“I hate crumbs in the bed,” I groan. “And those are mine.”
“You’re terrible at sharing.” He bites my shoulder. “Plus, I’m feeding you. That means I get a tax.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“Pretty sure it is.” He kisses the back of my neck. It’s too comfortable, too easy.
My eyes grow heavier with every passing minute. My head tips back against his chest, and he rubs up and down my arm, soft and absentminded. The code keeps crawling across the screen, meaningless lines blurring together.
“Close your eyes, Blue,” he murmurs, low and steady. “I’ve got you.”
And with that, I finally let go.
Chapter 26
Blake
Iprobably should’ve sat out of the game.
After everything that went down in the woods, I had the perfect excuse—bruises, cuts, and possible emotional trauma. A neat little trifecta.
Coach Carmichael even said I’d get a free pass. Recovery time, which is code forplease don’t make me explain to the athletic director why one of my forwards keeled over mid-match.
But I played anyway. Because apparently I’m allergic to good decisions.
I ran myself ragged, threw myself into every tackle, and by the end, all I could think was that if recklessness was on our drug tests, I’d fail that shit for sure. A full twenty-four hours have crawled by since then.
When I woke up yesterday, Mads was already propped against the headboard, laptop balanced on his knees. The drive sat plugged in, the files finally rebuilt while I slept.
Between that, the footage from the drive-in, and the masked chaos in Colin’s backyard, we finally had enough to build a case. More than enough.
So we did what had to be done. Compiled everything onto a clean drive—no fingerprints, no trail leading back to us—and dropped it with the police anonymously. We also left info about the horror set, Jonah’s presence there, and the way the basement set looked eerily familiar.
I hope Kai doesn’t get pissed; we didn’t name him, but for all we know, anyone connected to the set could be tied in. If someone was accidentally killed in his building, I’m not convinced he could be completely in the dark about that, but who knows?
Now it’s out of our hands.
Which should make me feel lighter. Safer. Instead, it’s like standing on the edge of the field before kickoff—every nerve taut, lungs full of air I can’t quite release, waiting for the whistle.
Mads keeps telling me we’ve done everything we can. That the cops have what they need. That it’s over.
There’s not much left for me to do except to believe him and wait.
The field’sempty when we get there, the air washed clean by last night’s rain. It carries the faint scent of damp earth, the kind of day that feels like my favorite kind of quiet.
Technically, Mads shouldn’t even be here. He has a list of injuries that would have any sane person parked on the couch. But sanity’s never been his strong suit.
He jogs out onto the grass like nothing’s wrong, a mask of cocky ease firmly in place. “Come on, Blue. Bet you can’t score on me.”
“One year seniority doesn’t make you ancient, but…” I shoot back, setting my water bottle down. “You’re also injured, so if I score on you, it’ll be considered elder abuse.”
“Trash talk from someone who missed an open net last week?” He grins, already planting himself between the posts, arms spread wide.
I shake my head, but go for it anyway.
It feels good, jogging toward the ball, letting muscle memory take over. The thump of my cleats, the swing of my leg, the sting of cold air in my lungs—simple things, grounding things. I send the ball flying, and Mads dives the wrong way on purpose, flopping dramatically into the grass.
“Goal!” he groans, rolling onto his back. “Fine, fine, you win.”
