Page 193 of The Wrong Play

Jace gave me a look, all dark amusement and pure, unshakable arrogance. “Nowthatwould’ve been the wrong play, babycakes. And with you, I don’t do it wrong. I play to win.”

EPILOGUE

RILEY

The first thing I did after Jace left for practice was send an appointment to our shared calendar on his phone. A notification set to go off the second practice ended.

With this simple message attached:

Track me.

I could already picture the look on his face when he saw it—the smirk, the little huff of amusement. And, of course, he’d listen. Because tracking me had become his favorite pastime.

So, when he finished practice and checked his phone, I knew exactly what he’d done. He’d opened his little app that I’d discovered, zeroed in on my location, and frowned at the little dot blinking at an address he didn’t recognize.

Jace: What are you up to, my lady?

“Riley, we’re ready for you,” the front desk called. I nodded at him and stood from my seat, ignoring the rapid fire texts Jace was sending as I followed him to the back and slid onto the procedure table.

The assistant came in as I was studying the artwork on the walls, and I winced as she swiped antiseptic across my skin. I was nervous, but it was the good kind of nervous. The kind that made my stomach flutter and my heart race, because this? Thiswas permanent. Unlike my parents. Who hadn’t even picked up after the news about Callum came out.

But very much like Jace. Because he was forever.

I had finished telling her why I was there, and she had started working, when the door up front suddenly swung open. The wind swept in, along with six-foot-four inches of territorial, sweat-drenched football player. He bent over, his breaths coming out in gasps, holding up one finger before he straightened up and looked around for me. Ever the drama queen, as usual.

His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he shook his head in confusion as he stalked over to where I was laying down.

“What are you doing?” Jace’s voice was part exasperation, part disbelief when he got to me. His cleats were still on, and his practice bag was slung over his shoulder.

He must have run here.

“Babycakes, you—” He frowned as he glanced around before his gaze finally landed on the stenciled design on my ribs, and his expression did something I wasn’t expecting.

It softened.

His name sat just beneath my ribs, exactly where my lungs expanded when I breathed.

Jace inhaled sharply. “Riley.”

His voice sounded different—hoarse, almost reverent.

I turned my head, meeting his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment settle over us like gravity itself had thickened. “You did it first,” I said softly.

His brows drew together slightly, like he was still struggling to process it.

“The first time I saw my name on you, I thought it was crazy. I thought maybe you were just being your usual reckless, obsessive self.” I let out a small, shaky laugh. “But then I realizedsomething. I never once doubted it. I never questioned whether you meant it, whether you’d regret it.”

Jace’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t want to interrupt.

I inhaled deeply, feeling his name on my ribs, like it was becoming a part of me. “Every time you take a breath, you lift me up. So now, every time I breathe, I’ll lift you up, too.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes shiny. I tapped my ribs, right over his name. My voice dropped, my words carrying the weight of a truth I’d only just come to understand.

“Let’s breathe for each other, Jace Thatcher.”

His eyes darkened, and he exhaled like I’d just knocked the wind out of him. His bag hit the floor with a dull thud before his fingers brushed the edge of my jaw, tilting my face toward his. “You’re really mine, aren’t you?” His voice was rough, almost awed.

I smiled, small and certain. “I always will be. Now and forever.”

---