Page 48 of Changing the Playbook
“I wrap love in bubble wrap and call it care,
When really it’s fear dressed in a daughter’s clothes.”
Someone in the crowd makes a soft sound. Understanding, maybe.
Or pity.
But I can’t look away from Mike to check.
“She runs toward life.
I run from the possibility of loss.
She adapts.
I suffocate.
And I wonder which one of us
The disease has truly trapped.”
Silence.
Then applause starts—not raucous or performative, but thoughtful and real. My face burns as I hand the mic back to Purple Hair and navigate the suddenly treacherous platform steps. Then I see Mike stand before I reach our table.
And the look on his face…
Christ.
He sees me. Not Coach’s daughter. Not the girl who schedules her life around potential medical emergencies. Not even the girl he spent one incredible night with before she panicked and ran.
He seesme.
Before my brain can mount its usual defense, I walk straight into him. My arms wrap around his waist, my face presses against his chest. For one suspended second, he freezes—probably calculating which boundary I’ve just demolished.
And then his arms come around me.
He fits.
That’s the thought that threatens to undo me completely. My chin finds the perfect spot on his shoulder. The warmth of him makes something unknot in my chest, something that’s been twisted since Mom’s diagnosis. Since Jimmy’s exit.
Since I decided needing people was just asking for heartbreak.
Safe.
I feel safe.
Which is exactly why I need to?—
I lift my head. Fatal mistake. He’s right there, looking down at me with barely-controlled hunger. His pupils have blown wide, and I can see myself reflected in them—flushed, vulnerable, wanting.
Our faces hover inches apart. His breath ghosts across my lips. All I’d have to do is rise up on my toes, close that insignificant distance, and take what every cell in my body screams for.
Instead, I jerk back hard enough to give us both whiplash.
Disappointment flashes across his features before he smooths it into understanding. That easy acceptance of myboundaries—even when I’m clearly struggling with them—is amazing and touching and infuriating and sad.
“I’ll get us another round.” His voice carries no reproach, just that same steady warmth.
