Page 133 of The Hearts We Fumble
Instead, he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look, I—” He hesitates, jaw clenching, then forces himself to continue. “I was pissed at you. I let myself believe I hated you. For a long time.”
“I know,” I say, because I do.
“I thought you had everything. The name. The talent. The opportunities. While I—” He shakes his head. “I thought I was the one left behind.”
His words sting, but not in the way I expect.
Because I get it.
I spent my whole life proving I was worthy while he stood in the shadows, believing it should’ve been his.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I say, my voice firm. “I wasn’t handed some free pass, Luca. I spent my whole life trying to meet the expectations of a man who was never going to see me as enough.”
Luca clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t argue.
He studies me for a long moment, then exhales sharply. “Yeah. I see that now.”
It’s not an apology. But it’s something.
A beat passes before he steps forward. “For what it’s worth, I never hated you. I just hated what I thought you had.”
I nod. “And I never wanted to be your enemy.”
He watches me for a moment, then extends his hand. “Guess we screwed that up, huh?”
I stare at it, my chest tight, memories crashing over me. The night we stood toe-to-toe, fists clenched, anger crackling between us like neither of us could afford to lose.
It felt like a battle we had to win. Like everything was on the line.
Maybe it was.
I exhale slowly, then take his hand.
And just like that, the war between us is over.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Wyatt
News of the divorce broke the morning after the game against the Kings.
Zane was already beating himself up over how he played, but the headlines didn’t help. The media ran with the story, spinning theories that the drama at home had gotten in his head, throwing him off during one of the biggest games of his life. If he saw the articles, he never said a word, but I knew him well enough to see the way it ate at him.
After that, the last few months of the semester flew by. Maybe it was just in my head, but it felt like I blinked, and suddenly, April was here.
This month is packed—the NFL draft being the most significant. But first comes my birthday, immediately followed by the anniversary of my dad’s death.
This is the first year since he passed that the date snuck up on me. I owe a lot of that to Zane. Being with him keeps me from spiraling into my own thoughts.
“You look beautiful.”
Zane’s voice is deep and steady, a warm weight against my back. I meet his gaze in the mirror and smile.
The early spring heat in South Carolina lingers like a midsummer day, the kind that makes my dress cling to my skin and leaves the air thick with sunshine.
Zane steps closer, his hands slipping around my waist as he turns me in his arms, pressing me against his chest. His lips graze my bare shoulder, slow and unhurried, trailing a path toward my ear, where he nips at my earlobe.
“You ready to go?”
