Chapter 38 The Morning After

Chapter 38 The Morning After
Kade

I leaned against my bedroom door, pressing so hard the frame creaked slightly.

My heartbeat was racing like I'd just run ten kilometers. Chest heaving violently, lungs burning, but this sure as hell wasn't from exercise.

It was because of her.

Tatum Calloway.

"Fuck," I cursed under my breath, pressing my palms hard against my eyes, trying to erase the images from moments ago.

But those images were branded in my mind like a seal.

How soft her lips were. The whimper she made in my arms. The warmth her fingers left on my shoulders. The desire in her eyes—identical to what was in mine.

I pushed open the door, walked to the bathroom. Turned on the cold water tap, buried my head under the stream.

Icy water poured over my face, neck, shoulders, but couldn't extinguish the fire burning inside.

What the fuck was I doing?

I'd told myself countless times—can't touch her. Can't think about her. Can't let her into my life.

But tonight, when I saw her in the kitchen, wearing that damn robe, hair messy, eyes hazy, all reason collapsed.

I could have let her take the drink and leave.

I could have kept my distance.

But I didn't.

I followed her upstairs. I walked into her room. I kissed her.

And the worst part—I wanted to do so much more.

I turned off the water, lifted my head to look at myself in the mirror.

Water droplets slid down my cheeks. There was something in my eyes I didn't want to acknowledge—fear.

Not fear of her.

Fear of myself. Fear of my desire for her. Fear that once I started, I couldn't stop.

My phone rang in the bedroom. I walked over, glanced at the screen.

Isabella.

I stared at that name, feeling a wave of nausea.

I didn't answer.

Let it ring until it automatically disconnected, then I just put the phone on silent and tossed it onto the nightstand.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Leo's face floated into my mind. He trusted Tatum. He needed her.

If I screwed this up, if my selfishness ruined her job, Leo would hate me.

He should hate me.

I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow.

But even with my eyes closed, I could still see her.

Those blue eyes. The mole next to her lips. The way she looked at me—like I was the most complex puzzle she'd ever seen.

"This won't happen again," I whispered into the darkness.

It was a promise.

To Leo. To her. To myself.

But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.

Because I could still feel her. Still taste her. Still want her.

And that wanting was going to destroy everything.

I'd always been good at destroying things. It was practically my specialty.

My parents' expectations. My relationships. Any chance at normalcy.

Why should this be any different?

But Leo... Leo deserved better than my fuck-ups.

He deserved stability. Consistency. Someone who wouldn't leave him.

And Tatum gave him that.

She was good for him in ways I could never be. Patient where I was short-tempered. Gentle where I was harsh. Present where I was absent.

I couldn't take that away from him.

No matter how much I wanted her.

No matter how much that kiss had felt like coming home.

I had to stay away.

For Leo's sake.

For her sake.

For everyone's sake.

The resolution should have brought relief. Instead, it felt like a weight settling on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling mindlessly through messages I had no intention of answering.

Brayden asking about tomorrow's practice. Landon sending memes. Isabella's missed call notification glaring at me.

I deleted them all.

Then I opened my photos, scrolling back to find... I didn't even know what I was looking for.

But I found it anyway.

A candid shot from a few weeks ago. Leo's birthday. He was laughing at something, and in the background, slightly out of focus, was Tatum.

She was watching Leo with this expression—soft, fond, completely unguarded.

That's when I'd known I was in trouble.

Because I'd wanted her to look at me like that.

I locked my phone and threw it across the room. It landed on the armchair with a soft thud.

When I finally fell asleep around four in the morning, I dreamed of her.

Of course I did.

---

Tate

The alarm went off precisely at six.

I reached out to turn it off, staring at the ceiling, feeling like I'd been run over by a truck.

I'd gotten less than two hours of sleep total. The rest of the time was spent replaying that kiss and every word Kade said afterward.

This was a mistake.

I rolled out of bed, walked into the bathroom. The me in the mirror looked terrible—obvious dark circles under my eyes, lips slightly swollen from last night's kiss.

I turned on the cold water, washing my face vigorously, trying to wake myself up.

I still had to go to class today. Still had to take care of Leo. Still had to pretend nothing happened last night.

"You can do this," I told my reflection in the mirror, "Just treat it as an accident. Forget it."

But when I changed clothes and prepared to go to Leo's room, my heartbeat still accelerated uncontrollably.

Because I knew I'd see Kade again sooner or later.

And I didn't know how to face him then.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The hallway was quiet. Most of the staff hadn't started work yet; the entire house was shrouded in morning stillness.

I tiptoed toward Leo's room, trying not to make any noise.

But when I passed Kade's door, my steps involuntarily slowed.

The door was closed. No sound came from inside.

Was he sleeping? Or like me, had he been awake all night?

Did he regret it?

Did he... think about me?

"Don't be stupid," I said quietly to myself, quickening my pace to leave.

The morning air felt different somehow. Heavier. Charged with something I couldn't name.

Or maybe that was just me, projecting my own chaos onto the world around me.

Everything felt different now.

The carpet under my feet. The paintings on the walls. The early morning light filtering through the windows.

It was all the same as yesterday, but nothing would ever be the same again.

Because I'd crossed a line.

We'd crossed a line.

And there was no going back.

I reached Leo's door and paused, hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to compose myself.

Leo didn't need to see me like this—confused, exhausted, emotionally wrecked.

He needed the Tate who had her shit together. The Tate who could make him laugh and feel safe.

So I plastered on a smile, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

Time to pretend everything was fine.

Even though nothing was fine.

Nothing at all.