Page 80 of Worth the Shot

“No. NO.” I shake my head, a tear already starting to fall when he grabs my hand like I’m falling off a cliff.

“Laney, no. It’s not me.” He rushes to say it, like I’m about to combust. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I inhale sharply, a mix of relief and nausea consuming me. “Then what?” I bite back. “Because you’re talking like someone died, Brennan.”

He blows out a breath. “Kerrigan’s out indefinitely, I guess he needs surgery. Management panicked. They wanted a goalie who can help Khilo carry us through playoffs. His contract was almost ending anyway and he wasn’t planning to resign, he’s been playing like garbage in LA recently but…they know how he plays in our system and⁠—”

The rest of his sentence dissolves into nothing. Because the only name that fits in the silence is a name I’ve spent eight months avoiding like radiation.

Matty.

The rain pounding on the windshield sounds like static. My pulse echoes in my ears. My entire nervous system misfires.

Matthew Morris.

Back here.

In Maine.

In their locker room.

In the same crease I once stood behind, believing in him with every beat of my heart. Who I haven’t heard from, not even once, since he packed up and left this city, this team, and me behind like we were yesterday’s paper.

“Oh. Wasn’t expecting that.” I let out a hollow, cynical laugh, because it’s the only thing I know how to do in a moment this fucking surreal. And the worst part? It’s not funny at all. I don’t want Brennan to see me falter. Not even for a second, because this doesn’t change anything for me. And then, like he can read my mind, he asks the question that’s clearly been eating at him.

“Does this…change things for you?”

I hate the hurt in his voice. I turn toward him fully, even though it’s awkward in the cramped space of the truck. One hand slides to the back of his neck, the other finds his, and I lace our fingers together. I pull him closer until my forehead rests against his. He exhales like he’s bracing for impact. For a split second, another version of this flashes through my mind. Another truck. Another set of hands. Another man that once felt like everything. I brace for the old hurt out of habit, but it never comes. All I feel is Brennan.

I close the distance and kiss him. There’s no hesitation in it, no ghosts, no looking back—just him. Just now. I pour everything I have into it, everything that’s mine, everything that’s felt like finally moving forward.

When I pull back, he’s still searching my face, like he needs to hear me say it out loud.

So I do.

I cup his face in both hands and give him the most genuine smile I can manage.

“Absolutely not.”

Chapter Thirty

Brennan

I believe her. With every fiber of my being, I trust her when she tells me it doesn’t change a thing, and I don’t question her for a second. But that doesn’t stop my thoughts from creeping in underneath it all, quieter than I want them to be but impossible to ignore.

I should be thankful he left. A part of me, selfish as it is, knows that if he hadn’t, I never would’ve gotten here with Delaney. But I can’t pretend he didn’t break something in her, something I’ve spent months carefully stitching back together with my own hands.

Me. Not him.

“Hey,” she whispers, sliding her hand over mine. She gives a gentle squeeze, and I melt into it. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, Bren.”

My head falls back against the seat for a second, eyes closing, and all I see is her.

In my bed, laughing into my chest like she finally remembered what joy feels like. Whispering, I want you. Kissing me like she was choosing me. Choosing us. I swore right then I’d never go a day without earning that sound out of her—that soft, breathy laugh that loosened every single thing that’s ever been tight inside me. I’d work for it for the rest of my life if she let me. But him?

He didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t cherish it.