Page 96 of The Assist
Murphy claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Family comes first, mate. Always.”
I nod again; my throat’s too tight for words right now.
I hit the showers faster than usual, the scalding water doing nothing to wash away the heavy ache in my chest. I miss her. Like physically miss her. It’s a weird and alien feeling for me. Apart from my mum, I’ve never missed being around anyone in my life before.
And not just the easy stuff; her mouth on mine, her hands skating over my skin, her body curling into me in the dark. It’s the small things. The way she rolls her eyes when I tease her. The way she tugs on the sleeves of her hoodie when she's thinking hard. The way her laugh punches right through all the dark shit in my head and leaves the world brighter.
I swipe my phone off the bench as soon as I’m dressed, my thumb hovering over her contact.
No new messages.
Not that I blame her. She’s got enough to deal with. I check the time, I’m not sure how long the appointment was supposed to last today, but I’m pretty sure they should be back by now.
So, I fire off a text anyway. I figure if she’s busy, she won’t answer until later. But at least she’ll know I’m thinking about her.
Dylan: Miss you, beautiful. Hope you’re holding up. Text me if you need anything. Even if it’s just someone to tell you how fucking incredible you are.
I stare at the screen like a loser for way too long before tucking it away and heading out of the stadium. Gotta keep moving. Gotta stay sharp. But it feels hollow without her.
By the time I get home, I’m wired and restless, my body buzzing with the kind of energy that has nowhere good to go. Usually, I’d hit the punching bag. Or grab a beer with Murphy and bitch about the world until the edge wears off.
Tonight, I just pace. I make it halfway through heating up some crap frozen dinner before giving up and tossing it in the bin.
My phone stays glued to my hand. Every time it buzzes, my heart leaps like an idiot. Every time it’s not her, it sinks lower.
I end up sprawled on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through old photos on my phone. The ones of us at the rink. That night she dragged me into the supply closet after practice because my ankle was bothering me, and we ended up tangled together, breathless and laughing against the door.
The one at my place, when she wore my hoodie, made me coffee and kissed me like she was scared to fall but couldn’t stop herself anyway.
I close my eyes, remembering the way she tastes. The way her body fits against mine like it was made to be there. My hand drifts lower without thinking, palming myself through my sweats.
Fuck.
Everything about her undoes me. The smart mouth. The stubborn pride.
The fierce heart she tries so damn hard to hide.
And shewantsme. I saw it in her eyes the last night we were together. Even if she can’t say the words yet.
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through gritted teeth, trying to handle the hunger twisting low and hot in my gut.
It’s not about getting her under me again. It’s abouthavingher. All of her. The thought of anyone else touching her, or looking at her, has my hands curling into fists.
But it’s not jealousy. It’s fear. Because I know I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t control, something that could wreck me if she doesn’t fall with me.
I’d risk it anyway. For Mia, I’d risk anything.
Later, after I’ve burned off some of the crazy liftingweights in my garage gym, I crash into bed without bothering to shower again. I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wishing like hell she was here beside me. Wishing I could hold her while she fights through whatever’s coming.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I snatch it up so fast I nearly drop it.
Mia: Sorry for the late reply. It’s been a rough day. I miss you too. So much.
A rough breath escapes me, part relief, part pain. I type back, fingers flying over the keys.
Dylan: I’m here whenever you need me. You’re not alone, baby. Not ever.
There’s a long pause. For a second, I think maybe she’s fallen asleep. But then she replies.
