Page 175 of With the Assist

Boyfriend.

He says it casually, but it feels anything but.

The cameras are still going. Reporters are shouting questions I can’t make out, and security is looking wildly unprepared for whatever this has turned into. I barely register any of it.

“What does this mean?” I ask, quietly.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Let me be your boyfriend for real, Wes. I already love you. I have for a while now. I don’t want to pretend not to anymore.”

My chest tightens, emotion rushing up so fast I get dizzy with it. “You’re sure? I know I hurt you and…”

“You’ve spent so long proving you could do everything alone. But I don’t want you to do everything alone. I want you to do it all with me.”

The noise swells around us, the flashes relentless, but it doesn’t feel invasive. It feels like background. Like static.

I smile, wide and unguarded. “Kiss me.”

He looks startled for half a second, then reaches up with his good arm, cupping the side of my face. I grab the front of his jersey carefully, mindful of the sling, and pull him down to me. The second our lips meet, everything feels right in the world, like the last puzzle piece sliding into place.

It’s the kind of kiss that says ‘yes’ and ‘finally’ and ‘I’m here.’

His lips curve against mine as I push the kiss deeper, our tongues teasing each other.

We’re not pretending this isn’t real. We’re not pretending that we don’t love each other. Finally, we’re not pretending at all.

Eventually, I pull back, forehead resting against his, laughing softly. “I can’t believe we’re going to be splashed all over the tabloids.”

He laughs. “It comes with the territory.”

“Well, worth it.” I squeeze his hand, grounding myself in the solid truth of him standing here, choosing me in front of everyone. “I love you.”

Then he kisses me again.

For the first time in a long time, there’s no split or choice tearing me in two.

It’s just us, and it feels exactly right.

Wesley’s Epilogue

Five Months Later

We don’t have time for this.

I’m very aware of that. The clock on the nightstand and the morning light creeping through the blinds are stark reminders that the world's still moving even when I want it to slow the hell down.

Nathan doesn’t care.

He hooks a finger in the waistband of my sleep shorts and tugs me back against his chest before I can fully sit up.

“We’ve got ten minutes,” he murmurs against my neck, voice still rough with sleep. “We can be quick.”

I laugh, breathless, the sound dissolving the second his mouth follows the line of my shoulder. “You said that last time.”

“And I was only slightly wrong.” He grins into my skin.

I should get up and be the responsible one. I should remind him he’s meeting his agent in less than an hour.

Instead, I cave.