Page 129 of Winning Brynn

“It’s okay.” His other hand comes up to rest against my face, so big and warm and safe that I can’t help but lean into it. “It happened, and we can’t help that. But you saved her. You were so brave to do that. I don’t know if I would have been able to do the same in that situation. I will never stop saying thank you, because you are the reason I still have my daughter.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He draws our faces together, so close that our breaths whisper across each other’s lips. “Just kiss me.”

I do.

Not just because he told me to, but because it’s impossible to be this close to him and not kiss him.

My lips part against his, welcoming his tongue into my mouth in a slow dance of twists and tangles. It isn’t a lust-fueled kiss, but a love-fueled one. It’s appreciation, forgiveness, and acceptance. It’s everything we both need in this moment just to keep us grounded to the earth. To not let our racing thoughts or the panic of this evening pull us apart, but to help it bring us together.

Because that’s where we thrive. It’s where we’re safe, where we belong. Together. Sharing silk-soft kisses with our arms wrapped around each other like we’re scared of ever letting go.

I’m so lost to it that I don’t hear the heavy, swaggering steps down the corridor or even the click of the door opening. I’m only alerted to someone’s presence when Leo rips his mouth away from mine and turns to stare wide-eyed at the person in the doorway.

“What the fuck is this?”

My brother glares down at us with the force of a natural disaster. He’s holding a teddy bear in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other, both crashing to the floor in an explosion of splintering glass and amber liquid.

Salem bolts awake with a scream. Leo moves to stand, but I’m still on his lap and end up falling to the floor. He opens his mouth to apologize—to me or Alex, I can’t tell—and I slip on the spilled beer as I’m trying to get up, smacking my face against the cold linoleum.

“Alex,” Leo stammers, but my brother is already gone.

“Stephen Hawking and the bros” group chat

Alex has left the group chat

Chapter Forty-one

Leo

I feel like shit.

Alex hasn’t spoken to me in three days. Three days of unreturned calls, unopened doors, and messages left on read. Even Brynn hasn’t been able to get through to him.

As cliché as it is to say, the silence has been fucking deafening.

He didn’t glance at me once during the six-hour flight to Philadelphia, and he’d already moved his shit to the farthest side of the locker room by the time I arrived for today’s game.

Out of all the ways I could’ve predicted he’d react, I hadn’t expected the silent treatment. And it’s killing me—slowly, painfully, like I’m bleeding out from a thousand papercuts.

What if Brynn is wrong?

What if he never accepts our relationship, and I lose him forever?

It was a risk I’d been aware of since before I ever touched her, which was awful in theory, but a million times worse in practice.

We’ve never fought before, not really. The worst it’s ever gotten between us was when he called me out for being an asshole to Brynn, and even then, it was resolved by the end of the conversation. He’s been my rock since I first moved to the States, the one to make me feel comfortable in a country I barely knew, the person who made me laugh when I couldn’t bear to break a smile, and the man who stood unflinchingly beside me when Salem’s arrival turned my entire world upside down.

He’s the very best friend I’ve ever known. And there’s a real, agonizing possibility that I’ve fucked it up forever.

“So, he found out, huh?” Roman asks over his shoulder as we run warm-up drills on the damp turf of Subaru Park Stadium. The sky is overcast, filtering jaundiced light through the tumbling gray clouds, the scent of earth and rain still lingering from the storm a few nights ago.

It’ll rain again today, no doubt. If for no other reason than because the universe seems to enjoy matching the weather to my mood.

Thirty or so yards across from us, Alex is trading volleys with Theo, his expression frozen into grim lines. I tear my gaze away and try to focus on weaving a ball through a line of orange plastic cones. “Yep.”

“One can assume from the frostiness that he didn’t take it well?” The smugness in my friend’s voice makes me want to punch him, as does the weird accent he’s putting on for no obvious reason.

---