Page 66 of Trade It All

She looks fine. Better than she did last night. But I still see it.

The slight tension in her shoulders. The way she moves just a little more carefully, like she didn’t get as much sleep as she should’ve.

I don’t think. I just reach for my phone.

She’s already heading toward the bus when I hit her name, lifting it to my ear, forcing my voice into something even, something that doesn’t give anything away before she answers.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless from the walk.

“I need a word with you in my office.” Professional. Controlled. Like this is about work and nothing else.

“Okay,” she says, and I can hear the shift in her toneimmediately, the way she matches it without question. “I’ll be right there.”

I lower the phone slowly, my gaze still fixed on her through the glass as she changes direction, turning away from the bus and heading toward the building instead.

And for the first time since I walked into this office—I stop pacing.

Because she’s coming to me.

I don’t hesitate when she walks into my office.

The second the door opens and she steps inside, my focus locks onto her like it’s been waiting for this moment since she hung up the phone. The world outside that door—the team, the trip, the schedule I should be thinking about—fades into something distant and unimportant.

“Close the door.”

My voice comes out lower than I intend, controlled, but there’s an edge to it that I don’t bother hiding. I’m already leaning back against my desk, my hands gripping the edge tighter than necessary, holding myself in place because if I move before that door shuts—

I won’t stop.

She doesn’t question it. Doesn’t hesitate. She turns, pushes the door closed behind her, and the second it clicks into place—

I’m on her.

My hands find her, pulling her into me with a force I don’t even try to soften, my arms wrapping around her like I’ve been holding myself back for too long and don’t have the patiencefor it anymore. She fits against me instantly, like she always does, like there’s no space between us that doesn’t feel wrong.

I bury my face in her hair before I can stop myself, breathing her in, grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed until right now.

“Too long,” I mutter against her, my voice rougher now, less controlled.

She laughs softly, the sound warm and light against my chest. “Dean… it’s been like eight hours.”

I tighten my hold on her slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make my point. “Eight hours too long.”

She shifts in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest, and I pull back just enough to look at her, my hand coming up automatically to brush a piece of blonde hair away from her face.

I love it like this. Down. Loose. I don’t get to see it often—not at the arena, not when she’s working, not when she’s keeping everything neat and tucked away like she’s supposed to. But on travel days—it falls around her shoulders like she forgot to control it. Like this version of her is just a little more real.

My thumb lingers for a second longer than it should, tracing lightly along her cheek before I force myself to focus.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there last night.” The words come quieter now, heavier—something in my chest I haven’t been able to shake since she told me about the dream. Her expression softens slightly, but I don’t let it go. “It guts me,” I admit, my jawtightening, “knowing you were hurting and I wasn’t there to fix it.”

To hold her. To stop it before it even got that far. I don’t give myself time to sit in it.

I lean in instead, closing the space between us, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that’s anything but careful. It’s not rushed, not frantic, but there’s something deeper in it—something that pulls from everything I held back last night, everything I didn’t get to do when she needed me.

She meets me just as hard. Just as certain. And when I start to pull back, just enough to breathe—she bites my lip.

A slow smile spreads across my face, something darker slipping in without permission. “Oh… you want to play before we leave?”