Page 158 of Gamebreaker

The sound she made then was quiet and completely undone, and it cracked open a place in my chest that I hadn't known was still closed.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

"Talk to me," I said. "Please. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking..." She stopped, and I heard her reach for the joke first, the way she always did before she let the real feeling out. "I'm thinking you picked the worst possible night to do this, because I am not a crier, as I believe I've mentioned, and I've now cried approximately five hundred times in three weeks, and I'm starting to worry about dehydration."

A laugh came out of me before I could stop it. Surprised and real, the first one in days.

"That's not funny," she said, but I could hear her smiling through it.

"It's a little funny."

"It's a little funny," she agreed, on a shaky exhale. Then her voice dropped, and the humor stepped aside. "I'm also thinking about the first time I really watched you play. I sat there and thought, she's magnificent, and I was so annoyed at myself for thinking it." She paused. "And you've been magnificent this whole time, Cam. Not just on the court. I need you to know I always saw that. Even when I was angry. Even when I was leaving."

I pressed my hand over my eyes. My throat was too full to answer.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," I said finally. "I'm sorry you went through any of the last three weeks because of my fear. I'm sorry I asked you to be my secret, and I'm sorry I let you walk out that door when you deserved someone who..."

"Stop." Her voice was gentle, and completely sure. "You weren't doing anything to me, Cam. You were protecting yourself. I can't be angry at you for that."

"You were in the crossfire."

"Yeah. I was." Her voice was quiet. "But I chose to be there. Nobody made me fall for an emotionally unavailable basketball player. That was entirely my own doing, and I've had time to make peace with that particular life choice."

"Emotionally unavailable," I repeated.

"Present tense debatable. Past tense, I'm afraid, irrefutable."

"Fair."

"I usually am." Her voice went even quieter. "Cam. Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

"The last part." I heard her take a breath. "Did you mean... I need to ask you directly, because I need to hear you say it."

"Yes," I said. No hesitation. "It's you. It was always you. From the second you looked up from your phone in that tunnel and told me exactly what you thought of me." My voice cracked straight through, and I let it. "It's been you, Harper. Every day since. I love you."

Another long silence enveloped the moment.

Then she was crying again. Openly this time. Not holding it back, not managing it, not wrapping it in a joke. Just crying, on the other end of the line, in the dark, and the sound of it went past every wall I'd ever built and landed in the center of me.

I stood in my kitchen and listened to her and didn't say anything, because there was nothing to say that would be better than letting her.

"Okay," she said finally, through it. "Okay."

"Harper..."

"I can't do this on the phone." Her voice was unsteady but certain. "This is a conversation we have to finish in person. And I can't drive right now. The hills, in this state, I'd end up in a ditch, and Mia would never forgive either of us."

"No," I said. "She wouldn't."

"So, will you..." She stopped. Started again, quieter. "Will you come over? Please?"

I was already off the stool, keys in my hand.

"I know your building," I said. "I've sat outside it in my car, holding your hand, trying not to kiss you. Remember that night? After game night at Isla's?"