Win me back? The words seemed unreal. Had he actually said them? There was nothing to win, I was just—

"Let me make this clear."

Two thick arms anchored around me, a wall of body heat covering my skin like having the most comfortable blanket thrown on. A gentle grasp of my jaw directed me to the intensity flashing in his eyes. Their unwavering resolution made my pulse sprint. It bolted faster when he braced me into the elevator corner.

Without blinking, his other thumb hooked under his shirt collar and revealed a neckless. Gray and white lumps, rounded with time, nestled into the divot at the base of his throat. The gesture seemed more than just showing me evidence, but I couldn't tear my gaze away. Not even with the pressure squeezing my throat.

He'd kept them. The possibility of this grown man still wearing an amateur string of broken shells seemed impossible, yet they swung off his neck as he leaned closer.

My fingers twitched to touch the necklace. To grasp it like a lasso to our past. Thankfully, I braced the corner because my heart soared with hope. The rush of lightheadedness would've tumbled me over.

"I want you, however you'll have me. Whether it's for tonight, tomorrow, the rest of the competition, or the rest of our lives, I'll take it. If you'll give me a chance, it'd be..." He sucked in a breath, tentative fingers stroking my cheek. The awe filtering into his eyes bloomed reciprocated warmth in my chest. "Incredible."

The rest of our lives? The rest of our lives?

Staring at his mouth, I couldn't believe the direct, blunt honesty coming out of it. The confident, steady words resonated with the part of me crying out words of love and commitment. Near-painful longing tugged on my heart as if it was falling out of my chest.

"I want you, but I want you to want this too." Each arc of his fingertips was a silent drug lulling me drowsier, drawing up my chin and parting my lips. "Want me."

Yes, every cell in my body screamed. My mouth dropped with my self-control, but not a single sound escaped. I tried, but dryness coated my tongue. Each breath caught in my throat.

Could I? Nothing had changed in my life, centered around the bakery's demands, but wanting him wasn't the question. Brody's life had launched from college athlete to professional. Distance remained between us, him in San Francisco and me in Scotts Valley. While my mind already calculated it was a ninety-minute drive, his eighty road games were all over the country. Sometimes, he'd be gone for weeks. Seeing him daily with no obligations wasn't realistic. Reconnecting only for reality to rip us apart was more painful than the idea of not seeing him at all after the competition.

And hadn't he just split from Allie? I didn't know what to think anymore. This kind of confession, from the man I thought I'd never see again, didn't happen.

Closing the gap brought his forehead against mine. Its hard plane grounded my jumbled thoughts, and the way I ached for this man took over. My heart pounding in my ears, I was ready to feel his lips on mine and closed my eyes.

Instead, a gentle kiss touched my cheek. The fleeting, tender press was enough to make me melt. His pursed lips lingered as if he didn't want to pull back but did. My head swam as he retreated, the invisible energy dragging me forward in its retreat.

"I'm moving too fast."

The crack in his voice broke something in me. As my balance faltered, I reached out and grasped his elbows. Standing, silent and stiff and stupid, I wanted to protest but the conversation was a lot to take in. Weighing my options wasn't an option itself–I didn't know where the damn scale was anymore.

"We literally just had a meeting not long ago about pretending to have feelings. I just... I don't know."

"I don't want to pretend. Not with you."

If I couldn't speak before, he'd rendered me unable to think. The opening doors brought in a rush of cooler air, which I gulped greedily and ripped myself away. He was too close, the yearning under my skin making me unable to think properly.

Flipping the room key over my fingers let me gather my courage. Each scrape of plastic offered no sense of clarity. The show's motivations were clear. Points for directness aside, why was he putting this pressure on me? No one was watching.

Stopping in front of my room's door, I tipped my chin over my shoulder. "What are you doing? Coming here, with no notice, no contact for three, four years, and what? You're in love with me again? Exactly what did you think would happen? You're a...a..."

Cautious steps approached from behind as if expecting I'd run into the room and lock it between us. His heated presence hesitated close enough for me to hear the hitch in his breath. "A what?"

What second-chance relationship worked out? Ours ended for a reason, which had only expanded since then. Brody was a professional athlete, and I was...still stuck under a struggling bakery. Hours apart, me working fourteen hours a day in a game of 'What will break next?' and him on a 160-game season, plus camps and off-season training.

We weren't worlds apart, but galaxies.

"Pro baseball player," I hurled the words over my shoulder like a curse. Like his job, his passion's challenges were the reason we wouldn't work out instead of mine. It was a petty misdirection but better than facing how I couldn't yet face him.

"So?" His confusion warmed my ear. "What does my job have anything to do with my feelings? Standing here, close enough to absorb your warmth and frustration..." Gentle fingers trailed up my arm, teasing tingles and raising goosebumps in their path.

Turning my head, he was right behind me. His thumb found the skin beneath my eye and stroked a gentle arc. "See the conflict brighten the green in your eyes."

The warmth in his eyes, brown like the earth grounding me, was everything I could drown my sensibility in. "My job has no impact here."

"Hollywood famous stardom and a small-town nobody don't mix, Brody." I hated the words as I said them, but they were true. "Our worlds are too far apart."

My words flipped a switch, going by the tense arm that reached around me. His hand wrenched open the door, the sweep of cooler air pulling me into the room.

Two steps in, I found my back against the door, but the irritation in his eyes pinned me still.

Every muscle in him tensed. "You are not nobody." The low warning vibrated through me. "If anything, it's the other way around. Nobody else is you... And you're giving the same bullshit excuse you gave me before."

Two hands palmed the door around my head. Each finger splayed taut, the tendons and veins raised angrily. Under the heated tension between us, I couldn't look higher than the lowest two shells on his necklace. A smaller shell nestled against its larger, adjacent one like it sought support.

"The biggest mistake of my life was accepting your excuses then, and I sure as hell won't accept them now."

Before I blinked, his hands were turning me so I was forced to confront the anger pooling his eyes molten. "Let's get a few things right. Last time, you walked out on me. You broke me."

The stubborn fight slipped from me, slacking the tension in my cheeks. I didn't like hearing how I'd hurt him, but I deserved the accountability.

"I'm sorry." My throat burned and hot tears pricked my eyes. Four years and this shit still hurt as it did on the day I ended us. Broke a piece of myself and protected the fragments because they were all I had. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done. We moved in different directions, and I couldn't stretch myself anymore. You would've been miserable if I'd held you back, and I never would've forgiven myself if I stretched myself until I snapped."

Sacrifice was practically my middle name. School. My early-twenties. Time. Money. Sanity.

During my word vomit, he bowed his head. The light glowed a halo around his large frame, shadows blackening him into a silhouette. I didn't want his forgiveness, because part of me acknowledged I'd acted in self-preservation, but at least he heard me.

"Do you know the only part that makes me mad?" He spoke in a low voice, his hand wrenched around the door handle like yanking it off was his only option as every word pierced through me. Frustrated yes, but angry wasn't an emotion I associated with him. "You decided. Not just for us, but for me. You were best, Paige."

Tears forced my gaze lower. "I was a coward," I admitted, shame rising in me. Admitting my mistakes didn't feel good, but he deserved to hear me acknowledge them.

"It wasn't what I wanted, but I accepted it because I thought that's what you wanted. Fuck." His hand scrubbed over his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

I grabbed his hand, lowering it to see the remorse in his eyes. "It matters. A lot. Please."

"Your life hasn't been easy or fair, and when you lost your mom... I thought you just needed some time to grieve."

So, he stayed away, I filled in, having no idea of when it was acceptable to return because I hadn't given him any sign. The reminder crushed my chest. He was right. My life's difficulties had become too much for me, and I'd assumed I spared him from the burden I couldn't cope with.

"We deserve another chance. That's why I'm here. And I won't apologize for not wanting to go another day without you knowing the truth."

"What truth?" Wanting to swallow the stupid question, I gulped. What more truth, I'd meant to ask, but the answer was clear in his eyes. Things between us reignited at a speed-of-light pace, and he had no intention of stopping them.

If anything, they weren't moving fast enough for him, which scared me the most. He was...too many things to list. We were together for a year and friends longer. I brought him into my friend circle, where he proved he belonged and cemented himself as my best friend. My sole confidant. The only person whose touch I welcomed instead of shuddering in disgust. We'd lost our virginity to each other, drank alcohol for the first time together, and planned our futures together...because I didn't want a future where he wasn't in it until I'd forced us into that very reality.

After he left Standford with Allie, cutting him out was like dismembering a part of myself. While it'd hurt beyond words, nothing had changed.

"I didn't fight hard enough for you, but I loved you. I never stopped."

Unyielding certainty in wanting the impossible was terrifying. The most overwhelming sensations rushed over me, a wild storm of panic and indecision, churning the excitement in my stomach into nausea.

"I..."

The word 'can't' also refused to be said, and I hesitated. We were here, for who knew how short of time, together. Torn between the reckless and practical, neither was willing to budge.

Finding no traces of the same battle in Brody's eyes was unnerving. Enveloped in seriousness, he leaned back, arms crossed as if waiting for me to decide for us.

My head shake made him recede. A cold draft of air blasted between us as he pulled back.

"I'm pushing too hard," he muttered. "I've laid out my cards, it's your hand next."

My cards. I couldn't see my cards, let alone if I operated with a full deck.

"Thank you." Hyperaware of him holding his breath, I wished him goodbye and closed the door with shaking fingers. Stepping away from it seemed impossible, but I pushed away and stepped into silence.

The choice was so stupidly simple, but we'd been here before, and the forces keeping us apart were stronger. How could saying yes not lead to guaranteed heartbreak?

"You have a lot of explaining to do," was Violet's greeting.

"Hmm?" I stretched through the tightness in my joints, blinking as Morgan's empty bed into view. Perfectly made as if she hadn't slept there. "Vi?"

"Yeah, it's me. The friend you've completely forgotten about."

While teasing, her accusation woke me more, so I blinked and sat up. "Huh?"

"Don't huh me," the hurt in her voice was playful. "You and Brody?"

How could she... "You saw the test footage?"

"If you mean a video of you melting for him, I saw the test footage. I've also spoken more with your sister than I'm comfortable admitting."

My sister. I was definitely more awake. My gossipy, TV shit-stirring sister and I didn't talk about how deeply she was involved in this mess. Part of me didn't want to know either because I hated fighting with her.

Keeping her silent was better, but I was not—never mind, this was Vi. "It looks worse than it is."

"It. What is it?" Her volume increased with each word. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No, I didn't, but as my best friend, I'd confided about Brody to her, and she'd seen our relationship develop in high school. Once I started, the details flowed easily, but I stopped the info train at Brody confession station. His confession was intimate, and if I was going to talk to anyone about it, it'd be him.

Between Cara's 'fake it to make it' suggestion, my surprising rebuttal, and Brody's confession, yesterday was a lot. Cara's suggestion was irritating but not surprising.

Confiding in Vi didn't bring much relief or comfort. I appreciated her empathetic listening, groaning when I mentioned pretending for television and cheering during my recap of defending myself.

"How do you feel about it?"

"Irritated. This is their game." I rubbed my throbbing forehead. "Play by their rules or go home."

Saying I wasn't playing by their rules, starting with their second-to-last bullshit, was uncharacteristic but standing up for myself felt good. "Brody though...I'm confused."

"Your feelings are valid, Paigey," she said in a low voice. "It sounds confusing."

It was confusing before Brody confessed his motivations. Me. Him standing over me, I hated knowing what I was missing. Not just the physical—Christ, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in his world felt like a compliment I hadn't earned.

"On one hand, you don't have to pretend hard to like him," amusement warmed her voice. "On the other hand, you'll be fighting your feelings."

I groaned. Having feelings and acting on them were different, but pointing out my new challenge wasn't helping. "Vi."

"Up close."

"Vi."

"In-person."

"Vi."

"Nose-to-nose. Dick to—"

"Vi!"

I couldn't help but laugh. She joined in, offered unsolicited advice like talk to Brody that I agreed with but couldn't see myself acting on yet, and wished us luck.

Dragging myself into getting ready, walking to the studio would only tire me, so I sat beside Melania on the shuttle. "Good morning."

"Bom dia." She smiled brightly.

Seeing a drafted blog update on her phone, I took the opportunity to ask her about marketing. She lit up in excitement, describing her expansion plans and how she hoped the show's publicity would launch her there.

For some people here, the publicity was positive. Not being one of them, my sitting beside her partner earned me a scowl from Deb.

Huffing, she stood in the aisle. "What are you doing? Stealing ideas?"

"No." I forced a tight smile. When I refused to budge, she flopped into the seat across the aisle.

Whatever. She could hear for herself we weren't talking about her.

Keeping my attention on Melania's model-like face didn't detract from feeling Brody's attention. While he was respectful, smiling and sitting ahead of Deb, we had multiple curious ears.

"Shame you're having the same problem putting in the proper ingredients."

Deb's words snapped my head to her smirking. Brody's jaw tensed too.

Boy, I hadn't missed her. Her leaning over gave me a nose-full of hairspray. "You have no business being here. You're failing, Paige. Quit, go home, and save your pathetic small-town bakery."

Melania's mouth dropped. I pressed mine closed and glared up at Deb. "Good to know some things haven't changed."

"They haven't." She turned away but, given her leaning back, she was still eavesdropping.

I didn't trust her before, but so far, I'd ignored her. Wouldn't make that mistake again.

Worrying about Deb was a dream come true compared to Cara pulling me aside for a single interview when we arrived at the studio.

After she whispered, "We have a deal," I fixed a smile, blushing as I threw out every compliment about Brody that wasn't obvious from one look and stared right at the camera when she asked what he meant to me.

"Honestly, Brody and I lost contact." I didn't have to fake my disappointment or my blush deepening. "At the risk of being cliché, he's the one that got away."

"So..." The baiting question swirled in her eyes. "What does it mean, seeing him again?"

Stealing an answer from his playbook, I didn't bat an eye. "Everything."