I wet my lips.

I prepare my heart for rejection, but just as I gain the courage to close the distance between us, Maddox says, “Will you stay here with me? In my bed? Hold my hand?”

And like a candle being blown out, that fire inside me dissipates. Maddox sees me as a friend, as the girl he grew up with, and that’s something I never want to mess with. So I nod and slide off his body, onto his mattress where I tuck one of his pillows under my head and face him.

He pulls the covers over both of us and then faces me as well. He gives me a soft smile, whispers, “I love you, Kinny.” And then takes my hand in his.

Holding back another wave of tears, I say, “I love you, too.”

And then I steady my aching heart, reminding myself to be thankful, that we’ll always be friends.

Only friends.

“Good morning,” Maddox whispers softly with a slight shake to my leg.

My eyes burn as I try to peel them open. It feels next to impossible due to the tears I shed last night.

“Hey, you have to start getting ready, babe.”

The burn in my eyes starts to grow stronger as I open them, and then that’s when it hits me—the things I said, the look in Maddox’s face, the anger . . . the pain.

I sit up quickly and wrap my arms around Maddox, who sets the coffee in his hand on the nightstand to return the embrace. His cheek falls to the top of my forehead and I revel in his fresh soap smell.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I say again, even though I already apologized so many times last night.

“I know.”

“I feel so sick about it. You’re being so kind to me, letting me stay here and I go and say something like that.” I shake my head. “I’m so sorry.”

Releasing me, he takes my chin in his hand and forces me to look at him. “Stop apologizing.”

Tears well in my eyes and then drop over when I speak my worst fear. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Hate you? Kinny,” he exhales. “I could never hate you. You’re my girl, the most important person in my life. Even when I missed our monthly phone call, you were and always will be the most important.” He hands me the coffee mug and says, “Last night was a confronting eye-opener for me. What you said about me stung, but what you said afterward stung even more. I forget how much my childhood ate up yours as well. I forget that you were in the thick of things with me, rather than just the person I leaned on, and I hate to think that I do something that reminds you of those bad memories.” He pushes his hand through his wet hair, worry etched in his features. “I don’t want to be like him.”

I set the coffee down and take his hands in mine. “You’re not. You’re not even close to being him.”

“But the temper is there, the anger. I feel it building and brewing whenever the smallest thing ticks me off. It’s hard not to let it affect me. To forget about the anger. It’s exactly how my dad was. And then I act out on it. I take it out on other players. I might not take it out on the people I love, but I do use my fists, just like he did.”

“It’s different,” I say.

“Not really. I still use my fists to express my rage, and that’s not something I’m proud of. I thought it was okay to fight on the field, that it was part of my duty. But the more thought I put into it, the more I believe I was making an excuse for myself to let out that built-up anger. I’ve justified it. But those players are someone else’s brother or husband or son.”

“Maddox.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. You said it yourself; it’s in my eyes. I have the same anger in my eyes as my father.” Before I can say anything, he places his fingers over my mouth, stopping me. “I understand what you’re saying. And this morning, I realized, it’s something I want to work on. That anger. I know the Rebels count on me to defend my teammates, but I also think I want to try the Cory Potter approach: not fight.”

“I don’t want you to stop being who you are, Maddox, just because I said something carelessly last night.”

“The thing is, that’s not who I am. It’s who the Rebels have molded me to be represented as, but it’s not me. I’m not defined by the way I can throw down on the field, but by what I do off the field, by the people I surround myself with, my drawings, my drive and hard work. That’s how I want to be defined, not the guy who throws a punch every chance he gets.”

I bite my bottom lip and say, “It’s not right. You’re changing everything about you.”

“I’m not.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. “You’re opening my eyes, that’s all.”

“Still.” I look off to the side, tears welling again.

“Hey Kinny.” He forces my chin again. And he smiles. “Thank you.”

“Damn it,” I say as more tears fall.

He chuckles and pulls me into another hug. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“You’ve made me a mess. I don’t want to lose you. And last night, for a second, I thought what I said destroyed everything between us.”

“It didn’t, babe.” He kisses the side of my head. “It only made us stronger. And it’s going to help me be the man I want to be.”

Maddox: Do you have plans tonight?

I stare at my phone and smile. Seeing Maddox’s name does all sorts of funny, twisty things to my stomach. After our talk this morning, he made me a bagel with vegan butter, cut up an apple for us to share, and then sent me on my way to work with a pat to my ass. When I squealed, he winked at me and then shut the door. No idea what that was about, but . . . I liked it.

I still feel wretched and probably will for a long time, because I can’t remember the last time we fought like that. Maybe back in high school . . .

Either way, when I fight with Maddox, it leaves me drained and split. I feel useless afterwards, because he’s the one person I’ve always been able to rely on and when we fight, it steals the magic of our relationship.

Taking a second from my workday, I text Maddox back.

Kinsley: Other than taking a shower when I get home so I don’t smell like wet dog? No.

Maddox: Want to go out to dinner . . . after you don’t smell like wet dog?

Kinsley: Are you asking me out, Maddox?

One of the best ways to repair our relationship—even though he thinks everything is okay, I still feel weird—is to go right back to our teasing, loving relationship.

Maddox: I am.

I smile at his response. Always so direct, even when joking.

Kinsley: I might have to get my ballgown pressed, but I think I can be ready in half an hour when I get home.

Maddox: I like that you keep saying home.

My cheeks fire up. Goodness, I’ve been calling his apartment home, but then again, he’s been a fixture of my “home” for a long time now, so I guess it only seems right.

Kinsley: Do you want me to call it la maison instead?

Maddox: Your French from high school is still impeccable.

Kinsley: Merci.

Maddox: So you and me tonight?

Kinsley: As if I have anything else to do.

Maddox: Didn’t know if you were going to give Dudley a second chance.

Kinsley: Dudley can go to hell.

Maddox: LOL. Okay, see you tonight, babe.

Kinsley: See you tonight.

“Oh wow,” I say when the door to the apartment closes behind me. “You look really nice.”

Maddox is standing in the kitchen with a glass of water in hand wearing a pair of dark jeans and a navy-blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled and clinging just below his elbows, showing off his amazingly ripped forearms. And his hands . . . why am I just noticing his hands? How they make the glass in his grip seem tiny, the way his knuckles pop and curve with his hold, the veins on the back. It’s a manly hand, large and wide. Huh . . .

“You’re staring.”

Startled. I shake my head and put on a goofy grin. “Sorry, uh, just you know, never seen you so clean before. You’re always dirty. Just the dirtiest. It’s like take a shower every once in a while, man.” I laugh a little too hard.

He quirks one brow. “You okay?”

“Nope.” I laugh again and wave. “Going to take a shower.”

I rush to his room where I grab a change of clothes—dark skinny jeans and an ice-blue blouse—and turn on the shower. I’ve never been the person that takes forever getting ready. I keep my hair out of the water, wash my body quickly and then dry off. I really wanted a change of clothes, because that’s what gets the dirtiest at the shelter, but taking a quick shower doesn’t hurt either, especially when Maddox looks as nice as he does.

I slip on my clothes, add a little mascara to my eyelashes, fluff my hair, and call it a day. This isn’t a date or anything, but I want to look nice for the man since he has to be seen with me.

I slip on a pair of heels, spritz on some of my perfume, and head out to the living room where Maddox is perched on the couch with his glass of water, just staring out at the skyline.