Page 39 of When the Sky Falls

And now he’s all quiet thunder and smoldering wreckage.

I stand, slow and uncertain, as he approaches.

A couple of the other players have already peeled off toward the tunnel. Some wives and girlfriends are gathering near the door. There’s talk of a group dinner, a place downtown, someone joking about tequila therapy.

“King, you coming?” Cruz calls, one arm around Isabelle.

Kingston barely flicks his eyes toward him. “Not tonight.”

“C’mon, man. We need it after that dumpster fire.”

“I’ve got plans,” Kingston says, and his voice is low, final.

The door clicks shut behind them.

And then it’s just us. The air between us dense, humming, sharp-edged. He walks to me in silence, every step measured, every inch of his body pulsing with defeat and restraint.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head once. “You don’t have to be.”

He’s still wearing his game face. Only now it’s stitched tighter. Tired. Heavy. His eyes skim my face like he’s memorizing it. Like he needs to remember something soft in a night full of bruises.

“Dinner?” he asks, and it’s not casual. Not light. It’s bare.

I nod, voice caught in my throat. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

And we do.

He doesn’t say a word on the way to the car. Just unlocks it, lets me in, drives like the city isn’t real around us. I don’t ask questions. I know he’s not ready. But I glance sideways every few blocks, just to check if he’s still here, still breathing beneath that steel-plated grief.

We end up at a low-lit place near the penthouse. Nothing fancy. Brick walls, dark wood, the smell of garlic and red wine thick in the air.

He pulls my chair out before sitting across from me.

And when the waitress arrives and he orders—two waters, a bottle of Barolo, some kind of steak pasta with black truffle oil—I watch him fold the menu shut like it’s the last thing anchoring him to earth.

He leans back in the chair and exhales slowly. “I hate losing.”

“I know.”

His jaw twitches. “I hate losing like that. By three. After everything we gave. We were right there.”

“You played your heart out.”

He scoffs. “And still lost.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it.”

“I want it to be more than worth it.” He drags a hand over his jaw. “I want it to mean something.”

“It did.” I reach across the table, brushing my fingers over his. “It always does.”

His eyes meet mine, heat flickering behind them now. “I didn’t want to go out with them tonight.”

“I figured.”

He watches me for a long moment. Then: “I didn’t want anyone but you.”