"No," I say firmly. "That's how we get better. That's howyouget better. We fix the little shit before it becomes big shit."
Mason exhales, "Thanks, man. Seriously."
I shrug. "You're part of the team. We lift each other up. And trust me—half of us have fucked up transitions. It happens."
Both rookies laugh, finally loosening their shoulders.
Behind us, Liam falls off Reese's shoulders with a scream that could crack glass, splashing half the backyard.
The rookies snort.
"See?" I say, smirking. "You're already doing better than him."
The rookies crack up, and we're still laughing when their eyes suddenly flick upward—right behind me.
Their expressions shift instantly.
Mason tries (and fails) to smother a grin.
Ben bites his lip like he's physically holding laughter back.
And just like that, every muscle in my body goes on alert.
Oh, I knowexactlywhat's coming.
I turn—slowly.
And there they are. The Archer Twins.
Dripping wet.
Hair plastered to their foreheads.
Grins carved straight out of hell.
Liam wiggles his fingers at me like some deranged sea creature. Luke cracks his neck like he's preparing for combat.
I narrow my eyes. "Don't you fucking dare."
They take one synchronized step toward me.
I step back.
They step forward.
Another step.
Another.
Everyone around us starts laughing, whistles cutting through the music.
"Boys," I warn, palms out. "I'm in jeans. And I swear to God—"
Too late.
Liam hooks his arms under my shoulders while Luke grabs my legs, and the whole backyard erupts with laughter as they haul me toward the pool like it's a goddamn sacrifice ritual.
"Ben! His phone!" Liam barks.
