Page 40

As I make my way to the kitchen, I finally take in his apartment.

It’s a one-bedroom with an open-concept living area. No dining table, just stools lined up at the kitchen island. The living room is spacious, wrapped in three-way windows.

Outside, buildings stand tall, but trees are scattered everywhere, and the bright blue sky makes it all feel wide open. It’s gorgeous.

The kitchen is compact and sleek. I open drawers and cabinets—everything looks practically untouched. I guess he doesn’t cook much. I can’t blame him. When I eat alone, I usually just grab whatever’s convenient.

Still, I want to make him a good, healthy breakfast before he leaves for morning skate.

I pull bacon, eggs, fruit, and yogurt from the fridge, then dig out my white bow from the clothes pile. After washing my hands, I get to work.

I layer a parfait and top it with granola. Then I scramble eggs, bake the bacon, and start a pot of coffee. While it brews, I toast some bread.

Xander appears in the doorway, buck naked and rubbing his eyes.

Even half-asleep, he somehow manages to look delicious. His bed hair is tousled to perfection, and a boyish grin spreads across his face when he spots me in his kitchen.

“Good morning,” he says, leaning in for a kiss.

“Good morning, Hotshot,” I reply, swatting his ass with a dish towel.

“Ow, what was that for?” he asks, grinning as he pours two glasses of orange juice.

I shrug, keeping my answer to myself.

He wraps his arms around my waist. “Shower?”

I nod. “But we have to eat before it gets cold.”

He jogs off, returning in black boxers that hug his hips just right.

I plate the food, and we sit at the kitchen island.

“What are you planning on doing today?” Xander asks, shoveling eggs into his mouth.

“I was thinking about unpacking a bit and maybe cooking? I’m not really sure. Someone left me completely exhausted last night,” I huff, faking weariness as I spoon some parfait.

“I didn’t hear any complaints,” Xander says, raising a brow.

“I’m not complaining now. I’m simply stating the obvious,” I say, and he shakes his head, amusement dancing in his eyes.

A comfortable silence fills the kitchen as we eat, stealing flirty glances, hunger lingering in our gazes .

As much as I don’t want to ruin the moment, I know we have to talk. There’s never going to be a perfect time.

After a sip of my juice, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid.

“So, about what happened…”

Xander’s deep brown eyes lock onto my gray ones.

“I got a text as we were leaving the Cape. At first, I thought it was a bad joke. I was in denial. But once I got back to Azalea Creek and read it again—over and over—I knew it wasn’t.”

I inhale deeply, bracing myself.

“It was from Dennis.”

Xander’s spoon clatters onto his plate. His expression goes cold.

“He said he wanted to talk. In person.” I lower my gaze, picturing his texts. “But I didn’t reply.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Xander’s voice is flat, emotionless.

“Really, Xander? Gee, I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t want you to get riled up during preseason. Maybe I was trying to look out for you, so you could focus on the game.”

My tone is sharper than I intend, but I don’t take it back.

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.

“Did he keep texting you?”

I nod.

Xander takes a deep breath. “What do you want to do about it? Do you want to talk to him?”

I push back my stool and stand.

“Fuck, no. I don’t have anything nice to say to him. I don’t want him in my life again.”

He nods slowly, trying to process.

“Then why didn’t you block his number after the first message?”

I close my eyes, needing a moment to cool down. I know this is all new for him, that he’s trying to wrap his head around it—but it still feels like judgment.

“Ruin suggested I didn’t. In case he kept texting me, I could use them to file for a no-contact order.”

When I look back at him, I see it—hurt.

Fuck.

“You told Ruin?”

“Xander, I was trying to protect you. I’m sorry if you don’t agree with how I handled it, but what’s done is done. You said no more secrets, remember? So here I am—telling you everything.”

My voice shakes. My eyes sting. This isn’t how I imagined this conversation. Not even close.

At least not the version I hoped for.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gentler now. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just so pissed this asshole thinks he can come back into your life and start demanding things.”

He gets up and walks to me. I hug him and let the tears fall.

I tell him everything—how Dennis found out about me through our viral post, how he’s sent more messages since .

Xanders listens without interrupting, his hands holding me steady.

“Are you going to file the court order?” he asks.

I sigh. “Only if he shows up in Azalea Creek. If he keeps texting, I’ll block him.”

He kisses the top of my head, and we stay there, swaying gently as his heartbeat slows.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For looking out for me. You put my needs before yours. That’s something only someone selfless would do. I love you.”

I hug him harder.

“I hope you know how much you mean to me, Xander Bazyli González.”

He chuckles, his chest vibrating softly against mine.

“How did you find out my middle name?”

“Your mom told me.”

He nods, a quiet smile forming as we breathe each other’s air.

“I love you too. Forever,” I whisper into his chest.

Xander kisses me once, quick and tender, before sweeping me into his arms and carrying me toward the shower.

Something tells me he’s going to be late for practice today. Hopefully, his coach will let it slide—just this once.