The last call

The spare room felt smaller than I remembered, the air stale from weeks of disuse. I sat on the edge of the twin bed, my thumb hovering over Matteo’s name in my contacts before I finally pressed the call icon.

He picked up on the first ring, his voice slightly breathless. "Deppgrl?"

"Hey, Matteo," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I just wanted to let you know... I’m back. I actually got home two or three days ago."

There was a long silence on the other end, the kind that vibrates with unspoken questions. "You’re home?" he finally whispered. "God, I’m shocked. I’m just happy to hear your voice."

"Thanks. It’s good to be back."

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his tone shifting to that familiar, protective worry. "With New Zealand and the All Blacks? Was the head coach gig what you expected?"

I looked out the window at the familiar streetlights of my neighborhood, thinking of the pressure and the roar of the crowds I’d left behind. "Yes and no," I admitted. "It’s complicated, Matteo. But I’m going to be okay. I just need some time to figure out what 'okay' looks like now that I'm not on the sidelines."

"I understand," he said softly. "I'm just glad you're back."

We drifted into a few more minutes of easy, hollow small talk—the weather, the long flight back from Auckland, the things people say when they’re trying to ignore the elephant in the room. Eventually, the pauses grew longer.

"I should go," I said. "I have a lot of unpacking to do."

"Right. Of course. Take care of yourself, Deppgrl."

"You too. Goodbye, Matteo."

"Goodbye."

The line went dead. I stared at his name on the screen for a long beat. Before I could overthink it, before the nostalgia could talk me out of it, I tapped 'Edit' and scrolled to the bottom. I pressed 'Delete Contact' and confirmed it. The screen jumped back to my recent calls, showing only a string of digits where his name used to be. It was a quiet click, a digital snap, but it felt like a heavy door finally swinging shut.

I stood and opened the windows to the stuffy room, turning the fan on to coax some fresh air inside. I hadn't asked Vince to prepare the guest room, so the neglect was evident. As I looked down at the neighborhood, I saw Mike pulling into his driveway. He caught sight of me and nodded, but then he froze.

That’s when I felt it—Vic’s surging energy. I could always feel him before I saw him.

"Amore?" he asked, his voice a low vibration in his sexy Hispanic accent. "Amore."

"Hmmmm?" I asked mindlessly, still half-distracted by the quiet street. "What’s wrong, Papa?"

"I woke up and you weren’t in my arms," he said, stalking toward me. "What’s so fascinating outside of that window, amore? You looking for someone?"

"Nothing," I whispered, turning to meet his gaze. "Just getting some air. Will you be able to get back to sleep after your nap?"

"A nap isn’t necessary when you’re around, amore," he said softly, his eyes darkening with affection. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of my neck while taking a pointed peek out the window at Mike. "Goodnight, Mike! Don’t forget to use your earplugs tonight! It’s going to be a long one!"

Vic smirked as he shut the windows most of the way. "I’m glad you’re back, amore," he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. "The house felt empty without your spirit here. I missed having you right here where I can hold you."

"You did, huh?" I teased, though my breath hitched as he pulled me closer.

"Don't play with me," he murmured, his hands sliding down to gently cup my face. "You've been gone too long. I need to feel every bit of you tonight."

"Then stop talking, Papa," I whispered, my heart racing. "Show me how much you missed me."

Without another word, he hooked his arms under my knees and scooped me up. He carried me with a careful, reverent strength, crossing the small space to place me in the center of the bed. He stripped quickly, his eyes never leaving mine, the air thick with a tension that was more than just physical—it was a deep, aching need to be close.

I didn't wait nor could I. I reached for him, guiding him home as he lowered himself over me. I gripped his shoulders, my eyes fluttering shut as he slowly, agonizingly merged our bodies. The sensation was staggering—a deep, soul-filling connection that made the weeks of distance vanish in an instant.

"God, you're so beautiful," Vic groaned, his hands trembling slightly as they stroked my hair away from my face. "I missed this. I missed you."

"Yes, Vic... right there," I gasped as he began to move. It wasn't just a rhythm; it was a conversation. Every thrust was slow and deliberate, designed to savor the feeling of being one.

Vic was passionate, his movements a blend of power and profound tenderness. His mouth found mine, kissing me with a hunger that tasted like relief, while his hands traced the curves of my body as if memorizing them all over again. He leaned down to catch my nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling in a way that made me whimper, his other hand coming up to tangle in my hair.

"Look at me, amore," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he drove deeper. "Tell me you're here. Tell me you're really back with me."

"I'm here, Vic... I'm right here," I cried out, my fingers digging into his back as a wave of heat rolled through me.

We lost ourselves in each other for hours. The intensity never wavered, but it was tempered by the way he looked at me—with a raw, exposed adoration. I lost count of the times he paused just to press his lips to my temple or whisper my name against my skin.

Just as the first peak took me, Vic gripped my hips, his touch firm but full of heat. "Don't move," he commanded softly. "I'm not done loving you yet."

With a feat of strength that seemed effortless, he flipped us without breaking our connection. One moment I was beneath him, and the next, I was on top, my hands resting on his chest as I moved against him. He watched me with a gaze so intense it felt like he could see straight through me. My body felt heavy and cherished, every inch of me sensitized by his touch.

"You're incredible," he breathed, reaching up to pull me down for another deep, soul-searching kiss.

Hours later, as the sky began to turn a soft, bruised purple, he pinned me once more. He hooked my legs over his shoulders, his eyes locked on mine as he moved with a punishingly beautiful precision, finding the exact spots that made me come undone.

As the sun finally cleared the horizon, bathing the room in gold, Vic began to pull out. I felt the slow, agonizing slide of him leaving me, but before he was fully clear, he grabbed my hips and hoisted them high, holding me close as if he never wanted the morning to start.