Then he ripped himself away like touching me burned.
My stomach twisted viciously. The whiplash between his hunger and his retreat carved me hollow. My mind spun in sickening circles, chasing answers that didn't exist.
He wants me.
The evidence branded itself into my bones. The tremor in his hands. The ragged edge to his breathing. The way he'd looked at me before he kissed me—raw, unguarded, terrified.
He regrets it.
He said the words himself. Called us a mistake. Walked away twice now like staying near me was unbearable.
He can't look at me.
Days of avoidance. Turning corners when he saw me ahead. Sending other coaches instead of coming himself. Treating me like a ghost he refused to acknowledge.
He kissed me again.
Tonight. Minutes ago. Pinned me to this very wall and kissed me like he'd die if he didn't.
He left me again.
The pattern screamed louder than any words. Want. Panic. Flee. Repeat until I shattered completely.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the spinning. Trying to force logic through the emotional wreckage. Nothing made sense. Nothing aligned. He wanted me and hated himself for it. Kissed me and ran. Looked at me like I was everything and treated me like I was nothing.
And I hated—hated—that my heart kept choosing him, anyway. Hated that even now, crumpled on this floor with tears streaking my face, some pathetic part of me hoped he'd come back. Hoped he'd stop running. Hoped I'd be worth staying for.
But hope was a luxury I couldn't afford anymore.
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. Rough. Angry. Done crying over a man who couldn't decide if I was worth the risk.
Deep breath. In. Out. The air burned my lungs, but I forced it anyway. Again. Slower this time. Steadier.
My legs shook when I pushed myself up, but I stood anyway. Straightened my shirt. Smoothed my hair with trembling fingers. The motion felt mechanical, but it gave me something to focus on besides the ache carving through my chest.
I wasn't doing this anymore.
"I'm not playing this game," I whispered to the empty hallway. The words tasted bitter. True.
If Rhys wanted to avoid me, that was his problem. His choice. His cowardice. Not mine.
I wasn't quitting my job. Not for him. Not for anyone. I'd clawed my way into this position, survived my first chaotic weeks, earned my place here. He didn't get to take that from me just because he couldn't handle whatever this was between us.
I wasn't hiding. Wasn't shrinking into corners or changing my routes or tiptoeing around his schedule. This arena was as much mine as his now. He'd have to deal with seeing me.
And I wasn't waiting. Not anymore. Not for him to decide I mattered. Not for him to stop running. Not for him to wake up one morning and realize he wanted me enough to actually stay.
Ben had asked me to dinner. Kind, normal, uncomplicated Ben who smiled at me without flinching. Who talked to me without looking like touching me terrified him.
Tomorrow. I'd tell Ben yes tomorrow.
The decision settled over me with cold finality as I grabbed my sweater from the floor—the one Rhys had been holding like it burned him—and headed for the exit.
The night air hit me like a slap. Sharp. Biting. I welcomed it. Let the cold sink through my jacket and into my bones until the numbness spread everywhere the tears had been.
My breath formed clouds in the darkness as I walked toward the bus stop. Each step felt deliberate. Purposeful. Like I was walking away from more than just the arena.
I wasn't going to break over Rhys Ackerman. Wasn't going to let his fear dictate my choices anymore. He'd made his decision every time he turned away, every time he fled after touching me like I was everything.
