When Mickey texts me and asks for my address, I’m surprised.

She didn’t seem thrilled that I called earlier tonight, and I’d started to accept the fact that she’ll be the one that gets away.

I open the door for her, ready to give her some smart remark, but those words leave when I look at her.

“You look terrible.” I joke.

Instead of a similarly sharp retort, she just starts crying and I’m completely bewildered. I pull her inside gently and shuffle her to the couch, going to get a box of tissues.

She sits there, shoulders shaking, sniffing hard. “Why is it so c-c-cold in here.”

“I’m usually too hot so I keep the air on high.” I watch her from where I’m standing by the couch, unsure if I should hold her or run for the hills.

The flight instinct is overwhelming. This isn’t what I do. I fuck, I don’t deal with feelings and cuddling and all that shit.

But dammit if the urge to comfort her isn’t strong too.

Fucking shit.

I scoop her up from the couch, and she doesn’t even protest. She’s still crying, just not as hard or as alarmingly loud.

I set her on the bed and unbutton her jeans, pulling them off efficiently. I don’t even look at what underwear she’s wearing. I slide her legs underneath the duvet and unbutton her top, pulling the cover over her before I go to turn off the lights.

I strip my shirt off and yank her gently to me, wrapping my arms around her silently. She stills for a moment but then turns in my arms, burying her face in my chest and tangling her legs in mine.

I can feel warm tears on my chest and I wonder how the hell I got here, and why I got it into my mind that I wanted this woman.

And I wonder what happened and whose ass I need to kick for hurting her like this.

“What happened, baby?” The endearment slips out on its own. Her arms clench around me and she hiccups, making me smile a little bit.

She mumbles something but I can’t make it out. I pull back some. “What was that?”

“I said, I chose you.” Her voice is hoarse and her eyes are pure liquid green, sad and seemingly bottomless.

My first reaction is panic.

My second is wonder.

My third is warmth.

My fourth is fear.

“Why...why would you do that?” My chest feels tight. The fact that she looks so miserable about it isn’t helping.

“I didn’t want to hurt him…but I couldn’t choose him for him. I had to do it for me. And I would’ve been lying if I told him that I was ready to be with him and him alone.” She inhales, face creasing in pain. “So don’t give me that line about only wanting fun. I might’ve ruined something to explore this, so you better not give me bullshit.”

“I…” I close my eyes and fight through the conflicting emotions in my head. Feelings of inadequacy, knowing I’m nowhere near as perfect as Hawk, knowing I could end up hurting her with all my shit. “You’re making a mistake. Choosing me. I’m not him. I can’t give you what he gives you.”

“I don’t want you to give me what he gives me.” She whispers. “I just want you to be you. Nothing more, nothing different.”

“How can you say that? You don’t know what I come with.” I can’t understand what would’ve made her give up something.

People don’t give up anything for me.

“So, show me. This isn’t me saying I want to be with you forever. This is me saying that I want a chance to know you. Give us that, at least. I can’t pretend I know what this is gonna look like, but I can’t keep lying to myself.”

I want to tell her that I’m not worth it.

I want to tell her that she can do much better than me, much better than a depressed ex-athlete who’s fighting a fight that isn’t even his.

I want to tell her that I’m scared she won’t like me if she gets to know me. That I’m scared I’ll lose myself in her because she’s so damned alluring. If I let it be anything more than sex.

“Okay.” I murmur, pulling her tighter to me and exhaling against the top of her head. “Okay.”