Until my Last Breath

57

The first thing I register is warmth.

A steady, solid warmth wrapped around me, holding me in place. For a second, it makes my heart stutter in panic-but then I feel his breathing, slow and even, and I remember.

Pablo.

Everything from last night rushes back, the crushing news, the panic attack, the way I collapsed in his arms. The way he stayed.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers instinctively clutching onto his hoodie. I don't want to move, don't want to break the fragile sense of safety surrounding me. He showed up perfectly yesterday, exactly when I needed him. And now, even in sleep, he's still here.

My throat tightens.

I wish it was enough to quiet the storm in my mind.

I shift slightly, just enough to glance up at him. He looks so peaceful, nothing like the usual sharp, focused Gavi the world knows. His lashes rest lightly against his cheek, his lips slightly parted, and for a moment, I just watch. Appreciate.

Because I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell him how much it meant.

With a quiet breath, I rest my head back against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filling my ears.

But my thoughts refuse to settle.

Everything feels wrong.

It's unfair.

I gave everything, I fought, I sacrificed, and yet, here I am-with nothing. No seat. No contract. No future in the sport I was born into.

I failed.

The thought rips through me like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

I failed my uncle.

My fists clench. Jules believed in me. He was the one who told me I could do this, that I was meant for it. And now? Now I have nothing to show for it.

I press my lips together, trying to fight the burn of tears, but it's useless. I feel like I'm suffocating under the weight of disappointment, of grief, of helplessness.

A few minutes pass in silence, my mind running in circles. Then my gaze flickers to the clock on my bedside table.

6:00 AM.

Gavi has training in two hours.

I exhale softly. He needs to get going.

I know I should wake him up, but I don't move. Instead, I tighten my grip on his hoodie, letting myself sink into him for just a little longer.

Because right now, he's the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

His warmth is comforting, his presence grounding, and I don't want to lose it just yet. But I know he has to go, so I push aside my selfishness and lightly squeeze his arm.

"Pablo," I whisper.

He stirs slightly, brow furrowing before his eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep. He blinks at me, adjusting to the dim morning light, and when recognition settles in, a soft smile tugs at his lips.

"Morning," he murmurs, voice raspy and warm.

"Morning," I reply quietly.

For a moment, we just lay there, eyes locked, neither of us rushing to move. His hand finds my back, stroking it gently, and despite everything-despite the heartbreak, the exhaustion, the uncertainty-I feel safe.

I exhale slowly, letting myself get lost in the way he's looking at me. It's different. There's something in his gaze, something softer, something deeper. It makes my chest ache in a way I don't fully understand.