Page 221 of Make the Play

Her voice breaks, and that’s when I realize she’s not mad because I followed her. She’s mad because she doesn't think she's ready to feel this, to accept the love I want to give her.

She tries to pull herself away from me, but I don’t let go. I take a step closer, my heart in my goddamn throat, the rain falling harder.

“You don’t get to run from this,” I rasp. “You don’t get to pretend I don’t mean something to you when you know you mean fucking everything to me.”

Her brows draw tight, and her lower lip wobbles. She looks away fast, blinking hard, trying to hold the pieces together.

But I can’t let her, not this time.

“I love you,” I say again, tilting her chin up to make her look at me. “And don’t you dare stand there and think you don't deserve to hear it.”

Her breath shudders out, and she shakes her head, hands fisting into my soaked hoodie.

I cup her jaw, let my thumbs brush against her cheekbones, against the tiny scattering of freckles I haven’t seen up close in weeks.

“I’ve told you a hundred times,” I murmur. “In a million different ways.”

She clenches her eyes shut, turning her face like she can dodge the words. As if hearing them will break her open.

“You can’t say things like that,” she says on a sob. “Not to this version of me.”

“So you think I’d just let you go?” My voice is raw, scraped from the inside out. “That I’d just stand there and let you walk out the door again?”

She stiffens, and I see it. The truth, bleeding through the cracks she’s trying to cover with anger.

“You should,” she says, voice sharp but breaking. “You should let me go.”

Liar.

She’s a goddamn beautiful liar.

My hands slide from her cheeks to her shoulders, holding her there. “Say it like you mean it.”

She blinks hard, her chin lifting.

“Chase—”

“Say it like youfucking mean it,Zoe.”

She doesn’t, because she can’t. Because she knows what we have isn't nothing, and never will be. We’ve been endgame since the start.

Rain trickles down her face and catches in her lashes, and I swear I can see the war inside her. Her mouth trembles and her fists tighten, her entire body is coiled with fight and fear and longing, and I feel her about to break.

So I do it for her.

“This thing between you and me? It’s fuckingeverything, and you know it. And I want it, Zoe. I want itsobad.”

My voice catches, but I don’t stop.

“I want every version of you,” I rasp. “Not just the fun Zoe. Not just the magnetic, smartest-person-in-the-room Zoe. Not just the one who makes everyone laugh and commands attention without even trying.”

Her breathing goes shallow, and I let my fingers thread into her wet hair, making sure she can see me clearly as I lean in closer.

“I want the sad Zoe. The unsure Zoe. The Zoe who watches videos of dads dancing with their daughters and doesn’t say a word but I know exactly what she’s feeling. I want the Zoe who drags me through the most insane scavenger hunt I’ve ever been on in my life.”

A soft sound breaks out of her—half-laugh, half-sob—and it shatters something in me.

“I want the Zoe who panics when things feel too big. Who runs when she’s scared, but comes back every time because she’sbrave as hell.The Zoe who has spent her whole life thinking she has to carry everything alone.”

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