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I want to hold her hand out in public. I want to kiss her on the sidewalk while people stare at us. I want the entire stadium to know who I belong to.
I care about her so much, and her needs have started to go above mine.
I feed her. I make sure she’s getting enough sleep. When she’s tired and frustrated after trying on the soccer field again and again and again, I’m waiting for her at home with a warm bath and a glass of wine.
Home.
That’s what the apartment has become since she moved in.
It’s bright, with pictures on the wall and a full calendar on the fridge.
It’s her clothes in my dresser and my toothbrush next to hers in the bathroom.
It’s stupid coffee mugs she picked up at a general store in Virginia when she went hiking with Isabella last month, cackling when she handed me the cup with porcelain antlers that saysI moose you so much.
It’s the fuzzy pink blanket she keeps draped over the left side of the couch—the side she and June sit on and cuddle when we watchFrozenfor the sixteenth time that week.
It wouldn’t matter where we lived; in a different penthouse apartment on the other side of town. A house outside the city. A ranch in North Carolina with nothing but open fields and mountain views.
Wherever she is, that’s where I want to be.
Home isn’t a place.
It’s her.
And I’m done hiding it from the world.
“Yes,” I say. I lift my chin and keep my gaze on Shawn. “Yes, it’s her necklace, and yes, I’m sleeping with her.”
I don’t know what I expected to happen when I told him the truth, but it’s not his fingers tightening around my neck. There’s anger in his eyes. The admiration he used to have for me is replaced with loathing.
I should hate myself for breaking his trust. For going against his word and doing something I shouldn’t have, but I don’t.
I don’t give a damn.
“What’s your plan here, Dallas? Are you going to fuck her for a month then throw her out when you get bored?” he seethes. “Get rid of her after you’re done using her to watch your kid?”
I’ve never been a violent guy.
My parents taught me to use my words, not my fists, but I don’t care that Shawn is my coach. I don’t care that he could pummel my face in with one punch. Hearing him talk about Maven like that makes me want to kill him.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, and I try to lunge for him. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”
“Shawn?Dallas?What the hell is going on?” Maven asks.
I turn my head to the left and see her rushing down the hall. Her camera bounces around her neck, and she looks panicked.
“Go away,” Shawn says as she gets closer.
“Stop it. You’re going to hurt him,” she says, and there’s a tremor in her voice. Her hand folds over his bicep and she tugs on his arm. “Put him down.”
“He deserves to get hurt,” Shawn says, and he shrugs Maven off with one lift of his shoulder.
I take advantage of him being distracted and shove the center of his chest. “I’m not just fucking her.”
“You were supposed to stay away from her,” he yells, and my ears ring.
“I fucking love her,” I yell back, and the tunnel turns silent.
