Page 37 of Cherry Picking
“I knew about Matty,” he says softly. “Riley doesn’t know it, but Matty had an awful poker face. He was younger than me even, and he couldn’t hide how head over heels he was for Riley.I don’t think anyone else picked up on it, though. A lot of our team is pretty oblivious.”
“You saying you took one look at us and knew we’d hook up?”
He shakes his head. “I took one look at you and knew you’d fall in love. For months, every single time the two of you interacted, I was waiting for you to see it. Then one day you came into the locker room … and the way you looked at each other was with a connection I wish I could find.”
If you didn’t know him, you’d wonder why Hawks was chosen as captain. He isn’t the best player on the team or the oldest. He doesn’t usually give sage advice. There’s something about him that manages to justgetother people. I can’t explain it. Hell, I’d call it a little eerie.
“Some advice,” he says, leaning his hip on the machine in front of the ball return. “If you want to be here for him, get your head in the game. Stop being distracted. I’m not sure if I can talk Coach off the ledge again.”
The fact that he went to bat for me at all has my throat closing up. Coming to this team and forming the bond I have with Riley is wild enough, but the friendships I’ve made are just as ingrained in me. This is all fresh territory.
I take his advice to heart, because I want this.
I want to be here.
With my team.
With Riley.
I’m not ready to give up on either yet.
The doctor lets me wait in Riley’s room for them to wheel him in from the recovery ward. His sedation is worn off, but he’s still out of it as the nurses check his vitals and chit-chat amongstthemselves. They dim the lights and shut the door as they go, and I can’t help staring at my sleeping boyfriend.
His copper hair is overgrown with no traces of the blond he covers it up with at the start of the season, and his beard is due for a trim. Thick gauze is wrapped tightly around his left leg, and though his eyes occasionally open, there’s no awareness or recognition yet.
The doc said it might be a little bit before he’s coherent and talking, but I just want to be here with him.
Watch his slow, rhythmic breathing. Brush the hair out of his eyes and stroke his cheek without fear of someone walking in, of him being afraid someone will catch us.
God, I wish he wasn’t afraid.
I wish I knew how to take it away.
“You’ve made this place a home for me,” I say into the quiet. “I haven’t had one of those in a long time.”
I grip his hand in mine and cup his neck with the other.
“It kills me to think that could go away. That one wrong move could crumble us. That’s why I wanted to be open to the team. I need a shred of hope that this is something bigger.”
It doesn’t matter that he can’t hear me. That this is a one-sided conversation. I need this weight off my chest so I don’t crush him with it. He’s got it hard enough right now.
“Do you see a future with me?” I ask as I drop my forehead to his, rubbing the warmth of his cheek with my thumb. “Because I fucking see one with you. God, Riley.”
I’m not the kind of person who cries when they get emotional, but here I am, spilling tears faster than I can blink them away.
“This thing between us feels like a lightning storm of chemistry. I know you feel it. I want it.” I brush my lips over his cheek, his nose, the crease between his brows. “I want you, Riley. I need you to want this, too.”
When his face tips up to meet mine, my heart kicks up a thunderous beat, but the soft press of his lips and the groan that follows is disoriented.
“Griff …” He says my name on a sluggish slur, a warm, heavy breath ghosting my face. “Love you.”
Love you.
We’ve never said those words before. I’ve come close, and I swear he has too, but it’s one of those things that feels like it would tip us over the edge into a place where we can no longer pretend.
I know he’s still half asleep and out of it, but I kiss him anyway. He grunts, mouth slack, and when I go to pull away, his hand squeezes mine.
“Griff?” he mumbles, purpose behind the word instead of rambling high on painkillers. “Hey, baby.”
