Page 66 of Second Quarter Comeback
“I was hoping you’d be here,” he adds, his grin infuriatingly self-assured, like he already knows he’s charmed me.
“Hoping, or were you stalking me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and folding my arms across my chest.
“Hoping,” he says, holding up his phone like it’s a Get Out of Jail Free card. “I just got here a few minutes ago. Got comfortable, came outside, and voila, there you were. If that hadn’t worked, I was going to textyou. See if this time you’d give me more than, ‘I’m busy, Crawford. Leave me alone.’”
“I don’t think I ever said that,” I reply defensively. I have been short with him all week, but still. “And I sent you a good-luck text before the game today. You never replied.”
“Cam,” he says, giving me a look that’s half-annoyed, half-amused. “You sent it while I was playing. I didn’t see it until afterward.”
He leans in, just a little, and I hate how much space he seems to take up—even when he’s technically on his own balcony.
“It’s late,” I say, turning away from him to focus on the skyline. Anything is better than his stupid, arrogant grin.
“Late enough that you could just ignore me,” he teases, his voice light but persistent. “But I hope you don’t.”
“Do you need something, or are you just here to ruin my evening?” I try not to sound sarcastic but fail miserably.
“We need to talk, Cam,” he says, his tone softening. “Preferably tonight. Like I said the other day, I gave you space but . . .”
“Why?” I whip back toward him, arms still crossed like I’m trying to shield myself from whatever he’s about to say. “Can’t it wait? You waited fourteen years, didn’t you? What’s a few more days—or weeks?”
His grin falters, replaced by something unguarded that flashes across his face. It’s enough to make me pause.
“Is that your way of asking why I didn’t come back sooner?” he asks.
I shrug, forcing indifference into my posture. “Maybe. Or maybe I think this isn’t the time for whatever grand speech you’re planning. It’s been a long week for both of us and you might still be buzzing with adrenaline after the game.”
His gaze locks onto mine, steady but full of something I can’t quite name. “The answer to your silent question is simple,” he says. “I wasn’t smart enough to come back for you. I listened to the wrong people, let fear make my decisions for me, and convinced myself that leaving you alone was the right thing. It’s pathetic, I know. It is.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “But now that you’re here I want a chance to show you that I’m serious. Camille, I screwed up. I’ve been screwing up for fourteen years, and I’m done pretending it doesn’t matter.”
His words claw at the edges of my resolve, and I hate how much they stir something in me. “I thought we agreed you’d give me space. Why do we have to do this now?” I ask, my voice sharp with frustration. “Why show up like this and act like you can fix everything with a heartfelt speech?”
“I’m not trying to fix it with words,” he says, his voice firm. “I’m trying to fix it by showing you I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. That I’ll do whatever it takes for you to believe in me again.”
I snort, swirling the wine in my glass idly. “And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?”
“By starting here,” he says, his voice steady. “By telling you I’m sorry every day if that’s what it takes. By showing up, over and over, until you know I mean it. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll find something that does. But I’m not giving up on this, Camille. Not this time. However,” he adds, his lips twitching into a faint smile, “I need you to stop shutting me out. It’s hard to maneuver when you’re rejecting me most of the time.”
His words hit a nerve I didn’t want to acknowledge. I glance at him, my defenses wavering. “You say that now, but what happens when life gets messy again? When it gets hard? Are you just going to walk away like before?”
“I won’t,” he says, his tone firm but not defensive. “I know I don’t deserve your trust right now, but I’m asking for the chance to earn it. I’ll fight for you this time, Camille. For us. Even if it takes the rest of my life. It doesn’t matter if your father tries to shut down my career. I care about you. Us.”
I swirl the wine again, more to give my hands something to do than anything else. “Big words, Killion. Let’s see if your actions match.”
“They will,” he promises, his eyes never leaving mine. “And if they don’t, you can throw that wine at me. I’ll deserve it.”
The corners of my mouth twitch despite myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he says, his grin returning full force. “But I’m also not going anywhere.”
I look back at the skyline, letting the silence stretch between us. He doesn’t fill it, and I don’t ask him to leave. Maybe that’s enough for now.
Killion watches me in silence for a moment, the soft glow of his apartment framing him like a golden reminder of everything I shouldn’t want but can’t seem to resist. Then, as if deciding something, he straightens.
“Can I come over?” he asks, with a low steady voice.
“What?” I blink, caught off guard.
