“What?” His eyebrows rose, and he lifted his head, his hand splayed out on his chest—his very nice and defined and muscled chest that was lean, with that tattoo that I hadn’t yet brought myself to ask about because I couldn’t read it. But damn, I wanted to. It was hot.

“Nothing.” I tried to sink farther into the chair.

He wasn’t having it.

He swung his feet back up and scooted to the edge of the couch. He reached over and plucked my phone from my hands, holding it hostage. His eyes dared me to even try to get it back.

“What’d you say?” he asked.

I knew my place. Professional athlete, I was not. I remained in my seat and only lifted my feet up, scooting my knees against me and wrapping my arms around them. I propped my chin on top and watched him. “You heard me.”

He was giving me a new look. “You’re in therapy?”

“I was.” And damn. I just didn’t have the energy to lie anymore.

I held out my hand, palm up. “Come on.”

He gave me my phone back, but cautiously. “Why were you in therapy?”

“Because…” I took the phone, my hand wrapping around it, but I only brought it back to my lap. My knees remained up, like they were a shield.

My throat burned. Was I actually going to tell him some of this?

This felt weird—too fast, too…too exposed.

Shit. I was going to tell him.

I was crapping my pants as the words formed on my tongue. “I was in a relationship with someone for a long time, and it was…” The burning increased in my chest. I felt an impossible weight there. “It was a hard relationship.”

A lump formed in my throat.

Reese’s eyes narrowed. “Did he hit you?”

I couldn’t answer that. “It was—was he abusive? No. Did he hit me? Once, but it wasn’t a normal situation. I—” God. I couldn’t talk. I closed my eyes, pressed my forehead to the back of my knees, and inhaled. Once. And I counted.

5

4

3

2

1

Exhale. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

Inhale, and repeat.

It helped. Some of the pressure lifted, and I was able to look up again. I knew there were tears on my face, but for the life of me, I couldn’t wipe them away.

“Have you ever been involved in a situation where you felt like the other person needed you so they could live?” I asked. “But you couldn’t stay there because they were taking the oxygen you needed to breathe?”

A deep emotion shone from Reese—one I couldn’t name, but I felt the air switch. He leaned back against the couch and dropped his head.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “And it fucking sucks.”

He got it.

I didn’t even get it, but he got it.

I couldn’t say anything for a while after that. So I just sat. I cried. I hid behind my knees.

And Reese waited. Or something. I didn’t feel like he was waiting for me. He looked away, his eyes downcast. I had a feeling he was thinking about something else, or someone else.

“You know about my brother’s shit?” he asked after a minute. “Why we’re even here and not using our normal facilities?”

I nodded, looking up over the tops of my knees.

He still wasn’t looking at me. “He was like that for me. But he didn’t actually need me like that. He just made it seem like he did.” He turned now, his gaze raw, looking right into me. “Was it the same for you?”

I wanted to say yes. That would be an easier battle to tackle. I couldn’t, though.

“No. Not like that,” I whispered

His eyes closed for a second. “Shit.” A soft sigh. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Me too.”

The air was heavy. The room seemed to shrink around us.

Reese glanced around, and I felt a restless edge come from him. He checked his phone and scraped a hand over his jaw before standing.

“Come on.” He put on some socks and shoes. Grabbing a shirt, he picked up the basketball he always seemed to have close by.

“Where are we going?”

I hadn’t moved quickly enough. He tossed my shoes at the bottom of my chair, then took my phone and headphones out of my hands. He waited by the door as I pulled on my shoes.

“I need to turn my mind off, and I use two activities for that. We’re going with the second option.”

I wasn’t asking about the first, but I did ask, “Hoops?”

He nodded. “Hoops.”

The first night he’d been here flashed back to me, and I knew what the next couple hours were going to be like. I stood, and since it was a little chilly, I said, “I want to grab a sweatshirt from my cabin.”

He dropped my phone and headphones on the couch, moving past me to the bedroom. Coming back out, he thrust a sweatshirt at me. “Here.”

Picking up my phone and headphones again, he led the way out of the cabin.

We were heading down the trail when we passed a few of his teammates coming the other way.

I averted my gaze, pulling on his sweatshirt as he stopped.

“What’s up, Forster?”

“Not much. Heading back to shoot some hoops.”

I could feel their gazes.