Chapter 9
791 Words
The hallway outside the arena still throbbed with leftover noise — shouts, camera clicks, the echo of Jace’s name bouncing off concrete walls. But the second the doors shut behind us, silence swallowed everything.
Jace didn’t let go of my hand.
His grip stayed firm, warm, steady — not like he was dragging me out of chaos, but like he was pulling me toward something dangerous and deliberate.
My heartbeat hadn’t settled since he’d yanked me into him in front of the entire crowd. That moment kept replaying in flashes — his arm locked around my waist, his chest against my back, the way the whole gym had gone breathless.
And the look in his eyes.
Not fake.
Not protective.
Something else. Something I didn’t know how to name.
We walked down the hallway slowly, his fingers threaded with mine like a promise he had no right to make. The farther we went from the noise, the louder my thoughts became.
“You okay?” he asked without looking at me.
“You pulled me in front of hundreds of people,” I said quietly.
“Yeah.” His jaw worked. “I know.”
He wasn’t apologizing. He wasn’t even pretending to regret it.
His thumb brushed the back of my hand — steady, grounding — like he was anchoring himself… or me.
“They were getting too close,” he added. “You were uncomfortable.”
“That doesn’t mean you needed to—”
“I needed to,” he cut in. “I wasn’t letting that swarm touch you.”
The confession hit harder than it should.
We turned into an emptier corridor, fluorescent lights buzzing above us. Far behind us, his teammates were calling his name, but he walked like none of it mattered.
“What happened out there…” I started.
“Was real,” he finished.
I froze for half a beat, and he slowed with me, turning toward me.
His breathing was still uneven from the game. Sweat clung to his hair. His jersey clung to his body. But his eyes — focused, dark, unguarded — locked on me like I was the only thing he could see.
“Jace,” I whispered. “The contract—”
“Screw the contract.”
His voice dropped, rough and too honest. “You looked terrified, and I reacted. Instinct. That’s all.”
Instinct.
Right.
Then why did his gaze keep drifting to my mouth?
Why did he look like he was fighting himself?
He stepped closer — just a fraction — but enough for the air between us to change. My pulse jumped. My breath caught. His hand squeezed mine lightly, as if asking a question without words.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
His fingers lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My entire body went still, every nerve awake.
“Tonight wasn’t part of the plan,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “But I’m not letting anyone tear you apart again. Not fans. Not players. Not reporters. No one.”
My throat tightened.
“This isn’t your responsibility,” I murmured.
“Maybe not.”
His eyes softened. “But it’s mine anyway.”
The hallway dimmed as a door swung shut behind us, and for a second it felt like the world narrowed to just us — his breath, my heartbeat, the space between us slowly shrinking.
Then a loud shout broke the moment.
“EZAN! Coach wants you!”
Jace tensed, turning his head toward the voice. Xavier jogged down the hall, slowing when he reached us. His eyes flicked to our hands — still locked — but he didn’t comment.
“Media room,” he said. “Now.”
Jace gave a single nod, then looked back at me.
Really looked.
“I’ll be quick,” he said softly. “Wait for me?”
I shouldn’t have agreed. It wasn’t in the contract. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t smart.
But the words slipped out anyway.
“Okay.”
His shoulders eased — just barely — like that one word did something to him.
He let go of my hand slowly, fingers trailing mine until the last possible second. Then he stepped back, giving me one last unreadable look before walking toward Xavier.
I watched him disappear around the corner, my heartbeat refusing to slow. The hallway felt colder without him there.
I told myself this was still just an arrangement.
But my fingers curled slightly, like they were already missing his and my pulse didn’t believe me.
I stood there longer than I meant to, trying to remember when pretending had started to feel this real.
- Writer
