfect it felt to fall asleep in his arms. From everything I can't allow myself to want.

But I can't outrun the voice in my head that soundssuspiciouslylike Nick.

When are you going to stop punishing yourself for being happy, little brother?