Page 94 of Reach Around

“I don’t think I want to keep doing this halfway,” I tell her. “I don’t think I want to keep pretending I don’t feel everything when I look at you.”

She swallows hard. “Brogan—”

I cut her off with another kiss—gentler this time. Just a brush. Just a promise.

“I’m not asking for answers tonight,” I say, pulling back an inch. “I just needed to say it. I need you to know.”

She presses her hand to my chest, right over my heart.

“I know,” she whispers. “And you’re not the only one.”

We sit together, curled up beside the fire, no words, no rush. Just quiet. Just warmth.

Just her.

And for once, I don’t feel like I’m chasing something.

For once, it feels like I’ve already caught it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Joely

If you drive through my streets before sunrise, you’ll notice I’m quieter than any town has any right to be. But don’t be fooled—beneath the ice and half-buried mailboxes, someone’s always up to something. Around here, love confessions aren’t whispered—they’re right out in the open. Sure, it looks peaceful on the surface. But if you listen close, you’ll hear it: the sound of a heart hitting the pavement, the thud of a stubborn girl in love falling, and me holding my breath, waiting to see if this time—finally—one of the Fosters gets it right.

Playlist: Can’t Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon

Brogan’s still tangled in my sheets when I glance at the clock.

“I’ve got a few hours before my shift.” I slip into my leggings and hoodie.

He stretches like a smug lion, arms behind his head, abs on full display. “So, you’re saying there’s time for round two?”

I toss a pillow at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.” He grins, catching it one-handed.

I lean against the doorframe, watching him. He’s glowing. Not from the sex—which, yes, was absolutely five-alarm fire—but from something else. Confidence. Hope.

“What?” he asks, catching me staring.

“You look… happy,” I say, voice soft.

He shrugs, but there’s that flicker in his eyes again. “Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, I’ve been thinking.”

“Always dangerous,” I tease, but something about his expression stops me cold.

“I’m thinking about the future. After hockey.”

That lands hard. Too hard.

My stomach twists. “Like retirement?”

“Not right away,” he says quickly, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. “I’m just saying… I like working with the kids. The camps. The clinics. The charity events.”

“Oh,” I say, but it comes out flat. Hollow. He’s smiling, but all I feel is the floor tilting under me.

He notices. Of course he does.

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