Page 40 of Trade It All

“Because I wanted you with me.” He says the words slow. Steady. Like he’s not testing them, not second-guessing them. “Even if I couldn’t have you.”

Something in my chest stutters. Not pain. Not exactly. Just… something that doesn’t know where to go. Because I don’t understand that. I don’t understand what he means, or how long he’s felt it, or what changed between then and now that makes him say it like this, like it’s been sitting there waiting for the right moment to come out. My fingers are still curled around the band. Still holding onto something small that suddenly feels like it means more than it should. I look at him, really look this time, trying to find something in his expression that explains it, something that makes it make sense.

But all I find—is that same certainty. And it leaves my head spinning in a way I can’t quite catch up to.

“I don’t understand.” The words finally come out, quieter than everything building behind them, like they’ve been sitting in my chest too long and don’t know how to leave any other way.

He looks down at me, and whatever I expect to see there—hesitation, distance, the version of him I’ve grown used to—it isn’t there. It’s softer. Careful in a way that makes my chest pull tight before I can stop it.

“Come here,” he says, his voice lower now, steady in a way that doesn’t push. “Let’s sit. We’ll talk.”

He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t force the moment forward. He just moves, and I follow him back to the couch without thinking about it too much, like my body already decided before my head could argue. The TV is still playing, something light and ridiculous filling the background, but it feels far away now, like it belongs to a different version of this room.

I sit. My hands settle in my lap because I don’t know what else to do with them— because if I let them move, I might reach for something I don’t understand yet. He sits close. Not touching. But close enough that I feel him there, steady and solid beside me—like he’s giving me space without stepping away completely.

For a second, neither of us speaks. And then—“I’ve always known you were different.” My breath catches before I can stop it. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t soften it. “I didn’t know what it was at first,” he continues, his voice even, unhurried. “Just thatevery time you walked into a room, I noticed. Not because you were trying to be seen… but because you weren’t.” My fingers curl slightly in my lap. “Everything about you felt real in a way most people don’t.” Something in my chest tightens around that, unfamiliar and too warm all at once. “I’d catch myself watching you without meaning to,” he admits, and there’s a faint edge of frustration in it, like it used to bother him more than it does now. “The way you take care of everyone before you think about yourself. The way you stay after games when you don’t have to. The way you watch everything like you’re making sure it doesn’t fall apart.”

I swallow hard. Because he saw that. All of it.

“And no matter how many times I told myself it didn’t mean anything…” his voice dips, quieter now, “it always came back to you.” My heart stumbles over itself. “Every time.” There’s no hesitation in him. No second-guessing. Just… truth. “I felt different around you,” he continues. “More aware. Like I needed to be careful with something I didn’t even understand yet.” He exhales slowly, his jaw tightening for just a second before he continues.

“But you worked for me—” he stops, the words clearly hitting wrong as soon as they’re out. “You don’t work for me. We work together.” There’s something firm in the correction, like it matters more than anything else he’s said so far. “I didn’t want anyone looking at you and thinking you were only there becauseof me,” he says, his voice steady again, but heavier now. “Didn’t want anyone questioning what you’ve built for yourself or what you bring to that team.” His eyes lock on mine again, sharper this time. “You’re good at what you do. Really good.”

Something shifts in me at that. Not loud. Not overwhelming. But enough that I feel it.

“Do you really think that?” The question slips out before I can stop it, softer than I meant it to be.

He doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. He leans closer, his hand lifting to my face again— careful, his fingers settling along my jaw without touching the bruise, like he already knows exactly where not to press. And when he answers—there’s nothing uncertain in him. “You’re fucking amazing, Maddie.”

Something in me… snaps. Not loudly. Not in a way I can track or understand. Just—gone. The distance. The hesitation. The careful way I’ve been holding myself together since last night, since the kitchen, since the moment he said my name like it meant something different now. It all disappears in a single breath. And before I can stop it—before I can question it—I’m moving.

My hands find him first, gripping his shirt, pulling him toward me like I’ve been holding that need back for too long and don’t know how to do it gently anymore. My lips crash into his, not soft, not careful, just… there, like I need to feel something real and he’s the only thing that makes sense.

For a second—he doesn’t move. And that second stretches.

Too long.

My stomach drops hard, panic flashing through me faster than I can catch it, because what if I read it wrong? What if everything he just said wasn’t what I thought it was? What if this is where he pulls away and I’m left standing here with too much of myself already out in the open?

I start to pull back. Just barely. Already bracing for it—And then he moves. Not away.

Into me.

His hand comes up fast, firm at the back of my neck, holding me there before I can get too far, before I can take it back. The kiss changes instantly, deepening in a way that steals whatever breath I had left, his control sliding into it without hesitation now that he’s decided.

A quiet sound slips out of me before I can stop it, my fingers tightening in his shirt as he shifts, pulling me with him, guiding me without breaking the kiss until I’m in his lap, the movement smooth and deliberate. His hands settle at my waist, firm, grounding, holding me in place like he’s not letting me disappear again now that I’m here.

And the way he kisses me—It’s nothing like I expected. Not rushed. Not careless.

There’s heat in it, yes, something sharp and consuming that makes my head spin, but underneath that there’s something else.Something controlled. Intentional. Like he’s paying attention to every reaction I give him, like he’s learning me in real time and adjusting without breaking the rhythm.

His mouth moves against mine, slower for a second, like he’s giving me space to breathe, and then he nips lightly at my bottom lip, the sensation sending a sharp, unexpected spark through me that makes my entire body react before I can think about it.

My hands slide up without meaning to, finding his shoulders, then his neck, holding on like I need the anchor, like I need something solid to keep me from floating away in whatever this is. Because it feels different. Everything about it feels different. Maybe it’s the way he’s holding me. Maybe it’s the way he didn’t hesitate once he decided.

Or maybe—maybe it’s because I’ve wanted this for longer than I let myself admit.

And now that I have it—I don’t know how to let go.