Page 23 of The Fall

Eleven

Pittsburgh winks at me, a million tiny lights scattered against the night sky beyond Blair’s hotel room window. The city is blurred gold and crimson against an endless dark sky.

I lean into Blair’s touch. He’s propped up against the headboard, and I have my head in his lap. We’re both balancing bags of ice somewhere on our bodies, his on his shoulder, mine on my thigh.

Exhaustion tugs at me, but beneath it, my mind blazes.

We’re so close. We need two more wins, and there are two more games left in the season. We play Pittsburgh, and then we fly back to Tampa, where the last game of the season will decide it all.

Win and we’re in.

Lose and it’s all over.

The Mutineers haven’t gone to the playoffs in over two decades. If we make it, it will be the first playoff run for this team under Blair’s leadership, and for Blair himself.

I have to get Blair there. I will do everything that’s possible inside of me, force each and every atom of my being to get him to the playoffs.

“Remember when this all felt impossible?”

These are the first words he’s spoken in almost an hour. When Blair is wound tight, he goes quiet, plotting each word before letting it out.

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the season or about us. I catch his hand. I brush my lips against the back of his knuckles.

He kisses my fingers in return and goes back to massaging my scalp. I bury my cheek against his cotton-covered thigh. I feel the heat of him beneath me, the gentle threading of his hands in my hair, and I am lulled, soothed.

“I think we’ve got a shot.” His voice is sanded and soft, a sound that reminds me of late practices and too many nights without sleep. There’s the faintest, quietest tremor in his words.

Lamplight paints Blair’s profile in sharp relief, the strong line of his jaw, the thick sweep of his lashes against his cheek.

Tension plays around his mouth, and a slight furrow forms between his brows.

He’s been striving and fighting and aching for this opportunity.

Now he’s holding his breath, sweat and hope between him and this chance.

His gaze falls to mine, a universe of blue in his eyes.

“We do,” I breathe.

His eyes flare, fragile and frantic and ferocious. It guts me, seeing him look anything less than invincible.

There’s a beauty there, too. It’s the rawest form of trust, to be seen wanting, hopeful, trembling and on the edge.

For you, I think. I will win this for you. I will do everything and anything for you.

Someone slams their fist against his door, and the delicate scaffolding of the moment shatters.

I snap my head up, my jaw tensing. Blair stills for a beat, two. Then he’s up, climbing out of bed, leaving a cold void in his wake.

He hesitates at the door. His eyes flick back and meet mine.

“Who is it?” he barks.

I can’t hear the reply, but worry erupts across Blair’s face as he throws open the door.

It’s Hayes.

All the usual ease, the confidence that is a second skin for Hayes, is gone. In its place is a desperate energy. He looks wildly at Blair, his gaze searching, and for a horrifying moment, I think he might break down. “I... Can I come in? I need to talk to you guys.”

Blair drags Hayes into the room. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“She... Erin... We...” Hayes stumbles through jagged breaths and consonants and vowels. “Fuck, guys, Erin’s pregnant .”

Silence sweeps through the room. No one breathes. No one moves.

Blair’s face transforms from concern to shock to joy in less than a heartbeat.

“The doctors said she couldn’t…” Hayes is babbling, suddenly, big and bright. “We thought Lily was it, you know? But we always wanted a big family, and now…”

Blair yanks Hayes into a bear hug, and Hayes lets loose a laugh that is half a sob.

“She called. She couldn’t wait to tell me. I just hung up with her. Oh my God, oh my fucking God!”

Blair is backslapping Hayes, and they’re caught in a wrestler’s grapple, hugging so fiercely they can barely stay on their feet. Blair has never looked this happy, and he’s babbling nearly as much as Hayes, one long stream of holy shits and congratulations.

I’m caught somewhere in between, tangled in confusion and happiness. My memories are scrambling to make sense of this, to understand the joy, to be part of this heady celebration.

Hayes finally pulls back and wipes at his cheeks. He turns to me and yanks me into a vise-tight bear hug.

“Torey, man... what you did for us. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I can’t ever thank you enough.” His voice is thick and his tears are soaking through my shirt.

His joy is so potent it saturates the air, drawing in every drop of oxygen.

I search for a thread, a connection, something to ground me, help me understand my part in this.

The puzzle pieces are scattered, meaningless.

I keep trying to rearrange them, but nothing fits.

I’m not— I’m only me—Torey. I don’t deserve—I can’t have?—

Who is this version of me that could have such an impact? This ghost in my memories has done so much with himself.

Hayes finally releases me, drawing in a breath that trembles on its way in.

“Congrats, man.” I hold onto his shoulders, squeeze.

Hayes gathers himself, wiping at his eyes with a sheepish laugh. “Guess we’ll have to celebrate properly back in Tampa, huh?”

Blair nods. “We’ll have lots to celebrate.”

There’s a moment of unspoken communication between them that has more meaning than I can grasp. “Oh, I’m sure we will,” Hayes says. “Lots of big things coming, right?”

Blair pulls Hayes into another bear hug. A flare of color rises in his cheeks as he mutters something in Hayes’s ear, and Hayes laughs. They hold onto each other for a long time. They are both stunningly, amazingly happy.

Hayes steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry for bursting in. I was going to explode. I had to tell you guys. I couldn’t wait.”

“Dude, I’m so glad you told us.” Blair cups the back of Hayes’s neck and shakes him.

Hayes laughs again, a little wilder now, like he can’t keep any of it contained. His eyes shine, red-rimmed but bright. Relief radiates off him in waves; it feels like we’re all suspended in the afterglow of some impossible miracle.

He squeezes my arm one last time before turning toward the door, already fidgeting with his phone as if Erin might call again any second. “Seriously, I couldn’t keep it in. Not from you guys.”

His words fizz around us even after Hayes slips out into the hallway and shuts the door behind him. All of his shock has been transformed into radiance, and with him gone, the silence left behind is hot and thick and sticky.

Blair leans against the wall by the door, propped up on one shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest. He gazes at me, and it seems some of Hayes’s joy has slipped beneath his own skin. He looks at me as if I’m the reason for it, as if I’ve done something to deserve that.

I want to be deserving of all this joy he’s feeling right now, but my brain is on fire with so many questions. What kind of person am I? What did I do for Hayes and Erin? What does he see when he looks at me?

“Torey.” Blair pushes off the wall. “You okay?”

There’s no easy answer. Every part of me wants to say yes, wants to meet his warmth with my own, but… It’s too much, too bright, the wanting, the ache to be enough for him?

His hand finds mine, and he waits, patient as always, eyes steady. He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at him sometimes. It’s like staring directly into sunlight or trying to catch a star falling from the sky; it’s brilliance that’s impossible to hold.

He’s everything to me. Everything.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m good.”

But what if I’m not enough? What if this happiness isn’t really meant for me?

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice drops to a whisper. “You look like you’re carrying the world.”

Why is it so hard to believe him, even now, with his hand in mine? The impulse to confess rises, to spill how lost I feel inside the bright, unstoppable tide of his love.

His eyes soften. “Whatever it is,” he says, “we’ll handle it together.”

Maybe he already knows; he seems to know me better than I do. Maybe he can see every jagged edge under my skin, all the pieces I keep turning over, hunting for where they fit.

I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. He smells like home, like sunshine and saltwater and happiness, and I hold on to him and say, “Together.”

It’s two in the morning.

I never went back to my room. I didn’t even bother to pretend to.

Instead, I’m still sprawled across Blair’s sheets, one leg tangled with his, my arm slung over his side. His arm is draped over my waist as if he knows I’m not going anywhere, and he’s right.

He burns a trail of kisses along my jaw, his voice a rough heat against my skin. “You ruin me.” His lips part over the frantic pulse in my neck. “Every part of you.”

I can’t think. I can only feel.

He traces the seam of my lips with his tongue, nudging them apart. His tongue meets mine, and the kiss deepens, shifting from want into a raw, staggering need.

I open for him, dragging him in, and Blair settles between my thighs, his strong hands locking onto my hips like he’s claiming territory. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold him to me because he’s never close enough. He fits to me like key and lock, no empty spaces. “I need you,” I beg.

His eyes are midnight blue and burning. Our noses brush. “I’m yours.”

And then he’s kissing me again, unwriting every thought, stealing the air from my lungs and replacing it with himself. He is the only solid thing; everything else is spinning away.

He slides his palms down my ribs, and my skin catches fire. I’m trembling, unraveling. Breathy gasps and needy whimpers fill the air, torn from me. He is taking me apart piece by piece, reducing me to a shivering, wanting mess, and the bedsheets twist beneath my fists.