Page 123 of About to Fall

I pulled back to look at him. “About what?”

“None of your business.”

“You've been secretly texting my mother.”

“Geneviève and I have a very special bond.”

“Since when?”

“Since Christmas.”

“You're a menace.”

“Never pretended otherwise.”

We lay there for a moment, breathing each other in. His hand moved slowly up and down my back. My face was pressed into the warm hollow of his throat and I could feel his pulse—steady, grounding, real.

“I'm scared,” I said.

“Of what?”

“Of everything. Of not knowing who I am without skating. Of disappointing everyone. Of—” My voice cracked. “I've spent my whole life planning every minute. Every practice, every competition, every meal. And now I've just blown up the plan entirely and I don't know what comes next.”

“That's okay.”

“It doesn't feel okay.”

“I know.” He pulled back enough to look at me. His eyes were soft in the lamplight. “But not every minute has to be planned, Nicky. Some of them you're just allowed to live.”

The tears came then. Not the panicked, hyperventilating kind—something quieter. Relief, maybe. Or grief. For the version of myself I was letting go of. For the golden prince who had tried so hard to be everything everyone wanted and had nearly died from the effort.

Adrian held me through it. Kissed the tears off my cheeks, one by one, slow and deliberate, like each one mattered. Kissed my forehead. My eyelids. The bridge of my nose. The corner of my mouth.

“I know everything feels fucked right now,” he murmured against my skin. “But you’re not in this alone, you know that right?”

I kissed him. Soft at first, tasting like salt and exhaustion, and then deeper—the kind of kiss that wasn't asking for anything except stay. Be here. Don't let go.

He kissed me with a tenderness so acute it made my chest ache.

“I love you,” I said against his mouth. “I don't know who I am anymore and I don't know what I'm doing and everything is terrifying but I love you and right now that's the only thing I'm sure of.”

“I love you too, Nicky,” he said. “So much it scares me.”

He was quiet for a moment. His hand found mine and he laced our fingers together and held on tight.

“When you told me about the pills…” he said slowly, “I didn't say this at the time because I didn't want to make it about me. But it scared the shit out of me, Nicky. The idea that you were in that much pain and no one caught it. That if your mom hadn't found you—” His voice broke, just slightly. “I can’t lose you. Not to skating, not to pressure, not to the voice in your head that tells you you’re not enough. I need you here. Alive. Even if you never lace up a skate again.” “

I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

I pulled back just enough to find his face in the dark. His eyes were wet. Adrian, who deflected everything, who hid behind sarcasm and filthy jokes and swagger—crying. For me.

“Hey.” I took his face in my hands. Held it steady. “Look at me.”

He did.

“I'm here,” I said. “I'm not going anywhere. That night—I wasn't trying to leave. I was just so fucking exhausted. I know that doesn't make it better but I didn’t want to die.” I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone, catching the tears. “I'm in therapy. I'm on medication. I have people who support me. I have you. I'm not that person on the bathroom floor anymore.”

“Nicky—”