Page 180 of These Secret Years

“Is that it?”

I suck in a breath as my eyes heat. Hurting him with all of this was inevitable, too, but it’s as grating to me as a bad harmonic. Ear-splitting and painful.

“You and I have been through so much,” he says with meaning. “It really sucks that you don’t even want to try. It makes me feel like—like I was never anything to you.”

My posture wilts. “I don’t know how you can say that.”

“I don’t know how you can walk away.”

“I don’t want to.” That comes out loud, and he flinches.

“Then what the fuck?” he cries. “If it’s not about me, and it’s not about keeping the secret, do you just want to be single again that badly?”

“I don’t want someone else.” That’s like the one thing I’ve realized over the last week. I can be okay if it’s just me and the music, but the idea of someone other than Knight by my side? Unthinkable.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I exhale harshly.

“Then let it be me.”

God—he’s so…so…him. He knows all my weak spots, can see the space opening up, and he’s gonna drive his play right through it.

“Why would you want it to be me?” I argue. “I might be stronger, but what if that’s only because I’ve had you propping me up? And you’re as scared of me as I am of not being enough for you.”

He shakes his head, a look on his face that’s as sincere as it is desperate. “I’ve only ever been scared of one thing—and that’s losing you. You’re more than enough for me. You’re fucking plenty. You’re everything if I’m being totally honest. And if I get scared of hurting you and losing you, then you wanna know what would really suck? If you broke up with me for it.”

I huff out another breath, trying really hard not to turn this into a crying jag. I haven’t let myself go there yet, and I certainly don’t want to start now. “I handled that badly.”

“Yeah—you fuckin’ did. And you’re not doing much better right now, either. Say what you want, Sullivan. Say what you really, really want. If there weren’t anything stopping you—if you were actually free—what would you want?”

The truth bursts loose. “I’d want you and me. I’d want us to outlast everything. I’d want us to have the best secret love story in the history of love stories, but⁠—”

“No. Shut up. No buts. That’s it. If that’s what you want, then that’s what we do. We commit, right fucking now to making this work no matter what. If I’m for you, and you’re for me, then we take that ball and run it all the way into the end zone. It’s not like we’ve got no one to help us. It’s not like football is a year-round game. And it’s also not like I don’t love you more every goddamn day.”

I get to my knees at that and sort of tumble my way into his arms.

I kiss him hard on the mouth, and he grips me just as hard against him. “There you are. You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m not saying yes.”

“You’re saying maybe, and I’ll fucking take it. You’re always maybe.”

I shake my head, staring into his eyes. “Not always. I was a sure thing once.”

“I need you to go to therapy.” He means it.

I sigh. He knows how much it pisses me off when he says that, but I don’t feel like arguing with him anymore. “I will.”

“Soon, Sullivan.”

“Fuck you.” I slide my annoying chest press hand up to his throat and wrap my fingers around his neck. The thump of his carotid arteries plays against my ring finger and thumb. A quick, steady beat that suddenly seems to fill the room. My vision clouds as I stare down at my hand, at the way he has his head slightly tipped back. I gasp at the rush of adrenaline I get.

“What if…?”

“Try it,” he whispers.

I force myself against him a little harder. He lies down and brings me with him, arms still around me, but looser now. His hands are on the exposed part of my waist, and the heat of his skin against mine starts all the usual fires inside me.