Page 43

T he apartment’s quiet when I step out of the shower. No music. No voices. Just the thud of my own heart in my ears, loud in the silence.

I towel off, dress in clean sweats and a T-shirt. My skin feels raw. Like everything’s been stripped away, nerves exposed and waiting to be burned.

Olivia’s still here.

I find her in the living room, curled into the corner of the couch with a mug between her hands. Tea. Christ, I didn’t even know I had tea. She must’ve found it buried behind the whiskey and aspirin.

Broken glass is gone. Bottles too.Even the blood on the carpet from where I cut my foot—scrubbed out like it was never there.

She looks up when she hears me. No smile. No guarded expression either. Just...stillness. Presence. Like she belongs here and always has.

"Hey," I say, voice hoarse.

She sets the mug down and reaches for my hand. "Come here."

I move without thinking. Sit beside her.

She tugs gently until our legs touch. Until her palm is flat against my chest. Until she leans in and kisses me.

Not desperate. Not full of hunger or heat.

It’s steady.

It’s real.

Her mouth moves with a kind of reverence I’ve never known. Like she’s not trying to prove something or take something, just be here—with me. All of me.

When she pulls back, her hand stays on my cheek. Her thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.

I can barely breathe.

"So fucking sorry," I mutter. "Hate that I put you through this shit. Never wanted to hurt you."

Her hand stays on my cheek. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch.

“The person you hurt the most,” she says gently, “was yourself.”

“Still…” My voice cracks.

“We’re fine, Sebastian. You and me. We’re okay.”

Something in my chest gives. Not all the way, but enough. Enough to let her back in.

She kisses me again. Deeper this time. Still slow. Still careful. Like she’s reminding me I’m here. That she is too.

Then she shifts, sliding into my lap. Straddling me without hesitation, without fear. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Her hands find my hair, curling tight. Mine go to her waist, holding her there. Holding this .

I don’t deserve her. Not even close. But she’s here anyway.

And I’ll take it. Hold her like she's the only thing keeping me from going under again.

The last few days were a blur of whiskey and noise in my head I couldn’t shut off. Self-loathing thick enough to drown in.

But now?—

Now I can breathe.

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes scan my face like she’s searching for something. Or maybe checking to see how broken I still am.

“You need to call Coach,” she says softly. “And Kane. Let them know you’re okay.”

I let my head fall back against the couch, eyes closing for a second. “Pretty sure Coach wants my head on a fucking platter by now.”

She lifts one hand and presses her fingers gently to the side of my face, grounding me.

“They’re worried about you,” she says. “In spite of all your bullshit attempts at pushing people away, you’ve got a lot of people who care.”

I grunt, but it’s not dismissive. Just tired. And yeah...she’s right.

“I’ll call,” I murmur. “Later.”

A pause. Then I meet her eyes again. “Right now, I just need... this .”

"Okay." She nods. No hesitation. No questions. Just that steady kind of knowing that’s become the only solid thing in my life.

Then, softer, “Do you remember the last thing you said to me?”

It takes me a second. She means before —before the kid, before the fallout, before I went silent and disappeared into my own mess.

“Yeah,” I say eventually, voice low. “I meant it.”

She exhales, resting her forehead against mine. Her breath warm. Her presence steady.

“I’m still angry at you, Sebastian.”

I pull back just a little. Not far. But it’s instinct—the pressure starts to build again, tightening in my chest like a warning.

But she doesn’t let me go.

Her hands come up, palms framing my jaw, holding me in place. Eyes steady on mine.

“Not for your past,” she says. “Not for the headlines or the chaos.”

A beat. A sigh.

“I’m angry that you didn’t trust me to love you when you were at your worst.”

That undoes me.

I drop my head and let the breath shake out of me.

“You mean it?”

She lifts my chin with two fingers, gentle but firm, like she needs me to see her.

A soft smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"Yes, Sebastian. I love you."

It’s like getting punched in the chest—hard.

My heart doesn’t know what to do with it. It aches. Burns. Swells so fast it feels like it might tear through my ribs.

Never had this. Never let myself believe I could.

And I don’t know how to breathe through it.

Don’t know how to hold it without shaking.

But I want it. God, I want it so bad it fucking hurts.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worth that," I finally choke out.

She leans in and kisses me—deep. Fierce.Her mouth opens against mine, and I feel the ache behind it. The forgiveness. The fight. The fucking love.It’s not soft. It’s not clean. It’s everything we’ve been holding back finally breaking loose.

Her hands slide down my chest, slow, sure, fingers catching on the hem of my shirt.She tugs it up. I raise my arms without thinking, without blinking, and she pulls it over my head. Her palms return, bare skin on skin, pressing flat over my chest, right where my heart’s still racing.

“You don’t have to prove anything," she says, softly. "You just have to let me in.”

I huff out a breath—more laugh than sound, but there’s no humor in it.

“You’re already so fucking in,” I murmur. "There’s not a part of me you don’t have."

Her breath catches, barely, but I feel it. Right against my mouth as she kisses me again.

Her fingers skim down my chest, around my ribs. She drags her nails lightly over my abs, just enough to make me shiver.

She reaches for the hem of her own shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion.My hands slide around her back, fingers finding the clasp like muscle memory. She gives a small nod, and I undo it. The straps slip down.She leans back just enough to shrug it off.

She stands up. Hooks her thumbs in the waistband. Slides her pants and thong down in one smooth motion. Steps out of them.

Her eyes stay on me.

Mine don’t leave her.

A deep groan rips from my chest. “Fuck, look at you…”

She just smiles. Then she leans over me, and her fingers hook in the waistband of my sweats—slow, sure, no rush.I lift my hips, and she peels them down, dragging her fingers along my skin as she goes.

Nothing between us but breath and heat and the fucked-up rhythm of my heart.

I wrap my arms around her waist. Pull her in. Press my mouth to hers like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

Because maybe it is.

She rises up on her knees, one hand braced on my shoulder, the other sliding between us. And when she sinks down—slow, tight, taking all of me—my head falls back against the couch, eyes locked on hers.

“Jesus,” I whisper, but it’s not about lust. It’s reverence.

Her palms flatten against my chest again, right over my heart. My hands stay on her hips, guiding her, grounding me.

She starts to move—slow, deep rolls of her body that undo me one breath at a time. Her forehead presses to mine. Our noses brush. Eyes locked. Always.

She rides me like she’s not afraid to be seen. Like she wants me to feel everything.

And I do.

Every clench, every shift of her hips, every inch of skin. But more than that—I feel her love . In the way she kisses me between breaths. In the way she whispers my name when I grip her harder. In the way she doesn’t flinch from anything I give her.

Her breath stutters. Her rhythm falters—not from hesitation, but from how close she is. I can feel it in the way her thighs tighten around me. The way her nails sink into my shoulders. The way her lips part on a moan that sounds like my name cracked open.

“Sebastian…”

It’s barely more than air. But it wrecks me.

I grip her hips tighter. “I’ve got you,” I murmur. “Let go.”

She buries her face in my neck, fingers fisting in my hair, and I swear I feel her break apart on top of me—tight, trembling, every breath turning to heat.

She clenches around me, body shuddering, mouth open in a sound she doesn’t try to hold back. And fuck, I feel it all. Her heartbeat against my chest. Her body pulsing around me. The way she falls, not away—but into me.

She doesn’t let go.

Not even for a second.

My body tightens. It builds fast, then slow again, caught in her rhythm. My heart pounds so hard I swear she can feel it against her palms. I grab her waist, sit up straighter, mouth to her throat, her jaw, her lips.

“I love you,” I choke out against her mouth.

Her fingers dig into my back.

And then I’m gone.

“It rips through me. My body locks, hers still moving around me, and I don’t—can’t—look away.

It’s not just pleasure. It’s release. It’s everything . Like my heart’s cracked wide open and she’s the only thing holding it together.

She holds me through every second of it.

My body’s wrecked. Wrung out and shaking. Every nerve lit up, like she rewired me from the inside out.

“Can’t lose this. Can’t lose you.” My voice is rough, low, honest.

“Not going anywhere, Sebastian."

And fuck, I believe her.

She shifts enough to rest against my chest, legs tangled with mine. One hand spread wide over my heart. The other sliding slow across my jaw, my neck, my shoulder—soft, reverent touches.

I stare at the ceiling, one arm wrapped around her, wondering how the hell I got so fucking lucky.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the ghosts.

Maybe I don’t have to carry the wreckage alone.

I kiss the top of her head.

And start to hope.