The Softest Lie

Adrian’s POV

I felt Elias shove at my chest the second his mother’s voice drifted down the stairs again. I didn’t move right away. My thumb stayed against his jaw for one extra beat, just long enough to remind both of us I could keep him there if I wanted. Then I stepped back, wiped my mouth, and forced my face into something calm.

“Answer her,” I said under my breath.

He cleared his throat like it hurt. “Just a teammate, Mom. Stay upstairs, I’ll bring the tea in a minute.”

Floorboards creaked. She was coming down anyway.

I glanced at the staircase, then at him. “You going to introduce me, or should I do it myself?”

“Don’t—”

Too late. Mrs. Kane appeared at the bottom of the stairs in a faded blue robe, one hand on the banister. She looked fragile, but her eyes were sharp when they landed on me.

“Elias?” she asked. “Who is this?”

Elias opened his mouth and nothing useful came out. Typical.

I stepped forward first, voice low and careful, every sharp edge from the alley and the kiss filed down.

“Adrian Hale, ma’am. I’m on the team with Elias. He left practice looking off, so I wanted to make sure he got home okay.” I gave her a small, polite smile. “Sorry if we woke you.”

She studied me for a long second. Then her face softened the way people’s faces do when they decide you’re not a threat.

“You’re the one who scored the last three goals against Riverside last month,” she said. “I saw the highlights on the school site.”

I let my smile turn almost shy. “You watch the games?”

“When I can keep my eyes open.” She shuffled into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch. “Sit down, both of you. Elias, stop hovering like someone’s about to steal the furniture.”

Elias stayed standing, arms crossed, jaw tight. I sat in the armchair across from her without hesitation.

“You look pale,” I told her gently. “Elias said you weren’t feeling well.”

“Some days are worse than others.” She waved a thin hand. “He worries too much. Always has. Even when he was little he’d try to carry the grocery bags by himself so I wouldn’t.”

I glanced at Elias. “That tracks.”

He scowled. “Mom.”

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. It’s true.” She looked back at me. “So you’re the one who keeps the forwards honest?”

“I try. Your son’s better at it than he lets on. Quiet on the field, but when he decides to move, the rest of us just try not to get in the way.”

She laughed, a real, dry little sound. “He’s always been like that. Stubborn. Quiet. Thinks the whole world will fall apart if he takes one night off.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “He told me about the scholarship. About how much is riding on it.”

Elias’s voice cut in, sharp. “Adrian.”

I ignored him. “I get it. My dad used to say the same thing. Talent’s useless if you don’t protect it. But sometimes protecting it means not running yourself into the ground.”

Mrs. Kane nodded slowly. “Exactly. I’ve been telling him that for months.”

We kept talking. About the team. About Coach’s temper. About the time last season half the squad got food poisoning after a team dinner and still had to play. I told the story with just enough detail to make her smile again, then laugh when I described the goalie throwing up in a bush during halftime.

Elias stood there with his arms crossed the whole time, pulse jumping in his throat, watching us like we belonged in some alternate timeline he hadn’t approved.

“You’re good with him,” his mother said eventually, voice softer. “Most of the boys on that team act like the world owes them something. You don’t.”

I let my expression flicker, just enough. “I used to. Not proud of it.”

She reached over and patted the arm of the chair near my hand. “People change when they have a reason.”

I looked at Elias then. Held the look longer than I should have. His face burned.

“I should get her tea,” he muttered, and escaped to the kitchen.

I could still hear them from where I sat. His mother’s voice, light for the first time since I’d walked in. Me answering, low and easy, making her laugh again about some ridiculous training drill. The sound of it scraped against whatever was still coiled tight in my chest from the kiss.

When he came back with the mug, she was telling me about the time he tried to fix the leaky kitchen faucet at fourteen and flooded the entire floor. I was grinning on purpose.

“He still tries to fix everything himself,” she said, accepting the tea. “Including me.”

“Mom.”

“It’s true.” She sipped, then looked between us. “You two should go talk. I’ve kept you long enough. Adrian, it was nice meeting you. Come by again if you want. Bring better stories next time.”

I stood, respectful. “I will. Get some rest, Mrs. Kane.”

She smiled at me like I’d passed some invisible test, then started the slow climb back upstairs. The moment her door clicked shut, the air in the living room changed.

I turned to Elias.

“She’s kind,” I said quietly. “And she’s right about you.”

He set the empty mug down harder than he needed to. “You can’t just show up and charm my mother.”

“I didn’t plan it. She asked questions. I answered.” I took a step closer. “You looked like you were about to crawl out of your skin the whole time.”

“Because this is insane. You showed up uninvited, kissed me, and then played perfect gentleman for twenty minutes.”

I closed more of the distance. “You didn’t stop me from coming in. And you didn’t stop the kiss either.”

He backed up until his shoulders hit the wall by the kitchen doorway. “You need to leave.”

“I will.” Another step. “After you stop looking at me like you’re still trying to decide whether to hit me or pull me closer.”

“I’m not.”

My hand settled on his hip, light but deliberate. “You are. You’ve been doing it since the alley. Since the storage room. Since I told you I walked away from someone else because she wasn’t you.”

His throat worked. “My mom is right upstairs.”

“I know.” My voice dropped. “That’s why I’m going to be quiet.”

I sank to my knees in front of him before he could process the movement. Fingers worked the button of his jeans open with steady, practiced ease. The zipper followed. Cool air, then the heat of my breath against him.

“Adrian.”

“Shh.” I looked up, eyes locked on his, mouth already close. “You can keep pretending you don’t want this tomorrow. Tonight you’re going to feel it.”

I took him into my mouth in one slow, deliberate slide, wet and hot and exact. His head thudded back against the wall. One of his hands flew to my hair without permission. The other braced against the plaster like it could hold him upright.

Upstairs, the floorboards creaked once more as his mother settled deeper into sleep.

I didn’t stop.