Page 90 of Face Off
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, she pads over, curling herself into the space beside me, tucking her knees under her. Her hair brushes my shoulder, and the scent of her shampoo, citrus and something sweeter I can never quite place, fills the air.
“Lucky?” she repeats eventually, tilting her head so her gaze catches mine.
“Yeah,” I murmur, fingers tracing idle patterns on her thigh. “Lucky you’re still here. Lucky you haven’t bolted.”
Her breath hitches, so soft I almost miss it. “You really think I’d run?”
I swallow hard, thumb brushing the seam of her jeans. “Sometimes. Not because of you. Because… well, look at the mess. My hip’s a question mark. Murphy’s circling like a shark. Coach is breathing down my neck. And you’ve got every reason to decide it’s not worth it.”
Her expression shifts to one of hurt, stubborn, and fierce all at once. She reaches up, cupping my jaw in her palm, forcing me to look her dead in the eye. “Ollie. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words slam into me with a force that makes my chest ache. I lean into her touch before I can think better of it, closing my eyes as the warmth of her hand grounds me.
When I open them again, the weight in the room has shifted. It’s softer, slower. She’s watching me like I’m something worth holding onto. And maybe, just maybe, I can believe it.
I brush a kiss against her temple, then her cheek, lingering until she turns her face and her lips catch mine. The kiss is unhurried, a slow burn that sinks beneath my skin. No desperation, no frantic edge like the showers, like the hallway. Just her, steady and sure, pulling me closer without saying a word.
Her fingers slip under the hem of my T-shirt, grazing my stomach. The touch is light but enough to make me shiver. I breathe into her mouth, catching her lower lip between mine before pulling back just enough to rest my forehead against hers.
“You sure?” I ask, voice rough. “We don’t have to,”
She presses another kiss to silence me. “I’m sure.”
We move together like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Clothes shed with quiet laughter, soft kisses peppered across skin, her hands careful around my hip but never making me feelfragile. She makes me feel whole when everything else has been tearing me apart.
Later, when we’re tangled under the blanket, her head on my chest and my arm curved around her back, the noise in my skull is quiet for the first time in weeks.
“Does it hurt?” she murmurs against my skin.
“Only when I’m stupid,” I admit.
She lifts her head, meeting my eyes. “Then stop being stupid.”
A laugh breaks out of me, surprising even myself. “Bossy.”
“Practical,” she counters. But her smile is soft, not sharp.
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I’m scared, you know.”
“I know.”
“Not just about the hip. About us. About everything.”
Her fingers trace lazy circles on my chest, soothing. “Then we’ll be scared together. But I’m not letting you push me away because of it.”
I close my eyes, holding her tighter, letting the certainty in her voice settle where my own doubts live. Maybe she’s stronger than both me and Murphy put together.
The next morning, I wake before she does. Sunlight filters through the blinds, striping across her bare shoulder where it peeks out from the duvet. She’s curled toward me, lashes brushing her cheeks, lips parted just slightly. Peaceful. Untouchable.
For a moment, I let myself just watch. Commit this to memory. Because I know the day won’t stay this soft. It never does.
By the time she stirs, I’ve slipped into the kitchen, balancing on the uninjured leg while I fuss with the cafetière. She pads in, hair a wild halo, drowning in one of my T-shirts.
“You’re up early,” she yawns.
“Couldn’t sleep.” I pour the coffee, sliding a mug across the counter toward her. “Figured I’d be domestic for once.”
She accepts it, wrapping both hands around the cup. “Careful. If you keep this up, I might start expecting it.”
