Desired by All and He Threw Away 96

Chapter 96 

Aiden’s POV 

I step away from the kids a bit pretending to be interested in the donation bins lined against the back wall.cardboard boxes full of gently used toys children’s books tiny shoes with Velcro straps. 

i stare at them as if im studying labels but my attention keeps slipping pulling really to the far corner of the gym. 

There she is. 

Taylor sits on the dusty floor leaning slightly against the bleachers with the little girl from earlier tucked into 

her side. 

the fluorescent lights dont quite reach that corner so the moment exists in its own kind of softness like the room gently folded around them. 

Kids still run circles around tables behind me, shrieking, chasing balloons, volunteers yell instructions over the noise, but where she is everything feels quieter. 

Or maybe I’m just quieter.Taylor speaks to the girl softly too low to hear.the girl keeps her fingers curled tightly in Taylor’s sleeve as though shes afraid that if she lets go the air will rush back too loud and too fast. 

the way Taylor sits calm steady unhurried makes something in my chest feel unsteady.my lungs dont fill the same way. There’s a pressure behind my ribs, faint but persistent. Not painful. Just… unfamiliar. 

It’s irritating how unfamiliar it is. 

I’m used to things I can measure–yard lines, pace times, heartbeats per minute, muscle strain, pressure in legs before a sprint. I’m used to adrenaline and clarity. I know how to name those feelings, use them, weaponize 

them. 

But this this isn’t something I’ve trained for. It doesn’t sharpen. It softens. And I don’t know what to do with soft.so i shift my stance hands in my pockets but the feeling follows. 

she brushes the girl’s hair back from her forehead with slow patient fingers–carefully like it matters to her. Like the little gesture is important. Like it costs her nothing. 

I don’t understand people like her.I grew up in quiet houses where silence meant something was wrong, or that I was doing something wrong. 

My mother hated noise–hated laughter, hated messes, hated anyone moving too fast through her carefully curated space, in fact she hated children. 

I remember running into a room once, cleats in hand, wanting to tell her my coach said I was getting better- really better–and instead of smiling, she winced like I was too loud, too much. At the age of ten my parents got divorced. 

My father didn’t want quiet. He filled every space with his voice, his planning, his goals for me. Training schedules on the fridge, film reviews on Sunday mornings instead of cartoons. Dinners with protein shakes instead of dessert. 

He looked at me like I was an investment–one. One he poured time and discipline into. He got exactly what he 

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wanted. 

est p 

I became the best.Best football player in the country. Best talked–about, best paid, best idolized.but being the best feels strangely like being alone. 

i lean against the wall resisting the urge to look again. Failing.its not just that shes good with kids.plenty of people are good with kids. Volunteers smile at them, pat their heads, paint their faces. But what Taylor does is different. 

When she looks at them, she doesn’t see noise. Or a task. Or a photo opportunity. She sees them. The frightered ones. The shy ones. The ones who don’t know how to ask for help. 

Something inside me wobbles when I realize… I recognize that look. 

because i used to be that kid.Not the loud one. Not the confident one. The other kind. The one who didn’t know 

how to ask for softness because softness never existed in his world. The kind that didn’t even know softness 

was an option. 

My chest tightens. 

The little girl leans further into Taylor’s side. Taylor doesn’t pull her closer, doesn’t overwhelm her, doesn’t try to fix anything. She just stays. Present. Constant. Gentle in a way that doesn’t demand anything. 

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced gentle without a price. 

The camera crew to my left adjusts their equipment. Someone whispers my name, probably planning one of those “Now, let’s get a candid shot” segments.i can feel the weight of their attention hovering–persistent expectant but my eyes wont leave her. 

Taylor lifts the girl’s chin with two fingers saying something too soft for anyone else to hear.the girl nods wiping her nose on her sleeve and i see it the moment she starts to breathe easier. 

That’s what Taylor does.She doesn’t fix people. She just makes it easier to breathe.And witnessing it makes something unfamiliar unravel inside me. Something tight, knotted, old. 

I swear I feel it loosen. 

Affection was never part of my training. Connection didn’t make you faster, or stronger, or more valuable on the field. When football was over for the day, I didn’t spend my time learning how to be better for another person. 

I spent it running from the parts of myself that felt too much. 

Most days, my breaks from football were exactly that… breaks. I didn’t spend them learning how to be better for 

anyone. 

I spent them chasing noise to drown things out.parties distractions anything to keep me from thinking too hard. Affection wasnt something you found at three in the morning when everyone’s drunk and laughing too loudly. 

whatever i got during those nights–attention heat someone’s hands on my skin it had nothing to do with what im watching right now. 

Taylor smiles at the girl a real smile the kind that softens her entire face and makes people feel seen.the way she offers warmth without needing anything in return. I never had that. Not once. Not even close. 

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Not even when Ella was my wife. And the awful part is… I want it.i feel it land low in my stomach strangely heavy.something almost like envy begins to surface and it takes me too long to recognize it for what it is. 

im jealous. 

Not of the girl. 

But of the ease with which Taylor gives parts of herself away. Not carelessly, not stupidly. But generously. Deliberately. Like there’s an endless supply. Like caring doesn’t shrink her–it expands her. 

i dont know what that kind of strength is called.the girl hesitates then slowly carefully just a little rests her head against Taylor’s shoulder.And something deep inside me reacts–sharp, silent, immediate. 

I want that. 

Not to be taken care of like a child. Not to be pitied or fixed. But to be seen the way Taylor sees people–unafraid of their bruised edges, unbothered by their mess. To be allowed to be both strong and soft–without it diminishing either side. 

i dont think anyone has ever made space for both parts of me.and i dont think i have ever asked.my breath feels tight like there is too much air and too little space.i dont move.i dont think i could if i tried. 

She senses it. Somehow.Because just then, she lifts her head.Her eyes catch mine. 

the room doesnt go quiet but it feels quiet.everything continues around us kids laughing balloons popping someone calling for more snacks a camera flash strobing in the distance but none of it lands. 

There’s something passing between us. 

Something small, but sharp. unspoken but loud. 

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