Page 34 of Chasing The Goal
She looked tired. Not just physically. That bone-deep kind of tired that came from carrying too much alone.
I pushed off the counter. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
Mallory looked startled, but didn’t argue. She stood slowly, and I hovered close, just in case her legs buckled. We made our way to her bedroom. She crawled under the covers with a sigh and pulled them up to her chin like armor.
“Sleep,” I said, standing by the door. “Don’t worry about anything tonight.”
“Jaymie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I gave a small smile. “Anytime, Mal.”
I closed the door behind me and made my way back to the elevator. It felt colder now. Like the warmth from her place clung to me, made the air outside feel sharper.
By the time I stepped into my apartment, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Mallory Quince. Tough as hell, wicked smart, and apparently carrying a guy’s baby who hadn’t even bothered to call her back.
What kind of man does that?
I dropped onto my couch, kicked my feet up, and stared at the ceiling. Two floors down, Mallory was sleeping. Alone. Sick. Scared.
I hated that.
And I hated even more how much I wanted to be the one she leaned on.
I turned my phone over in my hands a few times, then dropped it on the coffee table.
The truth was, I wasn’t sure what my place was in all this. I wasn’t her boyfriend. Hell, she hadn’t even wanted to go out with me. But I felt something—had felt something from the very first day she’d walked into Eliza Tucker’s office.
And tonight? It wasn’t just about attraction or flirtation. It was deeper. I wanted to show up for her. Wanted to be someone she didn’t have to doubt.
I ran a hand over my face and leaned my head back on the couch cushion.
Two floors. That’s all that separated us.
But in so many ways, it felt like a canyon.
Still, I meant what I said. If she called, I’d be there. No hesitation. No questions.
Even if I couldn’t fix everything, I could be present.
And sometimes, that was enough to start.
Mallory
The knock came ata criminal hour.
Okay, maybe not criminal-criminal. But the kind of hour where the sky was still that uncertain shade of gray, neither night nor morning, and the building was wrapped in that eerie hush before the day started breathing.
My pillow was warm against my cheek, and the sheets tangled around my legs like soft restraints I had no interest in escaping. I’d barely slept—tossing and turning, heart skipping back to that brutal moment in the arena bathroom. The toilet. The bile. The sting of tears I didn’t want anyone to see.
And him.
Jaymie Prescott’s hand rubbing soft circles between my shoulder blades.
That was the part I couldn’t get out of my head.
