Page 82 of The Break Down

“First, yuck. Second, he offered me a job, Koa. A real one. Full-time. With an actual salary.”

I bite my lip, ignoring his meathead behavior.

Because this here? It matters to me.

I wait for his reaction to the possibility of my staying in Consequence permanently. Because, well, I just need to know.

He hesitates. “Wait. He did?”

“Yes,” I say. “But thank you for assuming I’m too dumb to tell whether a man’s hitting on me or offering me work.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Shit. That’s not—Red, I—fuck.”

He drags a hand through his hair and takes a step toward me.

“I’m being a jerk, aren’t I?”

“A little.”

“Fuck, Red, forgive me?”

“I don’t know. Why should I? Not like you’ve been around much lately. Even when you’re here, you’re not here.”

Shit. I had no intention of revealing all that. But since I do, I wait to see what he does next.

Koa sucks in a breath and his eyes soften as he gazes down at me.

“Fuck. You’re right. And I am so mad at myself right now. I’ve been off in la-la rugby land, prepping for our first match like a goddamn maniac, and meanwhile you’ve been here, working your ass off, getting us fans, holding this whole media circus together, and probably feeling unsure of us.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. I don’t mean to be needy, Koa, and I’m not. But I just feel,” I pause, my voice low and shaking, eyes stinging. “I’ve been feeling invisible.”

He groans. “Shit, Red. I never meant to make you feel that way.”

“It’s not all on you. It’s my fault, too. This is too fast?—”

“No, it’s not. If you’ve been feeling invisible, it’s because I messed up. I just went and did what I always do. I retreated. But you deserve more, Red. I promise to be more.”

“I don’t want more. I just want you.” I confess.

Another beat of silence.

Then, softly, “I’m sorry, Red.”

And when I look up, he’s not smirking.

Not barking orders. Just standing there, open, raw.

“I love this sport. I love rugby,” he says. “But I love you more, Finley Adamo. So much more. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

My heart lurches.

I try not to melt.

I really try.

But then he adds, “Please don’t run off with a billionaire in linen pants. I can’t compete with that kind of tailoring.”

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