Page 47 of Trade It All

I don’t move. I don’t want to risk it. Because she’s tucked into me like she belongs there, her head resting right over my heart, her arm draped across my stomach, her leg barely brushing mine under the sheets. Every part of her fits without effort, like this position was made for us and we just hadn’t found it yet.

I’ve never done this before. Not like this. Not taking the middle of the day and letting it slow down into nothing. Not staying in bed with someone without an agenda, without a plan, without needing to be somewhere else or do something more important.

This should feel like wasted time. It doesn’t. It feels like the first time I’ve actually stopped moving in a long time.

My hand moves slowly along her back, the same path over and over, not because I’m thinking about it—because I’m not—butbecause I don’t want to stop touching her. I don’t want to break whatever this is, whatever calm settled into me the second she stopped fighting it.

I normally would be itching to do something. Knowing I have a never ending to do list always has my brain going. But, I did get some work in earlier.

I watched tape and broke down the next team we’re facing. They’re fast, aggressive, not afraid to push the pace early and force mistakes. It’s going to be a fight. Good. I don’t mind a fight. But I don’t like losing. Not at home. Not in front of our crowd. I’ll push the guys tomorrow. Harder than I usually do. They’ll hate me for it in the moment, but they’ll show up ready when it matters. That part of me doesn’t turn off. It never does. But right now—it’s quieter. Because every time my focus tries to drift back to it, I feel her shift slightly against me, her breath brushing my chest, her body reacting even in her sleep like she knows I’m here.

I tighten my arm around her without thinking, pulling her just a little closer. She responds immediately, a soft sound leaving her as she nuzzles into me, her hand curling slightly against my skin like she’s anchoring herself without waking up. Something in my chest tightens at that. Not sharp. Not painful. Just…full. I glance down at her, taking in the way her face has completely softened, the tension that was there earlier gone now, replaced with something peaceful in a way I didn’t know she could look.

I can’t believe I finally have her here. Not just in my bed. In my arms. Like this. Her head resting against my chest does something to me I don’t have a name for. It settles me in a way that feels too similar to the way that stupid hair tie has been grounding me for months, like having a piece of her close was enough to keep something in me steady.

This—this is more than that. This is the real thing. And I don’t think I could go back to not having it now that I know what it feels like. My hand moves up, brushing lightly through her hair, careful not to wake her, just needing to feel it, to reassure myself that she’s still here and not something I’m going to wake up from.

I let my head fall back against the headboard, my eyes drifting closed for a second, not fully asleep, just… resting in it.

Hoping I don’t have to give this up. Because I won’t. Not without a fight.

Chapter 21

Maddie

Idon’twakeupall at once. It’s slow. Like I surface instead of snap awake, my body coming back piece by piece instead of all at once bracing for something. My eyes stay closed for a second longer than they usually do, my mind quiet in a way that feels… off.

Not wrong. Just unfamiliar. Because I don’t nap. Not really. Not like this. Not the kind where I actually fall into it, where time passes without me noticing, where I wake up and don’t immediately feel like I need to move, to check something, to make sure everything is still okay.

But right now—everything is still.

My body feels loose, warm, like it settled into something safe without asking permission first, and I stay there for a moment, just… feeling it.

Then I hear him.

His voice carries faintly from the living room, low and steady, the tone familiar enough that my brain catches onto it before anything else does. He’s talking to someone, the words not clear enough to make out, but there’s no other voice answering him.

Just him.

I open my eyes slowly, blinking against the light, letting the room come into focus instead of forcing it. The bed is empty beside me, but it doesn’t feel cold. It still feels like him in a way I can’t explain, like something lingered even after he got up.

That thought sits a second too long. I push it away gently and sit up, the movement easy, unhurried, like my body isn’t rushing me forward for once. My clothes are folded neatly on the chair. Not tossed. Not dropped. Folded.

That does something small and unexpected in my chest, something I don’t sit with long enough to name before I stand and pull them on, my fingers moving slower than usual, like I’m still halfway caught between asleep and awake.

His voice carries again, steady, controlled, and I follow it out into the living room, stopping just short of fully stepping in.

He’s standing by the windows, phone pressed to his ear, looking out over the city like it belongs to him in a way I don’t think he even realizes. The light catches him just right, sharp lines softened by the quiet of the moment, and for a second—I letmyself imagine it.

What it would feel like to wake up like this every day. To step out into this space and not feel like I’m visiting someone else’s life. To have him be part of mine in a way that doesn’t feel temporary. The thought settles deeper than it should. And then reality follows right behind it. This isn’t normal. This isn’t something I get to assume.

I take a small step back, already turning, not wanting to interrupt him, not wanting to make this moment something bigger than it already feels.

But he turns. Like he knew I was there. And when his eyes land on me—he smiles. It hits me the same way it always does. Easy. Unfiltered. Like he doesn’t think twice about letting it show, like it just exists there for me to see. It makes something in my chest soften before I can stop it.

He says something quick into the phone, wrapping up the call without hesitation. “I’ll call you back.”

And then he’s moving toward me. Closing the space like he didn’t even consider not doing it.