Page 113 of Pretty When He Bleeds

After the game, I wait outside the locker room after walking my mom to her car, shifting on my feet, my fingers twitching to touch him. I just need one second with him, just one moment to say—

The door swings open and Roman steps out, damp hair curling at his temples, his jersey swapped for a team hoodie and his bag slung over one shoulder. His eyes flick up, searching, before he sees me.

And fuck, the smile that spreads across his face is everything.

“So,” he drawls, stopping in front of me. “You enjoy the show?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. “You were alright.”

He scoffs. “Alright?”

I shrug. “I mean, I’ve seen better.”

His eyes narrow, and before I can react, he grabs the front of my hoodie and yanks me forward, crashing his lips against mine. The kiss is rough, full of leftover adrenaline and victory, and for a second, I forget we’re in a fucking public hallway.

Someone whistles.

“Get a fucking room,” Thorn yells as he walks past.

Roman flips him off without breaking the kiss. When he finally pulls back, he’s grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

Cocky bastard.

I just shake my head. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

He grins wider. “Yeah, but I’m your menace.”

And fuck.

Yeah, he is.

Epilogue

ROMAN

Theonlysoundinthe apartment is our breathing, still uneven from before. Damon’s sprawled out beneath me, his hand dragging slow, lazy circles along my spine while I lay half on top of him, my cheek pressed against his chest.

The rise and fall of it is steady and grounding, and I try to focus on that—on the warmth of his skin, the way his fingers move against me like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. I should just stay here. Stay in this moment, in this feeling.

But I can’t.

My eyes flick to the nightstand, where the envelope sits. The one with my name written in Caleb’s handwriting. The one I’ve been too much of a fucking coward to open.

Until now.

I inhale, exhale, then push up slightly, shifting until I’m sitting up on Damon’s hips. His fingers tighten around my waist, like he knows something’s changed, like he can feel the weight pressing down on me before I even say anything.

“You sure?” Damon asks as if he can read my mind, his voice low and still rough from exhaustion and sex, but clear.

I nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes hold mine for a second, and then he sits up, keeping one arm wrapped around my waist as he reaches for the envelope. He doesn’t hand it to me right away, just runs his thumb over the edge before finally placing it in my hand.

I don’t move.

I just look at it.

Damon exhales sharply, his free hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing over the hinge of my jaw. “I’m right here.”

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