Page 102 of Fractured Faceoff

“What?” she prompted, impatience creeping into her tone.

“I don’t… I can’t find the words because nothing comes close to describe who you are,” I finally admitted, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Except that I know you’re way too good for me. I don’t deserve you.”

The honesty hung in the air like a confession, raw and unguarded.

“And you're right,” I continued, heart racing as if I were about to jump into a freezing lake. “But I'm glad everything happened the way it did. I'm glad Ava treated me like shit and Brody cheated on you. Because the truth is, I’m glad I came here,” I added, stepping closer until our fingers brushed against each other tentatively. “Because if none of this happened, I wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now.”

I took her hand in mine—a simple act that sentwarmth flooding through me.

“Isla,” I said firmly, “I love you in a way I never thought possible.” The sincerity in my voice echoed against the walls of her office. “I want to be yours. Let me be yours.”

Isla stood in front of me, her silence stretching out like an eternity. My heart pounded against my ribcage, each beat echoing my desperation. I could almost hear the clock ticking down, counting the seconds until she either pulled me into her world or shattered everything I hoped for. The thought of rejection twisted in my gut, a cold grip that threatened to squeeze the breath from my lungs.

“I didn’t realize I could render The Southern Serpent at a loss for words,” she finally said, breaking the stillness.

A slow smirk crawled onto my face, despite the tension hanging between us. “Sugar, there are plenty of ways you’ve left me speechless.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she sucked in a breath. “Jared… I can’t be second to someone. I won’t. I need you to understand that.”

I cupped her face with both hands, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palms. “I do,” I replied earnestly, searching her gaze for any hint of doubt. “We can get married right now, and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll show you, Isla. You were always meant to be mine. I love you.”

Her breath caught in her throat for a moment before she whispered it back to me: “I love you too.”

In that instant, all the pent-up emotion surged through me like an electric current igniting every nerve ending in my body. Without thinking, I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips against hers.

The kiss consumed me—soft yet demanding—as if every worry melted away in that singular moment. My hands tangled in her hair as she leaned into me, her body responding to mine instinctively. She tasted sweet andintoxicating; every sensation was amplified by the weight of our confessions hanging heavy in the air.

I lost track of time as our lips moved together—fueled by passion and unyielding need—and all I could think was how long I'd waited for this connection.

"Come on, sugar," he murmured. "There's a lot of time to make up for. And I think I owe you breakfast."

"And here I thought you were going to marry me," she said.

I leaned forward and kissed her neck. She sucked in a breath. "You only have to say the word, and you'll be Mrs. Crowder." I pulled away. "Hmm. I like the sound of that."

Isla caught my eye. "Word."

Epilogue

The last place I expected to find myself the night before the home opener was The Pour House. Dim lighting hung low over the worn wooden bar, casting shadows that danced across faces like flickering ghosts. The air reeked of spilled beer and old cigarettes, mingling with laughter that cut through the noise of a jukebox blaring classic rock.

Asher leaned against the bar, his usual roguish grin plastered across his face, eyes sparkling with mischief. He waved me over, gesturing like he owned the place. “Nikolai! You’re just in time for some fun!”

I shrugged, my expression stone-cold as I stepped into the thrumming chaos. Crowds squeezed into booths and lined the bar, their voices rising and falling like a tide. A game played on several screens overhead; cheers erupted as a goal was scored—my body tensed instinctively at the sound.

“I don’t understand why you want to be here,” I said, my voice barely audible over the din.

“C’mon! It’s not every day before a big game!” Asher replied, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Lighten up.”

I held back an eye roll. Fun wasn’t something I associated with nights like this. I preferred solitude or the quiet comfort of home, not drowning in noise and clamor with strangers who raised their drinks too high for my taste. Vodka had its moments—ice-cold shots after victories—but that was reserved for celebration.

“Do you even know how to Uber?” I asked, crossing my arms. Asher had always been reckless; his charm had gotten him out of tighter spots than this one.

“Who needs an app when I've got you?” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “Let’s make this night memorable.”

Memorable? The last thing I wanted was a memory carved in blurred lines and drunken regrets.

“Your definition of memorable is different from mine,” I muttered under my breath as he waved down the bartender for another round.

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