Savannah startsto stir as Claudia comes back out, hair damp, cheeks flushed, smelling like lavender baby soap and motherhood and a life I have no business wanting a piece of.
I pretend like I’m not holding her kid like she’s mine. I pass her back, careful, slower than I need to be. She takes her and immediately presses a kiss to Savannah’s head, proof she’s scared about what’s to come, but she’s doing a damn good job trying to hide it.
I clear my throat, force myself to step back. Locker room mode. Not… whatever the fuck this instinct is.
I take a piss and wash up as best I can, then duck into the spare room, find a stack of old Hayward University gear — Koa’s, clearly — and pull on a long-sleeve and joggers. Comfortable, neutral, nothing like the circus show happening outside the door.
When I walk out, it’s obvious I’m part of a fashion challenge I didn’t agree to be in.
“Now who wears Hayward better?” Dash asks the girls.
Noelle stares at him. “You’re kidding right? That’s… fashion trauma.” She nods to me. “That’s what we strive for.”
Sofie giggles. “I’ve seen less skin in lingerie ads.”
Dash flexes proudly. “It breathes.”
“It’s screaming,” Sofie shoots back. “For mercy.”
I tug my own tee down. “Mine fits fine.”
“That’s because you put on a shirt meant to be worn.” Noelle looks at me, “Thank you for being a functional adult.”
Dash gasps dramatically at her dig, “Jealousy is so loud.” He then looks down at his phone. “Cars waiting, let’s roll.”
I nod to Claudia and the others, “Thanks.”
In the hall, Dash informs me, “We’re meeting with the cops at the arena to give them our side of the story.”
I roll my eyes. “We got a story that won’t fuck Claudia?”
“We got the truth.”
I look back and see Claudia looking at me, “That good for you?”
She nods.
Downstairs Koaand Nalani are walking toward us from the back, coming from the door that leads to Paul’s NYC chicken farm. “Is Dash wearing my Hayward cut-off?”
“Appears so,” Koa chuckles.
“And my joggers,” she adds, hands on her hips.
Dash whispers, “Guess they’re back together. Can’t even say I’ll fuck her up if she fucks him over.”
“No, Sterling, you can’t.” I growl.
“I want that back.” She points at him, then me. “Both of you better return them.”
“Maybe, or maybe we’ll keep them,” Dash taunts.
“I will—” She starts.
“You’ll get them back,” I assure her as I steer him to the door. “Thank you for giving us a place to crash.”
“Can’t call the cops asking them to get back stolen goods,” Dash calls back to her. “This was all property of Haywards ice?—.”
“I’m sure I can find a way around that.” She jabs back as we head to the car.
