“Don’t need to. You’re about as subtle as Walton at a wine bar.”
Across the room, Chase gasps. “I heard that!”
“Good,” Reid fires back without missing a beat, then drops his voice when he turns back to me. Eyes flat, unblinking. “It’s Lulu, isn’t it?”
The name lands hard in my ribs, and my stomach lurches.
I try for a laugh, but it’s too sharp, lifting another dumbbell. “What makes you think—”
“Because you look like you’re skating with a grenade in your pocket every time her name comes up.” Reid doesn’t flinch. “And because I’ve got fuckingeyes.”
I drag a hand down my face, trying to buy myself half a second. He waits me out, like the patient bastard goalie he is, killing time on a power play.
Finally, I set the dumbbell back on the rack, slower than I want to. “Yeah.”
The word drops between us, heavier than any weight in the room. My chest feels cracked wide open, because saying it out loud makes it real in a way it hasn’t been until now.
Reid doesn’t blow up, doesn’t even blink. He just leans back against the rack, folds his arms across his chest, and exhales through his nose. “Thought so.”
I scrub my palm over my jaw, every nerve screaming. “Before you say anything—”
“I’m not Eli,” Reid cuts in, quiet but firm. “I’m not gonna punch your teeth out for looking at her. But she’s not my sister. And I’m not covering your ass either.” His gaze pins me, unrelenting. “You in this? Or are you half-assing it until it blows up in your face?”
My chest constricts, forcing me to face the truth of it.
“I’m not half-assing shit.” The words rip out before I can think. “She… Fuck, she makes me want shit I didn’t even know I wanted. She’s like sunshine that burns if you stand in it too long, and I can’t fucking stay out of it.”
Reid actually blinks, then exhales. “Jesus Christ.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the closest thing I’ve ever seen him do to recoiling. “Didn’t need your fucking vows, Shakespeare. Dial it back before the whole weight room hears your sonnet.”
“Yeah, well.” I drag a hand through my hair, heat crawling up my neck. “You fucking asked.”
“Then you better be sure,” he says simply. “Because she’s not the type you mess around with. She’s part of our crew. You fuck this up, Eli won’t be the only one you answer to.”
I nod once, jaw tight. “I know.”
Something flickers in his expression—approval, maybe. Then he pushes off the rack, grabbing a med ball like nothing just happened. “Good. Because tomorrow’s this fucking Career Day I saved your ass from, and I’m not carrying the whole dog-and-pony show by myself.”
Despite myself, a laugh huffs out. “Yeah. Wouldn’t wanna deprive the kids of your sparkling personality.”
“Shut up and spot me.”
I move in, catching the weight as he starts his set, but the truth won’t quit echoing.
I’m all in, and I don’t think I’ll ever want a way out.
Chapter twenty-one
I’m twenty-fucking-four, Marsha
Lulu
Sleeping in my own bed again was weird.
Good weird, I tell myself as I lace my sneakers and set off at dawn, pounding the familiar loop that winds past Birch and up to my spot. No dryers humming, no hockey player’s dog hogging my pillow, no Logan’s cologne on the bedsheets. Just me and my house, finally dry, finally quiet.
But yeah, it was a little weird. The space felt too big, too quiet. He texted me all evening, a stream of questions, little comments that made me grin in the dark until my eyelids drooped.
I slow to a jog and take out my phone, rereading some of the message chain.
