Page 76 of Chasing Hope

My heart takes a leaping gallop.

For months, I made myself small and quiet around Carter after constantly being told I was too loud, my voice an octave too high, that I talked just to hear the sound of my own voice. Now here’s Matteo, in agony, and all he wants is to hear me speak.

The back of my eyes begin to burn, tears pooling. With just that one statement, he’s soothed an ache in my heart that he wasn’t even aware was present.

He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

With a renewed spark, I confess, “I applied for the academy today.”

A small smile dances along his lips before he lets it spring free, and it’s so mesmerizing my own mirror it.

“I’m happy to hear. When will you hear back?”

Shrugging, I say, “Sometime this week.”

“They’re fools if they don’t take you.”

“Yeah?” I ask, a blush creeping along my cheeks.

Gaze locked on mine, Matteo says, “Absolute fools.”

The intensity sears me, like a jolt of lightning. The hairs along my arms and legs stand up, my heart slows then catapults forward like I’m running a marathon, and his eyes—my god, his eyes do something to me.

I have to look away, and that’s when I spot a small tattoo along his left rib, one I’ve not seen before. To be fair, I’ve not been this close to Matteo shirtless since we were teenagers, when he and Caleb would run around shirtless all the time.

My body freezes, because surely that’s not…

The tattoo is a cage, its doors opening to let a bird fly.

With my stomach tumbling, I force myself to break away. Rising on wobbly legs, I clear my throat. “I’ll make dinner for us.”

“I already ordered takeout.”

Freezing halfway to the kitchen, I slowly turn, my eyes narrowing. “Are you that afraid of my cooking?” Matteo’s sheepish grin has my eyes widening. “Valenti! I’m not that bad anymore!”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Would you believe me if I said I was craving pizza?”

“No,” I huff, placing my hands on my hips.

He snorts out a laugh before wincing. “Fair enough.”

Needing to do something with my hands so I don’t do something foolish instead like going back over to the couch and running my fingers through his short curly black hair, I quickly make myself useful and pick up his sports bag. But it doesn’t budge.

“Jesus Christ, what do you put in this thing? All your gold?”

Matteo barks out a short quick laugh as I opt to drag the bag across the floor instead of carrying it. “My gold?”

I heave, trying to move it to the spot where he usually puts it on the other side of the living room. “All your money. I don’t know, it was a saying.”

“I’ve never heard that saying before.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should get out and be more sociable.”

Matteo’s no doubt about to snap a retort when I trip on something behind me, falling flat on my ass and taking the bag with me, scattering half its contents.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“You all right?”