Page 162 of Bitter When He Begs

Then his thumb brushes just under my jaw and he kisses me again, slow and sweet and grounding—and when he pulls back, his smile is still there, but his eyes are focused again. Present.

“You hungry now?” he murmurs.

I hum and glance down at his abs, biting my bottom lip. “Starving.”

But he smacks my ass hard enough to make me jump. “Get dressed, Sunshine,” he says, already heading toward the bathroom. “We’ve got shit to do today.”

I stand there for a second, blinking after him, flustered and way too warm.

By the time we get to the stadium, the place is already packed, students filing into the stands, the energy buzzing in the air like static electricity.

Luca walks me to the entrance before he has to head into the locker room, his fingers lingering at my waist, his blue eyes darker than usual. “You’re really gonna sit with the crowd?” he asks, his lips twitching like he already knows the answer.

“Yes, Luca,” I say, exasperated. “I’m not sitting on the bench with you. I’m not your emotional support twink.”

“You kinda are, though,” he smirks. “You calm me down.”

I pause, my heart flipping at the honesty in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he admits, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I play better when I know you’re watching.”

I roll my eyes, shoving him toward the entrance. “Go,” I say. “Win your game, King.”

“Win or lose, I’m still taking you home after,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Just so we’re clear.”

I don’t bother fighting the blush that rises to my cheeks as he presses a quick kiss to my temple before disappearing inside.

I find a seat near the front, spotting Nate a few rows down. He waves me over, and I sigh but make my way to him anyway. “Wow. You’re officially a trophy boyfriend now.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, elbowing him in the side. “I like watching him play.”

“I bet you do,” Nate smirks. “Bet you like watching him do a lot of things.”

“Nate,” I warn.

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” he laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders as the announcer’s voice booms through the stadium.

When Luca’s name is called, the stadium erupts as he jogs onto the field, looking every bit the star athlete he is.

But even with thousands of people watching, even with the weight of the game on his shoulders, his gaze finds me in the stands.

And when he smiles, I know he’s already won.

Luca

Thefirstquarterstartsfast. Opponents hit hard, but we hit harder. I move like I’ve got something to prove, and maybe I do. Not to the man who showed up just to check a box—but to myself. For every night I didn’t relapse. For every time I kept myself steady because I swore I wouldn’t let this game take more than it already had.

This has nothing to do with the man who made me and everything to do with the one who saved me.

My blood’s pounding so hard in my ears that I can barely hear the roar of the stadium, but it’s there. That wall of sound—echoing, thunderous, vibrating straight down my spine and setting fire to every nerve I’ve got.

I can feel my dad watching me.

I clocked him the second I jogged onto the field during warmups. Front row, center, exactly where he always is when he shows up—which, let’s be honest, is never about support. It’s a test. It’s always a test. The kind I never passed growing up, thekind that left bruises I wasn’t allowed to talk about, and silence that rotted through my gut for years.

But tonight I don’t play for him. I play for the boy in the stands just two sections over, tucked into my jersey like it was made for him.

Sage. My sunshine. My chaos.

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