The Games We Play - Chapter 34: Chapter 34

My bedroom is dark and warm, cocooned in the quiet hum of the rain outside. The morning light fights its way in—gray and dull—but it adds to the coziness.
We're tangled up in the sheets, in each other, in everything.
I'm tucked into his side, my naked body pressed flush against his.
Wes leans back against the pillows, one arm locked around me as I rest my cheek against the soft flesh of his bicep. His fingertips trace slow, lazy lines across the top of my back, dipping lower and then back up again in that way he knows I like.
I trail my own little pattern on him—over his chest, mapping out the dips and ridges of muscle—my nails dragging lightly down the solid planes of a stomach that I can't believe is all mine. All mine to touch, to kiss, to lick. All mine, mine, mine.
We're talking, murmuring into the soft quiet, about my weekend. About Jenna. About Nana Bea and the retirement van. It's funny how weeks ago, all I dreamed about was getting a fat piece of duct tape and putting it on Wes' mouth to get him to shut the fuck up.
Now he's the first person I want to run to and talk to when anything happens, no matter how big or how small.
I tried a new coffee order? He's getting a full rundown.
Someone at the grocery store pissed me off? He's hearing the full rant.
I got a new top? He's getting a front-row seat to my fashion show.
Every little thing that happens in my life, I want to share with him. I can't help it. I need to see his reaction, to hear his voice as he hypes me up or talks me back from the edge of murder.
And after the whole Jenna-the-Clown shitshow over the weekend, there wasn't anyone I wanted to talk about it with more than Wes. Oh—Scarlett too. But Wes was the first one I called once he had finished his game.
He was still in the locker room when I called, and I felt bad for stealing him away from his teammates. But he didn't care. He walked out into the hall and stayed on the phone with me for almost forty minutes. Just talking.
Fuck. This is getting bad, isn't it?
Wes laughs as he pulls the sheet a little higher over my waist when I shiver—but it isn't from the cold. It's from his touch.
"Cam—baby—just a list of names," Wes insists, trying to get more information out of me.
I laugh, tipping my head back slightly, my cheek warm against his bicep. "Wes—"
"No, I'm dead serious," he says, his voice low as he glances down at me. "Because I got time. I got so much time. I'll find them—all of them—and break their fucking jaws. I'll fight every single one of them. Their husbands. Their wives. Their kids. I don't give a shit."
"Oh my god! You're insane. My boyfriend is clinically insane!" I giggle as Wes turns us so I'm on my back and he's hovering above me, one forearm braced by my head while his other hand curls around my waist. He sandwiches his arm between me and the mattress, bringing my body up into him.
"For you." He dips forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. "No one fucks with my girl and gets to walk away."
"Well—Nana Bea's already got it covered, so no need to worry, Golden Boy," I tell him, grinning as I reach up and play with the blond curls falling in front of his eyes. Eyes so blue, so deep, so beautiful.
"That's not enough. Not even close." He shakes his head, his grip tightening around me just slightly. "The shit you told me—fuck, it kills me, baby. I want nothing more than to go back there. To protect you. I would've been walking you to every class. I would've been picking you up every goddamn morning. In my truck, coffee waiting for you, making sure you were safe. Cared for. Protected."
I try to ignore the way it makes my heart clench, the way my entire body reacts to the certainty in his voice. But I can't. My breath is shaky, sharp, and catches in my throat as tears burn at the corners of my eyes.
His face breaks a little when he notices my watery eyes, a soft, heart-wrenching smile on his lips as he wipes away a stray tear from my cheek. "Shit, baby."
"It's fine. I'm fine." I shake my head, trying to suck the tears back into my eyes. "You're too good, Wesley Reed. Too damn good."
"C'mere." He laughs softly as he pulls me closer, pressing his lips to mine. His tongue slides in—warm and soft—not forceful but gentle, a delicate caress. I inhale sharply as my hand moves to the nape of his neck, fingers digging into his hair as he pulls me into him like he can't get me close enough.
When we break, he presses his forehead to mine as we follow each other's breathing.
"You weren't with me back then," I tell him softly as I play with the curls of his hair at his neck. "But you were with me over the weekend. In me. In here. The whole time."
I put one hand on my chest, over my heart.
Wes watches me, silent, his gaze soft and loving.
"I stood up for myself," I continue, my voice shaking and my vision blurring. "Everything I said to her, everything I did—I don't think I would've been able to do it without you."
Wes tilts his head in question, but he doesn't say anything. He lets me continue.
"You make me—" I inhale shakily, blinking rapidly as a tear spills down my cheek. "You make me feel confident. Yeah? No one's ever made me feel like that before."
Another tear slips free. Then another.
"Oh, my baby girl," he murmurs softly in a short, breathy laugh as his thumb brushes away the tears from my cheek. "You really think I did that?"
I nod, my lip trembling.
His smile deepens, his expression soft, reverent, wrecked.
"No, Cameron," he says, his voice low, warm, smooth enough to ruin me. "That was all you."
I shake my head, another tear slipping down, but Wes catches it with his lips, kissing the damp trail on my cheek.
"Mmhmm," he nods, countering my silent protest. "Baby, that fire was already in you. It's been in you since the day I met you. You've been carrying this fight your whole damn life. You've been standing on your own two feet, never once backing down from the punches."
His voice shakes.
"And this weekend, you won, Cam."
A choked sob breaks from my chest.
And Wes? He kisses me. Deep. Slow. Shattering.
Like he's telling me every single thing he can't put into words.
When he finally pulls back, I'm shaking, my breath uneven, ragged, wrecked.
His hand slides up, thumb brushing slow over my bottom lip, smearing the wetness from his kiss, watching me like he's memorizing the wreckage he just left behind.
His breath shudders. His fingers flex against my jaw.
And then—his voice drops.
"Look at you, baby."
I whimper. I actually whimper.
And my heart stumbles because I know that look.
The weight in his voice. The heat in his gaze. And I know he's gonna say it.
"So goddamn beautiful," he whispers, his lips hovering inches from mine, his entire body softening against mine, warming, something heavier settling between us. "Baby, I—"
A knock echoes through the room.
Loud. Sharp. Fucking brutal.
The moment shatters.
Wes closes his eyes, exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching like he's debating murdering whoever the hell just ruined this.
"Cam?"
And that would be Scarlett. RIP.
"Yeah?"
Wes slowly slides off me, chuckling to himself darkly as he flips onto his back and drags both hands down his face. He lets out a small, frustrated groan into his palms.
The handle clicks, and the door juts open slightly.
Scarlett pokes her head through, big square glasses on her nose and blonde hair falling in golden waves.
"Hey, just checking that your—" Her eyes focus on me, on my cheeks, and she narrows them. She slowly steps further into the room, pointing at Wes. "What. Did. You. Do?!"
Wes's hands shoot up defensively. "Chill, Raleigh. I didn't do nothin'."
I sit up, putting a hand on his horizontal torso as I angle my body between the two.
"Scar, it wasn't him," I say quickly, a laugh bubbling up. "I'm fine."
She narrows her eyes at him for a second longer before turning her attention back to me. "You sure?"
"Positive." I smile softly, trying to reassure her. "What's up?"
Scarlett's expression softens. "I was just coming to see if you were ready to head to the fair. Jude, Tasha, Kiki—all of us. Last day to go. Remember?"
The fair. Oh shit.
The one we planned weeks ago. The one I had completely forgotten about.
"Oh, fuck," I blurt, scrambling up, holding the sheet to my chest. "Give me, like, ten minutes—"
"Oookay. I'll just be out here." Scarlett whistles, clearly not believing me at all, and shoots Wes one last glare before walking out of my room.
The second the door clicks shut, I throw myself off the bed.
Wes stays exactly where he is, arms tucked under his head, sheets just barely covering his hips, watching me like I'm the funniest thing he's ever seen.
"The fair, huh?" he drawls.
I grab my robe off the chair, sliding it on and tying it tight around my waist as I hurry to my closet. I begin to flit through options, coming up with a cute fall outfit on the fly.
"Yeah," I say quickly, rifling through my clothes. "We go every year. There's cider, pumpkin patches, a petting zoo. It's cute."
Wes hums. "Sounds fun."
I toss a sweater onto my bed and turn toward him. He's still watching me, still looking too damn amused.
"What?" I frown.
"I'm just wonderin'," he says, stretching his arms above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing obscenely as he smirks. "Where my invitation ended up."
I blink.
Pause.
Fuck.
I never invited him.
My mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. Panic sets in immediately.
"Oh my god."
Wes raises a brow, lips twitching. "Oh my god?"
"I didn't even think—" I groan, climbing back onto the bed, crawling across the mattress to him.
"Didn't think about me? Damn, that stings, baby." Wes sits up as I crawl into his lap, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
His hands rest on my hips instantly as I straddle him, my knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him.
I plant both hands on his face. "I'm so sorry."
He blinks at me, lips puckered from my grip.
"Hurts real bad, baby. Cuts deep," he agrees, his voice muffled by my hands. "Make me feel better."
A damn sook, he is.
I roll my eyes, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Clearly not what he was wanting by the way he searches for my lips as I pull back, but it'll do.
I clear my throat as I place a hand over my heart. "Wesley Reed, would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the Turkey Fair?"
He watches me for a long moment.
His smile turns softer, his hands sliding around my waist and squeezing me. "You know I'll go anywhere as long as you're there."
My heart flips in my chest, and I can't stop the grin from spreading across my face as I lean in and kiss him again, slow and sweet. His tongue laps against mine, and he moans gently at my taste, at the feeling of me against him.
I like kissing him when I'm straddling him—it gives me some sense of control. Plus, I love feeling him grow harder and harder between my legs.
"Now get dressed, quarterback," I mumble as I smooth my hands down his neck and shoulders. "Scar doesn't like to wait and will drag you out naked if she has to."
Wes chuckles as I slip off him and head back to my wardrobe. "And yet I'd still win the best-dressed award there."
I just shake my head at him while opening my doors and deciding what the fuck to wear.
☆☆☆☆
Overcast skies hang above us, but the rain holds off, leaving the air crisp and cool. The lights from the Ferris wheel and game booths glow softly against the gray sky, and the smell of kettle corn and roasted turkey legs wafts through the air.
It's the last day of the Turkey Fair, and everyone and their meemaws are in attendance.
We've spent the past few hours wandering through the grounds, hitting up game booths and food stands, and trying not to lose Jude in the crowd. He's made it everyone's imperative of the day to find him a big, hunky lumberjack in red flannel.
Liam and Tasha went head-to-head in a mini pie-eating contest after spotting a booth that dared challengers to eat three in under five minutes. They both failed miserably, but Tasha claimed victory after Liam nearly choked from laughing mid-bite.
We actually lost Yasmine in the hay bale maze, and it took both Scarlett and Kiki yelling out directions over the walls to get her back to the group. Had to stop Jude from trying to light the whole thing on fire to find her.
Clay mainly just followed Scarlett around the entire day, his large body basically splitting the crowds like the Red Sea as Scar strutted in front of him. He fucking dominated the high-striker machine, and when I looked at Scar, I had to force myself not to laugh because I'd never seen her so damn turned on before.
And then there was Wes—winning at literally everything. He set a new record at the ring toss, landed three perfect shots at the basketball booth, and even managed to guess his exact weight at one of those old-timey carnival scales.
Each win earned him tickets, and now he had a plastic bag full of prizes stuffed under the picnic table.
Now, hours later, we're all crowded around a long picnic table near the food trucks, plastic plates and cups scattered everywhere. The sky above is gray and overcast, but the crisp air is refreshing, and the occasional gust carries the scent of fried dough and caramel apples.
Across the table and a little further down, Wes sits there like a good boy while Jude yaps his ear off, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the sharp intensity of his gaze on me.
I'm halfway through a mug of hot cider, the warm spices making my cheeks flush, when Hudson leans in to say something.
"Did you see the woodworking stall? They're carving live demonstrations," Hudson explains, adjusting the collar of his gray flannel beneath his brown leather bomber. "Unreal."
I can't seem to look away from Wes—his eyes on me, head slightly tilted, an amused grin stretched over his face like he's watching a comedy show.
I smile, nodding at Hudson with my gaze still on Wes. "Yeah, I caught it earlier. The detail was insane. There was this guy carving a horse's mane, and it looked like you could run your fingers through it."
Hudson laughs at my side. "Exactly! I'm thinking of commissioning something for my sister's birthday. She's into nature stuff, you know? Owls, bears, that kind of thing."
"An owl could be so cool," I muse, taking another sip of cider, my eyes never straying from Wes's smirking face.
He leans an elbow on the table, all lazy confidence. The steam from his cup curls around him, but it doesn't hide the way his eyes glint, catching every move I make.
Hudson, bless him, keeps talking. "Yeah, I was thinking something simple but detailed, you know? Something she could hang in her room."
"Makes sense," I reply absently, swirling the cider in my cup as Wes lifts his mug at me in a mock cheers.
My lips twitch. I try to focus on Hudson's words, but Wes's grin grows wider, like he knows he's winning whatever unspoken battle we're having.
"I think she likes deer—like Bambi." Hudson's voice is just a hum in the background now.
"Uh-huh," I say, not even pretending to listen to him anymore.
Wes's eyebrows lift suggestively, daring me to say something.
I roll my eyes at him, biting my lip to suppress a smile, but Hudson notices.
"What's funny?" he asks, glancing between me and—oh shit, Hudson, don't look.
Wes manages to time it perfectly, his eyes dropping to the plate in front of him as he laughs at something Jude says.
"Oh—nothing. It's gone," I tell Hudson as he turns back to me with an easy smile.
Then, as if on cue, Wes turns his attention back to me and raises his hand, dragging his thumb slowly across his bottom lip.
I place my mug back down on the table, noticing the apple cider is now all gone, and I huff. "Well—looks like I've run dry. I'm going to grab another."
I stand up, swinging my legs over the bench and adjusting the waistband of my jeans.
Hudson glances up, his brow furrowing slightly. "Oh, uh, do you want me to come with you? It's kinda dark, and the fairgrounds are huge..."
I smile at him, touched by his thoughtfulness, even if it comes out a little awkward. "Thanks, Hudson, but I think I can handle the big, scary cider truck."
He nods quickly, his cheeks tinging pink. "Ha—for sure."
The cider truck isn't far, its string lights glowing warmly against the overcast sky. I'm halfway there when I feel a sudden, familiar warmth at my back.
Strong hands slide around my waist, pulling me off balance for a moment as he sways me from my trajectory. His lips are instantly on my shoulder, both bare from the black, slouchy off-shoulder sweater I'm wearing.
I know who it is instantly.
"Wes!" I squeal with a delighted giggle as I grip onto his arms. "The hell are you doing?"
"Making sure you don't get lost," he teases, his hands firmly holding me as he guides me forward and away from the food trucks. "C'mon, baby—I need me some alone time."
I roll my eyes at him and chuckle, the two of us leaving the food truck area and heading back into the chaos of the fair. To be fair, though—it is quieting down, and a few stalls are already beginning to pack up.
Wes's hands slip from my waist as he grabs my hand, and we walk side by side through the fair. I hug his arm close to my chest, resting my cheek against his bicep. The warmth of him is a steady comfort, the hum of the dwindling crowd fading into the crisp November air.
String lights glow overhead, painting the stalls in soft gold, and I can't help but smile at the faint buzz of contentment warming my chest.
When we first got here, we could barely walk two steps without someone coming over to ask for a photo with Wes or Clay. It was fine—and Jude always managed to get himself in every single one, too.
"You know," I say, glancing up at him with a playful nudge of my shoulder, "you're surprisingly good at this whole fair thing. For someone who made fun of my cider obsession."
Wes chuckles, the sound low and rich. "I'm just trying to impress you, baby."
"Well, it's working." I grin up at him before kissing his bicep. "Do you like Thanksgiving?"
He shrugs lightly, his free hand slipping into the pocket of his jacket. "Wouldn't say it's one of my favorite holidays."
Something about the way he says it makes my smile falter. "You don't have any traditions? Like, not even a turkey football game or something?"
His lips twitch, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Nothin'."
I frown, slowing my pace to look up at him. "Wes."
Wes sighs, clearly reluctant to get into it, but when he glances at me, his expression softens. "Thanksgiving wasn't... big in my house. It was more for show, you know? My parents would invite a bunch of people over, throw this big party to make it look like everything was perfect, just so they wouldn't have to talk to each other."
Wes's smirk falters as he glances down at our joined hands, his thumb brushing over my knuckles absentmindedly. I can see him debating whether to keep going, the weight of his words hovering between us.
"After the divorce," he starts, his voice quieter now, "my parents made me and my brother choose. Mama wanted to take one of us back to Savannah, and my dad wasn't about to let both his sons go. So, they told us to pick."
I stop walking, staring at him in disbelief. "They what?"
Wes shrugs, his expression deceptively calm, but the flicker of pain in his eyes betrays him. "I stayed with my dad. My brother went with her. The last Thanksgiving we spent together, I was nine."
"Wes," I whisper, my voice breaking slightly.
He shakes his head, giving my hand another squeeze. "It's fine, Cam. It was all a long, long time ago."
"No, it's not fine." My free hand reaches up to touch his arm, my fingers grazing the fabric of his jacket. "They put you in an impossible position. That's... that's not something a kid should ever have to deal with."
He looks away, his jaw tightening for a moment before he lets out a soft laugh, though there's no humor in it. "We all gotta grow up at some point."
Oh, my poor baby.
"And your brother?"
Wes hesitates, his gaze distant. "We talk sometimes. Not as much as we should. He stayed with Mom, went to a fancy school in Savannah, and got into law. Got a wife and a new baby girl, from the sounds of it."
"You're an uncle!" I beam up at him as Wes tries to muster a smile for my sake, but it's not his real one. "Oh, I'm so sorry, baby."
"Fuck—I didn't want to upset you, Cam." Wes shakes his head and runs his other hand through his blond hair.
"You could never." I kiss his arm again and squeeze his hand in mine.
I bite my lip, my heart aching for the boy he must've been. The boy who had to grow up way too fast, forced to choose between two parents who couldn't put their kids first.
"You didn't deserve that," I say softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face.
His blue eyes meet mine, searching, and for a moment, the weight of his past seems to press down on both of us. But then he smiles, small but genuine, and tugs on my hand again.
"C'mon," he says, his voice lightening as he nods toward an old vintage photo booth. "Enough of that. Let's make some good memories instead."
I don't move right away, my feet rooted to the ground. "Wes, you don't have to pretend like everything's fine. I'll listen to anything you have to tell me, okay?"
"I know." His grin softens, a faint warmth returning to his gaze. "And I will. But not now, yeah?"
He gives my hand another tug, this time pulling me toward the photo booth.
He's walking backward as he guides me. "Today's all about us. So, get your pretty ass in there before I carry it in."
Despite myself, I laugh, letting him lead me toward the old, battered machine, the heaviness of the conversation slowly easing with every step.
Inside the booth, the world feels smaller, cozier. The muffled noise of the fair outside gives way to the hum of the machine as Wes pulls me onto his lap.
"Comfy?" he asks, his hands settling naturally on my waist as I adjust myself on his thighs.
"Perfect," I reply, leaning back slightly to press my shoulder against his chest. "Now gimme that golden smile, Golden Boy."
The machine whirs, a countdown flashing on the screen.
Wes instantly swoops toward me and presses his lips to my cheek. It shocks me slightly, and I gasp as the light flashes in my eyes.
"Your turn," Wes teases, pointing to his cheek.
"Oh, real original," I joke, rolling my eyes.
I tilt my head back, grab his chin, and kiss Wes's cheek. He grins wide, that gorgeous smile lighting up his face just as the flash goes off.
The third countdown begins, and Wes's hands slide up from my waist to cheekily grab my tits. I gasp, half outraged and half amused.
"Wes!" I swat at him, though I'm still grinning.
"What? It's called making memories, baby."
I can't stop laughing as I put my hands over his, making a face. The flash captures the moment, and I'm still laughing.
I can see in the small screen that Wes is looking at me. Like he's about to ruin me.
The fourth countdown begins, and Wes's hand is on my jaw, turning my face toward his. And he's kissing me—no, devouring me.
A muffled gasp escapes me, but he swallows it down, tilting his head, his fingers digging in as his other hand slides up my thigh, pulling me closer, tighter, harder against him. The kiss is deep, it's messy, it's all tongue and heat and desperation.
I moan into his mouth.
I can't help it.
Wes groans back, low and guttural, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into my jeans, sliding down between my thighs. I feel him. Everything. The camera's flash has long gone off, but neither of us notices. All I can focus on is him, the taste of him, the fact that we're in a photo booth in the middle of a crowded fair, but he's kissing me like we're alone.
His teeth catch my bottom lip—tugging, biting—soothing it with his tongue.
I gasp again, one hand coming up and back over my shoulder to grab his neck, my nails digging into his skin. He pulls back slightly, grinning down at me as his eyes flick to my lips. And then he gives me a short kiss.
And then another. And then another.
"Okay, okay. That's enough, Romeo." I giggle at his playfulness as I turn from him and reach for the strip of photos, now cold.
I lift it up, pulling it back as I rest against his chest.
"I think that one's going on the fridge," I tease, wiggling on Wes's lap as he takes the strip from me.
He holds it up, both of us leaning in to examine the results.
It's black and white, almost sepia, in the way that every vintage photo is.
The first frame is me kissing his cheek, my lips puckered dramatically while his grin stretches ear to ear. The second has Wes returning the favor, his kiss landing slightly off-center on my cheek while I giggle.
The third? Absolute chaos—Wes's hands blatantly cupping my chest while my mouth hangs open in a mixture of surprise and laughter.
And the last... the last is different. Intense. His lips on mine, my lips on his. Pure filth.
Wes hums, deep in thought, as he looks at the photos. "These are the kind of photos I'd keep in a locket if I was a soldier at war."
I nod, agreeing. "You're very photogenic, baby."
"I know." Wes grins up at me as I roll my eyes at his ego.
"Alright, let's do another set," I say, slotting in the coins again and setting up the next round. "One where you behave."
"No promises."
I just scoff, settling myself into his lap as the machine whirs. I smile softly, putting both hands under my chin like a little angel as I feel Wes tug me further back against his chest.
The countdown begins.
He tucks his head into the side of mine, his lips brushing the outer curve of my ear.
He whispers, "I love you."
My hands slowly drop, as does my smile.
The light goes off, almost blinding me. But his words hit me harder, like a jolt of lightning.
I blink before slowly turning around to face him.
To the look on his face.
Jesus Christ.
Like he's laid himself bare, ripped open his chest and handed me his heart, and he's completely, utterly at peace with it.
It's just love. Raw, beautiful, breathtaking love.
He's staring at me like he's never been more sure of anything in his life.
The camera flashes again, and the second photo is just us—staring at each other, frozen in time.
The flash shakes me awake, and suddenly I'm moving again. I grab his face, my hands threading through his hair, fingers tangling in the soft blond curls as I crush my mouth to his.
Wes doesn't even hesitate. Doesn't even pause.
His hands slide up, gripping my waist, pulling me closer, his fingers pressing into my spine like he wants to keep me there forever.
The kiss is deep and slow and all-consuming.
It's not rushed or frantic.
It's intentional.
It's me telling him, I hear you. I feel it too. I just need to catch up.
His tongue brushes against mine, pulling me under, and fuck, I never want to come up for air.
The third flash goes off.
We break apart just enough to laugh, soft and breathless, foreheads pressed together as we try to catch up with the world.
And the fourth flash captures that.
The booth goes silent, but we don't move.
We just sit there, tangled up in each other, the scent of him filling my lungs, his hands gripping my waist like he has no intention of ever letting me go.
"Wes..." I breathe out, completely unsure of what to say.
He tucks my hair behind my ear. "I just needed you to know, baby. I was meant to say it before you left for Thanksgiving. Fuck—I was meant to say it the night I first met you."
My heart clenches, the weight of his words hitting me all at once. I open my mouth, then close it, the air between us thick with unspoken emotions.
"Wes..." I try again, my voice cracking as my fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt.
"I was supposed to say it this morning." His voice is lower, like this has been sitting in his chest for some time. "I was supposed to say it before you left for Thanksgiving. That night on the porch. Fuck, baby, I was supposed to say it the night we met."
I try to speak again, but he just tilts my chin up, brushing his lips over my temple, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine.
"You don't have to say it back," he tells me, soft and sure, like he's already made peace with it. "Not until you're ready."
His forehead presses against mine, his hands sliding up my sides, curling around my ribs, holding me steady.
"I just had to tell you," he whispers. "Because I do. I love you so fucking much, baby. You're in my head when I wake up. You're in my chest when I fall asleep. And you're in every goddamn second in between."
He exhales, his lips brushing the tip of my nose, the corner of my mouth, his hands tightening like he needs to anchor himself to me.
"I see you in the stands, and I play harder. I hear your laugh, and I breathe easier. I kiss you, and I forget how the fuck I survived before you."
His thumb grazes my jaw.
"I love you, Cameron." His voice breaks slightly—just enough to shatter me completely. "And I don't want you doubting that for another second, yeah?"
I nod, sniffling back a sob and forcing a smile.
He laughs at my speechlessness, leaning in a little more. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I laugh as I wipe at my nose, turning back to the machine as it spits out the latest strip of photos. Wes leans around me to grab it this time, holding it up so we can see.
The first photo is me staring at him, wide-eyed and stunned. The second is the kiss—raw and full of everything unsaid. The third is us laughing, his head thrown back while I lean into him, my hand on his chest.
The fourth? Pure chaos—our foreheads pressed together mid-laughter, his hand tangled in my hair, and mine gripping the collar of his jacket like I couldn't let go.
I grin as Wes holds the strip between us. "Think this one's going on the fridge too?"
"Nope." Wes shakes his head. "That there is going on our future wedding invitations."
I can't help but laugh at him, Wes pulling me in closer as he grins and kisses my cheek.
This isn't just getting bad. It's already there. And it's gone straight fucking past.
Because I'm already his.
Utterly, completely, hopelessly his.