“That’s it,fuck,” he growled, pinning me to him. “I’ve got you.”
And I believed him. Believed that whatever I fell into next, he’d be right there, letting me come apart without ever letting me feel lost.
The tension ebbed slowly, like a tide pulling back rather than breaking, Connor easing with it until the world widened again and my lungs opened. He stayed close; even when I moved off him, he moved me next to him, one arm draped warm and solid across my waist as he pressed a kiss into my hair.
His thumb traced lazy patterns along my side, my body still reeling. “You good?”
I nodded against him, listening to his heartbeat even out beneath my ear. “Yeah,” I said after a second. “Really good.”
A quiet smile lived in his voice when he spoke again. “How are you feeling about next week?”
The question was gentle, and I appreciated it. I shifted slightly, propping myself up just enough to look at him.
“Ready,” I said honestly. “Nervous. But ready.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, brushing his thumb under my chin before letting me settle back in. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“I have conditioning at twelve.”
He hummed, the vibration rumbling against me too. “So that means I have time to fuck you before lunch, but it’ll have to be a quickie in the shower because I want to take you somewhere.”
A giggle worked its way up my throat. “Where are you taking me?”
He stared deep into my eyes, brushing my hair behind my ears, tracking the movement. “Will you come to the Knights stadium with me?”
My heart pitter pattered in my chest. “I’d love to.”
He pulled me in closer, and my mind became busy with questions. “Have you thought of a name for your program yet?”
He smiled faintly, thumb still tracing slow circles against my skin. “I had ideas,” he said. “But now I’m second-guessing all of them.”
“Try me,” I said as I propped myself up on my elbow.
He hesitated, then exhaled. “The Pathway Project,” he said first. “Because it’s not just about access. It’s about what comes after. Structure. Direction.”
I nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“Yeah,” he said, thoughtful. “Then there’s Future Pitch.”
My chest warmed at that. “I like that one,” I admitted. “It feels hopeful.”
He smiled faintly, but didn’t look away. “And then there’s The Legacy Line,” he added more quietly. “Not because of where I come from. Because of what it could give them.”
I held his gaze and watched the way something vulnerable flickered there when he said legacy. But this wasn’t about the one stitched into the back of his jersey. Not the one reporters liked to bring up whenever Ireland was mentioned. It was something more for him.
The dim light cut across his face, catching in his lashes, casting shadows. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. But somehow, his thoughts were written all over his face. I knew he wasn’t thinking about headlines or investors right now. He was thinking about girls who didn’t get picked. Doors that had never been opened for them. And it made me feel things I didn’t think I could ever feel. This thing between us was so real and I constantly found myself breathing deeper, slower. My mind didn’t race, it settled and it was because of him.
“The Legacy Line,” I repeated softly. His eyes found mine. “You can honor your legacy and allow girls to feed into their own future legacies.”
He swallowed, and I tracked the movement of his throat. “Yeah,” he croaked. He brushed his nose lightly against mine. “Say it again.”
“The Legacy Line.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, more sure this time. “Yeah,” he breathed, nodding to himself. “That feels right.”
He looked at me like I’d just handed him something priceless, and everything in me paused.
“Fair warning, sunshine,” he said, eyes intently locked on mine. “I’m in deep with you.”
