Page 113 of The Catch

"I know someone who could give her that," Logan says. "He can tell her beautiful things and work on forever with her."

His words poke at a sleeping warrior inside. He wakes up, instantly furious, filled with jealousy. I can't believe my friend is implying there's someone better than me for her. It may be true, but it's hurtful, and not the kind of thing I want to hear at the moment. I may not be able to write poetry for her, but to tell her pretty things all I have to do is be honest about my feelings. I may not be relationship material, but working on forever with her may be… may be exactly what I want…

Oh.

My heartbeat changes pace. It goes steady, deep, and strong. I gaze at Logan, then at my friends.

I want to be that person. I'm afraid I won't be, but I want to. Desperately.

"I mean you, in case it's not clear," Logan adds. "You can do those things."

I purse my lips. "What if I end up hurting her?"

"What if you're hurting her by not telling her?" Rafa asks. "What if you're missing out on something beautiful?"

"What if I'm being delusional?" I argue. "What if I lose her because she can't go back to being friends after knowing how I feel?"

"That's always the fear, isn't it?" Damián asks. "But you need to understand that not telling her is deceiving her, too."

Bear glances at Damián for a long time, but the kicker's gaze stays on me.

The narrative I held onto for so long dissolves into faraway memories. Whirlpools form in my veins, swirling into tiny currents in the middle of my chest. It's a dizzying sensation.

"Let her choose, too." Rafa gives me a small smile. "Tell her the truth of what you feel. What you want. See if she wants the same thing."

Dom's eyes are sad, revisiting things in his mind I'm not privy to. "It's the right thing to do."

The torrents around my heart turn into a riptide.

A new story unfolds. It takes shape right in front of my eyes, words re-arranging themselves into new prose.

"Fuck," I mutter.

The question I've avoided asking is not the right one. It's not a matter of whether I dare try for a relationship with her, despite the hurt it might bring her— us. It's whether I'll do the right thing and ask if she wants one, too.

It's not about pulling her into the minefield with me. It's simply asking if she wants to walk into it with me.

Not asking her means fulfilling a prophecy of my own making.

"Fuck," I repeat.

"The playboy catcher has been caught," Dom adds. "Stranger things have happened."

I smirk. He's using the wrong term on purpose to bug me. Whoever used it wrong the first time would have never guessed at her impact all these years later.

"Careful." I close my eyes, trying hard to pacify the swirling sensations behind my sternum. "You're a playboy catcher, too."

"Nah." He shrugs. "Lightning doesn't strike twice, and I'm fine with that."

In the haze of my discovery, I'm not sure what he means, but I know it's true for me. Ames is still the only one I've felt sparks for. In the past few weeks, they've turned into roaring flames.

I will not be a coward and let them die. At least not until I offer them to Ames in a jewel case made of crystal and welded with the gold of my hope.

If it gets smashed in the process, then I'll pick up the pieces from the floor.

And offer them to Ames once more.

They have called me a catch in the media. Some went as far as to call me a catcher— of women. If any of that is true, it's ironic I have to catch Ames now instead.