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37 - I See You

37

I See You

W hen I come to, all my drug-induced brain wants is Isaiah.

In the blur, I see Maazina and Kian sitting next to each other. My mom, Soph, and the girls must've stolen Isaiah away. Even under the fog, the lack of my father's presence once again hits a sore spot.

"Kian, stay away from her. She's in love with you."

Maazina scoffs, but her warm brown cheeks turn red instantly. "That is so not true."

Kian barely blinks, simply throws his arm around her. "It's okay, Z. I know it's harmless."

She groans, her face in her hands. "I hate you, Aurora."

A scratchy laugh is my only answer as I push myself upward. Kian hands me a cup of water and some pretzels. The sight of food right now is not ideal, but I take them anyway. The water soothes my throat.

"Where is—"

"Lover boy?" Maazina snides, and Kian laughs.

"You're one to talk, Miss, I-have-an-unhealthy-crush-on-my-teammate's-sister's-husband." I raise a brow, and she flushes again, sitting back down. At that moment, the rest of them return. Sophia takes one look at Maazina, her husband, and myself.

"Stop teasing her about Kian," Soph says, trying to fight a smile.

"Oh, my God." Maazina groans and tries to make herself as small as possible.

But I stopped paying attention because Isaiah's in the room. I reach my hands up and motion for him to come here, which he does. Isaiah chuckles and comes to my side, making me smile.

"Ah, there she is. She'll be nice now," Maazina says at my dopey smile. Sophia and Kian join her, making some quiet remarks about how they've never seen me like this, to which, internally, I resent, even if it is true.

Isaiah sits in the chair next to my bed, looking at ease. The girls run up on my other side, handing me bags of candy each for my recovery with big smiles, looking exactly like their parents. Having to have the surgery sucked. But having them all here makes it suck less. Pain surges over my knee but fades moments later.

"Here." Isaiah places a few pretzels in my palm. "You need to eat."

I roll my eyes but swallow a few down, hoping the nausea dissipates soon. The haze starts to disappear, and the doctors come in. Everyone listens intently. Isaiah even takes notes, probably so Coach Teller doesn't berate him, as they talk. Surgery went well; my knee looks good. I need to use a brace and crutches again at times, but PT starts immediately. After PT and recovery, I should be good to go. Hope blooms underneath it all, and I'm sure there will be days when I can't find it, but I hope it always shows back up.

After the doctors disappear, everyone in the room shares a quiet look, leaving me on the outside of the loop. Isaiah squeezes my hand, bringing it to his lips and brushing them over my knuckles.

"What was that look for?"

"What look?" Maazina answers quickly. Too quickly.

The only person who doesn't look apprehensive is Isaiah. And I'm pretty sure that's only because if anything, he looks a little angry, which can only mean one thing.

"Again?" I ask, my voice shaky. "You're going to bombard me with him again?"

"We didn't invite him, Ro. He found out about the surgery. He's been in the waiting room all day." Sophia adjusts Joey in her arms, resting her head on her husband's shoulder.

I scoff, focusing on Isaiah. I'm already in pain. Why did he think now was the time?

"I'll send him away if you want," Mom says.

Closing my eyes, I take four deep breaths. Then two more. "You can bring him up, but that doesn't mean I have anything to say."

After a brief hesitation, Mom nods. The lot of them exit to go collect my father. Maazina strides over and cups my cheeks, taking me by surprise. "Can't wait to have you back on the field, sugar mama," she says and plops a dramatic kiss on my forehead. Despite myself, my lips quirk. "I'll be in the hall."

The room falls silent. I lean into the pillows, exhaling.

"You don't have to let him in, Aurora." Isaiah's voice is gentle, a caress on my skin.

The warmth in his eyes dances over my skin, taking away the aches and pains, leaving nothing but love behind. He brushes his lips against the gentle skin of my hand again, each knuckle brushed with care.

"I know. But I don't want to be like him. Not this way," I say, my voice cracking.

"You're not."

I snort. "I am. I'm stubborn, and I run away, and I shut down, and I shut people out. And you know those things—it's whatever. But I don't want people to walk on eggshells around me or think that they have to prove themselves to me or—" I exhale. "Not that people do, but I don't ever want them to. And I know I have every right to kick him out the moment he walks in if I want. And I probably won't say anything at all. But I'm not going to do what he did."

Isaiah nods and leans back in his chair. "Fair enough. I'm proud of you."

Rotating my head to take him all in, my cheeks warm. "You say that a lot."

"I don't ever want you to forget it."

My heart does a little jump in my chest before settling. I'm pretty sure there's a whole section of my brain dedicated to the number of times he's told me that. And another section dedicated to him in general. Soon, my heart and my head are going to be solely dedicated to him, and I'll just be a vessel.

"Can I have a kiss?"

He smiles and obliges. Sweet and tender. One of my favorite types of kisses. Even so, the heat twirls over my skin. I peck his lips twice after he pulls away and once on his nose because I like that whenever I do that, his dimple fights to come out.

The clearing of a throat draws us out of our bubble, and my dad stands at the door. While his face is stoic, emotion flashes in his eyes. "Can we have a second?"

"He stays." I squeeze Isaiah's hand. Dad looks between us but enters the room. With a steady gaze, I watch him take a seat on my other side, and I swear Maazina peeks in through the window on the door, but I ignore it.

"I heard the surgery went well, and you'll be on your way to a full recovery." Dad rests his elbows on his knees and wrings his hands together—his own nervous tell. I'm not sure what he expects—I'm not going to roll out the red carpet because he took the time to show up this round.

It probably doesn't help that Isaiah is practically glaring at him.

Dad sucks in a big breath. "I am proud of you, Aurora. I have been proud of you every day for your entire life. You've dedicated your life to something you love and continuously push yourself to be better, even when the circumstances stack up against you. I am proud of you for things other than your athletic accomplishments."

I swallow thickly, unable to drag my eyes away.

"I'm disappointed that I made you feel otherwise. That I let you think otherwise. I know that repairing this will take time. But losing you was not an option. That team is yours—always has been. I imagine it's where you'll be until you retire," he says, adjusting his hat. The fluorescent lights highlight every wrinkle on his dark skin, and he looks tired. Exhausted. "I do want you to be great. I've always wanted you to be great at anything that's important to you. But that should've never been what you felt from me. That greatness was all that mattered. You're what matters. And my failing to make you understand that is my own doing. You have been nothing but wonderful and strong, and who you are is what matters. Not what you do. I love you, kid. Okay?"

All I can do is nod.

Part of me wants to fight back and to push the buttons I know will make him angry. As if that will further justify the pain. The other part, the logical part, which under the pain meds is a miracle for winning out, accepts this for what it is.

This is him showing up. For now, this is the best he can do.

Dad stands and exhales a big breath. I can see how heavy it's weighing on him. But he has to handle that. It's not my responsibility. "I hope that we can—" Dad sighs, centering himself. "I hope that we can find the next steps. I don't want a life without you in it. I don't want to make you feel as I have ever again. And I want to be the dad you deserve. One you want to keep in your life."

I try to ignore the wealth of emotions building up.

My hope for an apology fades, though disappointment doesn't fill the empty space.

I expected it. Sorry isn't a word that frequents my dad's vocabulary. It sucks, and it's wrong, but for now, I accept it.

He approaches me, and Isaiah tenses. "There is no use in trying to cover everything today. Glad to see you're doing okay." For a moment, Dad simply studies me before tentatively pressing a kiss to my forehead. We watch him exit, and when the door shuts behind him, I let out a big breath.

"That could've been worse, right?" I ask.

Isaiah's eyes sparkle, taking me in. "It was a good start."

"Yeah, it was."

Shortly after, everyone else returns and settles in until I'm ready to be discharged. It's a weird feeling—getting worse in a way before you can get better. The same with Dad leaving the team. It sucks in its own way. Losing him as a coach as he has been my whole life. With the surgery behind me, I can move forward. Without the pressure of him watching every move, our relationship has a chance. Who knows what Isaiah and I would be if he hadn't left. It sucks having to go down a path you'd rather not to get where you want to be.

But it happens, and we persist.

Life goes on. Sometimes, it's harder than it should be.

I look at my friend, my family. Isaiah.

Sometimes, it's better than you could ever imagine.

Raven's meow is my greeting when Isaiah pushes the door open. My stuff is strung over his shoulder, his hand on my lower back as he leads me inside. "Go sit down."

"I'm fine," I groan.

"Go."

I make my way to the couch, putting the crutches aside and collapsing on it immediately. Isaiah moves about the house—sets water down next to me, then a plate of all my favorite snacks, then a tiny cup of candy, and elevates my leg according to the doctor's instructions. Finally, he plants himself beside me. Isaiah kills the tiny space between us quickly, planting his head in my lap.

"Does this hurt?"

I flick his nose. "Stop, I'm fine. I'd tell you if I wasn't." Raven pops up and plants herself between Isaiah and the cushion, a tiny paw brushing against me. My hand lands in his curls, my fingers dragging through them repeatedly. "Thank you."

He looks up at me. "For what?"

"Everything." I brush my thumb over his smooth skin, tracing over each dark spot on his flawless, brown skin. "For everything. For being here. For holding my hand through this whole thing and sticking up for me. And for being patient and for catching my tears at every turn." My lips upturn. "I'm not sure I would've gotten through this the way I have without you."

"You're a strong girl, Aurora. You would've."

"Maybe, but you let me be…soft." I take a deep breath. "I didn't have to put on a brave face with you. I didn't have to act like I was okay when I wasn't. So, yeah, thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmurs, his eyes shining with sincerity.

We sit there together in the silence, and the love that we have for each other fills every space. It's quiet but full. And the realization that this type of love, a soft flickering flame that never burns out, is as important as those louder moments. The I love you's never get old, but this, simply existing in it, is such an undervalued part of a relationship. It's a steady constant, the heartbeat of being in love.

Resting my head back, I let my eyes fall close. Let myself soak it all in.

Eventually, minutes or hours later, Isaiah breaks the silence. "Question."

"Answer," I say, grabbing a candy and sucking the sugar off.

"Which apartment do you like better? Or would you prefer a house? Or a new apartment?"

My mind starts spinning. Isaiah's face turns sheepish as he gazes up at me. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I'm suggesting that we should move in together because we don't sleep without each other anymore, and we may as well save money."

"Romantic."

"Ah, you want the romantic version?"

Running my fingers through his tiny, beautiful curls, I can't help but grin. "Yes."

"You know, I love that no one else will ever see this version of you," he says, and my brows furrow. "How much of a complete, hopeless romantic you are. Everyone teases you when you kiss me in public or your cheeks flush. But they don't see this. Your constant need to touch me, like I'm going to disappear if you aren't, or the big doe eyes you give me when you want something. They don't know how much you read the poems or are curled up watching a show you've seen a million times just for one scene." His lips quirk, and I melt. "I see you. Every part. And that makes me the luckiest man alive."

Reaching up, he runs his fingertips over my skin, tucking my curls behind my ear. His thumb presses on the sensitive spot under my jaw. "I want to move in with you because it's pointless not to. I don't sleep when you aren't here. And everything is too quiet. There are no random giggles from you on the couch, no sleepy kisses in the middle of the night, no hands tracing the tattoos. It's empty without you. I want to move in with you because I want to live with my best friend. And the girl who makes my world spin. So I can see your soft hazel eyes in the morning and kiss you anytime I want."

I hum, warmth spilling out of my chest. "Kiss please."

He chuckles, the sound echoing through his apartment, bouncing off the walls and falling over my skin. The press of his palms on my warm cheeks is the touch I craved for so long. Every time I walked around feeling that well in the pit of my stomach, this was what I wanted.

Isaiah's touch. Isaiah's words. Isaiah in general.

Pulling my lips to his, I exhale, and he catches it. His tongue delicately teases my lips, and I don't hesitate, kissing him back.

I wonder when his kisses will feel like just a kiss. And I think the answer is never. Because whenever our lips touch, a jolt of lightning hits my veins and runs through them until the next kiss. And so on and so on. It never ends. A cycle of beautiful addiction. I am addicted to kissing Isaiah Bryant, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

I'm breathless when I pull back. "How do you feel about renting a house? I want a dog. And a yard. You can have an office and a library—"

His kiss stops me. I love those interruptions. "We can do whatever you want."

"You give in so easily," I murmur, running my thumb over his lips.

"Only to you. Only for you."

Only me. Only him. Only us.

The prospect of our life together is such a beautiful dream. It doesn't take away from our other dreams or other parts of our life, our careers. Instead, it's a supplement to a full life. It's simply more. More smiles, more fun, more love. More everything.

And it's ours.

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