Page 40 of Faking the Rules

"I have," Richard says simply. "He refuses to see reason. Which is why I'm speaking to you instead."

The implication is clear: Richard believes I have more perspective, more rationality, than his lovestruck son. That I'll make the "right" decision where Declan cannot.

"What exactly do you want from me?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Distance," he says bluntly. "Just until after the championship. Give him space to focus, to perform at his best, to secure the future he deserves."

"And after?"

Richard's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "After, you're both adults. What happens then is none of my concern."

The car has circled back to campus, pulling to a stop where he first picked me up. I reach for the door handle, then pause, turning back to face him.

"I'll consider what you've said," I tell him, choosing my words with precision. "But you should know—I care about Declan. Deeply. And any decision I make will be based on what I believe is best for him, not what's convenient for you or your vision of his future."

Something flickers across Richard's expression—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant respect. "Fair enough," he concedes. "But Miss Gardner? Consider carefully. Some opportunities comeonly once in a lifetime. Some decisions, once made, cannot be unmade."

I exit the car without responding, the night air a shock after the climate-controlled interior. As Richard drives away, his warning echoes in my mind, feeding the doubt that has never fully subsided despite the intensity of what's developed between Declan and me.

What if Richard is right? What if my presence in Declan's life is a distraction he can't afford right now? What if the best thing I can do for him is step back, give him space to focus on the culmination of years of dedication and sacrifice?

These questions plague me as I walk back to my dorm, as I shower and change, as I stare at my phone debating whether to text Declan or leave him to the rest he desperately needs before tomorrow's final practice.

In the end, I send a simple message:Thinking of you. Sleep well. You've got this.

His response comes almost immediately:Miss you. Can I see you tomorrow after practice?

The naked need in his message makes my chest ache. Whatever Richard believes, whatever doubts plague me, one truth remains undeniable: Declan wants me in his life. Has chosen me, continues to choose me, even in the midst of the most important week of his athletic career.

Of course,I reply.My place or yours?

Yours. Less chance of teammates interrupting.

I smile at the practical consideration.I'll be here. Now sleep, superstar.

Yes ma'am. Sweet dreams, Ellie.

I stare at his message long after my screen has dimmed, torn between the growing certainty of my feelings for him and the nagging fear that Richard might be right—that what servesDeclan best right now is freedom from emotional complication, space to focus solely on the challenge ahead.

Sleep eludes me, my mind replaying Richard's warnings, analyzing Declan's behavior over the past week for signs of distraction or divided attention. By dawn, I've reached no conclusions, only a bone-deep certainty that whatever decision I make must be based on what's best for Declan, not what's safest for my heart.

Friday dawns clear and cold, the sky a brilliant blue that seems to mock my emotional turmoil. I go through the motions of my morning routine, attend classes with minimal attention, and return to my room to wait for Declan's arrival after his final practice before tomorrow's championship.

When the knock comes, my heart leaps despite my determination to maintain emotional equilibrium. I open the door to find him leaning against the frame, exhaustion evident in the shadows under his eyes but a smile breaking across his face at the sight of me.

"Hey," he says softly, stepping into my space and pulling me into an embrace that feels like coming home. "God, I've missed you."

I melt into him despite myself, despite the doubts swirling in my mind, despite Richard's warnings still echoing in my ears. "It's been one day," I point out, voice muffled against his chest.

"Too long," he murmurs into my hair. "Way too long."

He pulls back enough to capture my lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, his hands tangling in my hair as mine fist in his shirt. The connection is electric, immediate, my body responding to his with a readiness that would be embarrassing if it weren't so clearly mutual.

"Wait," I gasp, breaking away reluctantly. "We should talk."

Concern flickers across his features. "Everything okay?"

I guide him to my bed, sitting beside him with enough distance to think clearly. "Your father came to see me last night."

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