n the seconds I spend staring at the Wakefords' front door, a million thoughts race through my head: what if he doesn't want to see me right now? What if coming here was a mistake? What if he gets mad I lost his bracelet? I keep thinking it over, mostly in a bid to delay the act of knocking on that door, but in the end, it doesn't matter.

The door swings open before I can move. Tyler just stands there in the middle of the archway, wearing a black tee and sweatpants. To say he's surprised to see me is an understatement. His eyes meet mine, and even though it's fallen dark, he must see I'm on the verge of tears. Without a word, he grabs my hand to pull me closer, but I let out a quick hiss of air.

His eyes flit to my bruised and bloodied knuckles. Something dangerous clouds his expression before he looks up. "Somebody hurt you?"

"No." I take a step forward, into the house, and close the door behind us. He stares at me a moment, clearly waiting for the rest of the story, but I don't want to talk. If I talk, then I'll cry, and if I cry, I'll feel embarrassed, so I reach up and kiss him instead.

His mouth doesn't move for a good five seconds. I kiss a little harder, needing him more than I've ever needed anything, and I think he must realize it. The muscles in his neck contract, a sign he's fighting hard to resist, but temptation takes over and he kisses me back. It lasts just a second, enough to ignite my body in flames before he presses his mouth to my ear. "Tell me what happened, sirenita."

I shiver a little at the warmth of his breath. This isn't a conversation that I'm ready to have, but pinned between his chest and the door, there is nowhere for me to run. "It's a long story, but I hit Sam."

His eyes darken. A million thoughts seem to cross his expression, and I know he is thinking the worst. "What did he do?" The tone of his voice scares me. He's working hard to keep it together, but there is a hardness in his eyes that he's struggling to mask. "Did he try something with you? Because if he did, I swear–"

"No," I say, "It wasn't like that. I did something stupid." My shoulders deflate as a tear slips put. Something that destroyed my one chance in the tournament.

"Hey," he says. "Whatever it is, you can tell me." He reaches out now, brushing a tear away with his thumb before letting his hand linger.

"He challenged me to a race." My voice is barely audible as I speak, but I can tell he heard me. "I won, but he clipped my bike. I came off, and–" he falls completely still like he's about to interrupt, so I stop him. "I'm fine, but I came off and my bike was destroyed. I was so mad that I confronted Sam and hit him."

A second passes, and then, "He hit you back?"

"No. I mean, I think he would have, but Alex stepped in."

He eases slightly, but not by much. Neither of us speaks as he takes in my face, clearly deliberating something. "Stay here. I'll be back, alright?"

But I don't move from the door. I know where he's going, and while Sam may not have hit me back, he'll have no problem hitting Tyler. "Tyler, don't." My voice comes out pleading. It's probably selfish, but a part of me just doesn't want him to leave me. "Please."

He clenches his jaw before nodding. I go to wrap my arms around him, but he grabs my arm before I can touch him and looks at my shredded knuckles. "Come on," he says softly. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Without a word, he leads me into the kitchen before turning on the light. I take a seat on the barstool, watching as he rummages through a cupboard for medical supplies. The house feels quiet, and I can't help but ask, "Where's your dad?"

"He's at Mojacks with a friend. I was worried about him, so I said I'd stay tonight in case he needed me." He walks back over with the medical kit and gently parts my legs in order to stand between them.

"That was nice of you."

He raises his gaze at the same time he pulls out a medical wipe. "I'm a nice guy. Give me your hand." I hold out my hand, letting him gently take it in his. He examines my knuckles, frowning slightly as he wipes at the blood. "Was it a good shot?"

"Relatively. I got him on the jaw."

His lips curl upward. "That's my girl." He finishes cleaning the cut before gently wrapping my knuckle. I watch him carefully, noting how careful he is not to touch me. Despite lying to him, despite shutting him down over and over, he's still right there when I need him.

And that's why I love him.

He puts down the last of the bandages, then picks up my hand to study his handiwork. "I think you'll survive."

"Thank you, doctor Wakeford."

He raises an eyebrow. "I like the sound of that."

He's still holding my hand, gently grazing the gauze with his thumb. I suck in a breath as he leans in a little and let it back out when he lowers his head. There's no more space left to close between us, nowhere for either of us to run to. His nose brushes mine, and this is the moment I either choose to let him in completely or let him go for good.

"Tyler?"

He swallows hard, eyes on my lips as he roughly says, "Yeah?"

I swallow hard too, knowing that whatever happens next will no doubt change everything, but maybe that's the point. "I'm asking."

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