Page 92 of Worth the Shot

“I loved you,” he says, voice quieter now. “Just not the way you deserved. I see that now. You wanted the family, a normal life, a house, kids. We were only a year into it and I knew you hoped I’d retire early, but I didn’t think I wanted that. And I thought if I stayed, I might just disappoint you in the long run. I worried eventually you’d resent me. I didn’t know what I wanted, Delaney.”

My stomach twists.

“So when LA offered me the deal, I had to take it. For me, and for the team. They couldn’t afford to sign me and a new Forward. They needed to fill that void with someone big. My contract was ending, Khilo was hot, I was injured mid-season and still wasn’t 100%. Coach swore if I wanted to come back, he’d try to find a way to make it work with the front office.” He swallows. “It felt…logical.”

“You took the easy way out,” I say, flat and unfiltered. “Instead of telling me how you felt, you ran. From me, from this place, from the people who helped make you who you are.” He doesn’t interrupt. “And you know what hurts the most?” I continue, “I really loved the person I thought you were. Turns out…he wasn’t real. Was he?”

“He was,” he whispers, eyes dropping. “He just didn’t realize what he was losing until it was already gone.”

I study him then. Really study him. He looks worn down and weathered, like life caught up with him. And my heart—that stupid bitch—reminds me that once upon a time, this man was my entire world.

“Delaney,” he says softly, “I know this is late, but I’m so sorry. Especially for not being honest. For not choosing to do this with you. For being selfish.” He pauses. “There’s one thing I need you to understand.”

I nod.

“I always loved you. Maybe not the way you needed, but I always did. And maybe I lost myself a little to my career, but losing you?” His voice cracks. “God, Delaney, you were the worst thing I ever lost. And I did it to myself. It was all my fault.” His eyes are glassy, blue as the ocean, searching mine like he’s asking for absolution. “But I know what I want now, Delaney. Clear as day, I know exactly what I want.”

I breathe deeply. “What do you want, Matt?” And I hate the small trace of longing in my voice when I say it.

“Halesy seems like a really good guy. The kind you deserve,” he says, managing a forced laugh, “and I can’t even hate him. I’ve tried, trust me.”

And then, he says something that rips the air right from my lungs.

It stops me dead in my tracks, because it’s exactly what I was afraid of. His jaw tightens and then relaxes all at once as he exhales and says, “But if there’s one thing I know, after all of this, it’s that I want you, Delaney Collins. And I’d trade it all if you say the word. My career, a chance at a Cup, everything. The white picket fence, the kids running around the yard—it can be all ours. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you. Because losing you twice isn’t an option.”

I’m frozen. I have no clue how to convince my heart to calm the fuck down. I’m not sure what to say, but I can feel my hands tremble as I wipe a tear I didn’t realize was falling down my face. He sits there, watching me, cocky grin on his face like he knows everything will work out in his favor if he begs hard enough. Because he knows me, knows all the right things to say and buttons to press. Suddenly the past comes rushing back to me and I feel like I’m out in the middle of the ocean in a hurricane. The waves are swallowing me whole and all I know how to do is let them. Somehow, I form words, asking the question that’s been gnawing through me these past nine months.

“I just wanna know,” I say, my voice shaky, chin wobbling no matter how hard I try to steady it, “why didn’t you ever call?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Simple,” he says. “If I heard your voice, I would’ve caved. I would have ran back to you. I did run back to you, Delaney. It’s why I’m sitting here right now.”

Whatever resentment once ruled me has finally loosened its grip, fading into something that feels so unfinished and confusing it isn’t fair. Panic creeps up my throat and it fucking burns. “I should get back upstairs,” I manage to say, standing to smooth my dress, willing my hands to stop shaking. I turn and reach for the door, but he calls out for me one last time.

“Delaney?” he says, his hand finding mine. “I still love you. I always have. I hate myself for letting this turn into what it did. Just know that no matter what you choose to do with everything I said, that won’t ever change.”

“Thanks, Matt,” I say softly. And then I walk away, back upstairs, to a man who’s only ever done anything he can to keep my heart safe. And I absolutely hate myself for the way I second guess what the fuck I’m gonna do.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Brennan

I don’t move when she lets go of my hand. I don’t follow her. I just stand there and let the space she leaves behind settle around me, because this is the part of loving her that scares the hell out of me. Choosing not to chase and trusting that she’ll come back. Believing that what we have is strong enough to survive silence, history, ghosts.

The music suddenly feels lower, less consuming, like someone turned down the volume on the world. My thoughts are relentless, screaming over it anyway and cutting through everything else. My body tightens, a nervous ache settling deep in my gut. I shake it off, or at least I try to, because I refuse to spiral before I know.

I choose to trust her.

I watch them walk away together, no doubt headed somewhere quieter and more private, and I tell myself that no matter who Matthew Morris is, he isn’t me. He isn’t the one who holds her when the weight of the world settles on her shoulders, or who shares dreams with her instead of running from them. He doesn’t calm her fears, wipe her tears, or laugh with her until his stomach hurts and his face aches. He doesn’t know the way she fits into the quiet parts of a life.

I do.

I know what we have, and I know how to protect it—something he obviously never learned how to do, and maybe I don’t have to hate him for that. Maybe I need to thank him for leaving and showing her exactly what she deserved by proving he couldn’t give it to her.

Still, the thought slips in, uninvited.

What if loving me means choosing a harder life?

One full of uncertainty, trades, distance we can’t control and decisions that aren’t always fair. At the end of the day, those are all things I can’t change. But we can do them differently, better. Together.