Page 44 of The Boyfriend Zone

"Because I see you," I said finally. "Not just the hockey star or the guy with the perfect record or the son with the famous father. I see you, Sean. And I like what I see, even the messy, stubborn, infuriating parts."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "So many flattering adjectives."

"You forgot 'brave,'" I added. "And 'loyal.' And 'kind,' when you let yourself be."

"I've been fighting this from the start," Sean confessed. "Fighting my feelings for you, fighting anything that didn't fit with the life I thought I was supposed to want."

"And now?" I asked, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Now I know that life was killing me, literally breaking me apart," he said, glancing down at his injured shoulder. "I was so wrapped up in being perfect that I couldn't admit when something was wrong."

He took a shaky breath, his hand tightening around mine. "But then you barged into my life with your persistent questions and your genuine concern, and suddenly I had hope that maybe I didn't have to face everything alone."

"You don't," I assured him. "Whatever comes next—your dad, the recovery, all of it—you don't have to do it alone."

Sean's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and I realized with a start that this might be the first time in his adult life he'd allowed himself to be truly vulnerable with someone.

Carefully, mindful of his injured arm, I moved closer on the sofa, slipping my arm around his shoulders. Instead of stiffening or pulling away as I half-expected, Sean leaned into me, resting his head on my shoulder with a sigh that seemed to release years of tension.

We sat like that for a long moment, the quiet tick of a grandfather clock in the corner and the soft sound of our breathing the only noise in the room.

Finally, I lifted my free hand to his face, my thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped down his cheek. Sean's breath hitched, his gaze dropping to my lips before returning to my eyes, a question in them that I was more than ready to answer.

Slowly, giving him time to pull back if he wanted, I leaned in. Sean closed the remaining distance, and our lips met in a kiss that was achingly tender at first, a tentative exploration, before deepening into something more passionate, more desperate.

Sean kissed me like a man coming up for air after too long underwater, and I responded in kind, all the worry and longing of the past weeks pouring into the connection between us.

When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Sean winced as he shifted his position.

"Sorry," I said immediately. "I didn't mean to hurt—"

"Worth it," he interrupted with a small smile that made my heart flip. "Kissing you is pretty much all I can think about sometimes."

"Me too," I admitted. "Though I wish it hadn't taken a near-dislocation to get us here."

Sean laughed, a genuine sound that transformed his face, easing the lines of stress and pain. "Next time I'll try a less dramatic approach. Maybe just ask you out like a normal person."

"Next time?" I teased, though my heart was racing at the implication.

"Well, I was hoping there'd be lots of next times," Sean said, suddenly serious again. "If you want that too."

"I do," I said, the simple truth of it washing through me like a wave. "I really do."

We talked for another hour, the conversation flowing easily between serious topics—his fear of his father's reaction, my promise not to publish anything about his injury without his consent—and lighter moments, like his grandmother's apparent sixth sense for knowing when he needed her homemade chicken soup.

Eventually, I noticed Sean fighting to keep his eyes open, the pain medication clearly taking its toll.

"You should sleep," I said, though I was reluctant to leave him. "It's late, and you have the MRI tomorrow."

"Stay," Sean murmured drowsily. "Just till I fall asleep? Then you can go if you need to."

"Of course," I agreed, settling back against the cushions as Sean repositioned himself, careful of his injured arm.

Within minutes, his breathing had deepened, his body relaxing against mine as sleep claimed him. I sat there for a while, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression that had replaced the tension and pain of earlier.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, I maneuvered myself off the sofa. Sean stirred slightly but didn't wake as I gently adjusted the blanket around him. Acting on impulse, I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

"Sleep well," I whispered.

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