Page 171 of The Play Maker

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

Because what the hell else can I say?

She’s not wrong.

And there’s no excuse good enough to make this okay.

Silence spreads between us and my eyes lift to a few loose strands of hair, curling around her face, and all I want—so fucking bad—is to reach out and tuck them behind her ear. Just touch her. Let her know I’m here. I’m not leaving.

But I don’t move.

Because right now, she looks like if I get too close, she’ll break.

She shakes her head and takes another step back.

“Talk to me, Freckles,” I whisper, the nickname slipping out before I can stop it. “Please.”

“How…” she starts, then falters. Blinks rapidly, swallows hard. “How do I know this is real?”

Her question hits me like a punch.

“What?”

She finally looks up, just for a moment, just enough to steal my breath away.

“How do I know you didn’t fall for Cherry… and then settle for me when you found out it was me?” she whispers.

Her voice is small, shattered, like those words are ripping themselves free.

“How do I know this isn’t just some obligation? Because you felt sorry for me. Because you knew things about me I never told anyone else.”

I blink, stunned into silence as a sharp ache spreads through my chest because there it is—the thing she’s always been afraid of, even when she smiled, kissed me back, and let me in. It’s not just about me keeping a secret; it’s the fear that she’s not enough, that no one could truly want her if they saw the real her. That the only way I could love her was if I loved the idea of her first.

I step forward again. “Maisie,” I call out, but she won’t meet my eyes.

“Hey,” I say gently, “look at me.”

Slowly, she lifts her head, and fuck, she looks heartbreakingly fragile—pink, tear-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks—and yet, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

My chest tightens like it’s being crushed, and I wonder how she can’t see what she means to me, how she can’t know what she does to me.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “Not until after the championship.”

Her brows furrow in confusion, so I explain.

“Isabella told me you liked someone else at the afterparty, and honestly, I saw red. I was jealous as hell, Maisie. I didn’t even understand why at first. It just felt like someone had kicked a hole right through my chest.”

She keeps staring, frozen.

“And then she told me the name,” I say quietly. “My name.”

Maisie’s arms drop to her sides, fingers twitching like she’s trying to figure out what to do with them. Her whole body goes still, except her eyes, wide and glossy, fragile like they’re about to shatter.

“I fell for you twice,” I tell her, stepping closer, close enough that I could reach for her if she let me. “Once when you were just an anonymous name on a screen. The person who made me laugh when everything felt like shit, who saw me when no one else did.”

I swallow hard. “And the second time…” My voice catches. “The second time was in the library. When you rolled your eyes at me, showed up to help me study, even though I was a dumbass who didn’t deserve it.”