Page 118 of Gamebreaker

"Destroyed." She laughed, and it cracked in the middle. "Overwhelmed. Like I might never recover from that."

"Was any of it too much?"

She looked at me for a long moment. Her eyes filled again, and this time, it wasn't from the orgasm.

"No," she whispered. "It was exactly enough."

I brushed the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs, and she leaned her face into my palm and closed her eyes. I'd never felt that before, that way she trusted me so completely. Her face in my hand. The way she rested her whole weight there, like she knew I wouldn't drop it.

Behind her, the window was changing color.

I glanced at it. Purple bleeding into pink.

"Sun's coming up," I said.

"I know." She followed my gaze, and I watched reality settle over her, watched it take her apart in a completely different way than I had. "It's morning."

"Yeah."

"Night's over."

We lay there for a minute, both of us pretending we couldn't see the light creeping across the floor.

Finally, Harper sat up, pulling the sheet with her. The spell broke in real time as the sun hit her face. "I should go."

"You could stay. We could talk."

"About what?" Her voice was gentle and sad. "Cam, last night was perfect. All of it. But morning doesn't change the facts."

"What if we kept it private for now?" The words tumbled out, desperate and unplanned, but I didn't want to take them back.

Harper turned to look at me, and her expression was so understanding it hurt worse than anger would have. "Private or secret?"

"There's a difference."

"I know there is. And I know you think there's a way to do this where we keep it between us without it being a lie. But Cam..." She reached out and cupped my face. "That's still hiding. No matter how you frame it."

"Just for a little while. Until I'm ready."

"When will you be ready?" She asked it gently, like she already knew the answer. "A month? A year? After you retire?"

I didn't have an answer.

I had an answer for every defense in the league. I could read a trap before it closed. Thirty minutes ago, I'd known exactly what her body needed before she did, had told her to breathe, and she'd breathed, had told her to come, and she'd come. I'd held her whole world in one hand.

And I couldn't think of a single word that would make her stay.

"I'm not angry," she said quietly. "I need you to know that. I'm not mad at you for being closeted. I understand why you are. The endorsements, the privacy, the control over your own story. It all makes sense."

"Then why..."

"Because understanding why you're closeted doesn't mean I can be with you while you are." She started looking for her clothes, moving slowly, and I could tell she was hurting in a way that had nothing to do with the physical marks I’d left on her. I'd gathered her clothes in the night, the jersey and jeans and bra from the entryway, and folded them at the end of the bed. She saw the neat pile and stopped, and her mouth trembled, and she didn't say a word about it. "I did that, Cam. For twenty-six years, I hid who I was. I dated people I didn't want. I almost married a shitty man because it was easier than figuring out who I was. I can't go back to hiding. Not even for you."

"This is different."

"It's not, though. Not for me." She picked up her bra and put it on, and there was a bruise on her shoulder blade I hadn't counted. "If we're together, even privately, I'd have to pretend we're not. I'd have to watch you show up to events alone. Watch you deflect questions about your personal life. Watch you keep that carefully blank Instagram."

"I wouldn't ask you to hide, Harper. I'd never do that."