Page 107 of Between Love and War
What if people hate me?
What if they say he’s too good for me?
Because, objectively speaking… he kind of is.
He’s famous. He’s talented. He’s unfairly attractive even when he looks like he hasn’t slept in three days and his hair is doing gravity-defying things.
And now, he’s doing this brave, terrifying thing of unraveling himself in public. Being honest. Raw.Real.
Meanwhile, I’m over here thinking maybe I should’ve worn different shoes.
My fingers twist the edge of my sleeve as I stand there, still reeling from everything he said. From everything Heather said.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“Yeah,” I say, because I am the proud queen of Deflection Land. Long may I awkwardly reign.
“No you’re not,” he says, and of course he sees through it.
Chris and Vince say their goodbyes with a mix of handshakes, back pats, and something I think might’ve been a wink. Then it’s just the two of us.
“Katie,” he says, voice soft now. It’s the same tone he used when he kissed me in the blackout.
(Which, for the record, he hasn’t done again. So that means he’s either regretting it, or regretting me altogether. Or maybe he just forgot it happened? Is that worse? I don’t know. My brain is eating itself.)
“Don’t listen to Heather,” he says, stepping closer. “You don’t have to have that kind of life if you don’t want to. I won’t force you into that.”
“But she’s still right, isn’t she?” I say quickly. “People are still gonna wonder who I am, and they’re going to be so disappointed that I’m not some hot model or an A-list actress. Which, by the way, are probably better fits for you.”
I’m spiraling. I know I am. But stopping feels impossible.
“Not that I’m saying we fit,” I continue, hands flailing slightly. “I mean, we didn’t really talk about it. Us. This. Whatever this is. And also you haven’t kissed me again, which, I’m not saying you should, obviously. I mean, unless you want to, which is not—uh—not the point, but also notnotthe point—”
“Kate.”
“Also, a part of me thinks I can handle this, but that’s the same part of me who thought it was a good idea to put cinnamon in my cookies once, and they tasted terrible. So. You know. Maybe I’m not the best decision-maker.” I wave my arms again.“You’re allowed to change your mind, Michael. You can go back to your city life. And I’ll be fine. Like, aggressively fine. So fine I’ll even go to your games and pull out a giant foam finger. And start a fanclub.”
“Katherine,” he says.
I freeze. His voice is barely above a whisper, and when I look at him, he’s got that half-smile again. The one that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
And then the tears come. Because they always do.
I cry when I’m sad, when I’m overwhelmed, when I’m watching animated cat videos. I just… cry. I’m a person who cries.
“I’m sorry,” I sniff, blinking rapidly. “Ignore me. I’m fine.”
Michael sighs and takes a step closer. He cups my face in his gigantic hands and puts a strand of hair behind my ear.
“First of all, I already have a fanclub. It’s called Leenatics.” He chuckles. And it’s funny, but I can’t bring myself to laugh for some reason.
“Second of all, please don’t convince me not to fall for you,” he says gently. “I kind of already have.”
My breath catches. “But I’m… me.”
“Exactly,” he says. “You’re you. You love florals and giant teddy bears. And you talk to plants and name inanimate objects. You’re the only person who’s ever made me want to stay still long enough to care about anything outside basketball.”
I stare up at him, heart thudding, as the silence settles between us. “I didn’t kiss you again,” he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from my cheek, “because I was trying to be careful. With you.”
