“He’s got an image to uphold,” Nettie replied, her voice proud with understanding as she watched Tate. Her eyes tracked Tate as he barked orders, steadying the team like nothing had happened, his voice cutting through the fray.
When the referee reached for him, Tate shook his hand firmly. It was a silent exchange of respect that sent another thrill through her chest. He wasn’t just brute force—he was discipline, control, a leader who knew when to draw the line.
And Nettie… Nettie couldn’t look away.
She felt her heart stumble, then race, spiraling out of control in ways she hadn’t been ready for. The more she saw of him—the man behind the still reserve, that grumpiness he showed everyone, and the fire beneath the armor—the harder she was falling. Her amazement mixed with admiration, and that melted into something warmer, sweeter, more dangerous.
Something within her was spiraling out of control and she felt it. Oh that fear of being hurt by Tate once again was still there, but her heart?
Her heart was falling.
Again.
The game was over.
The adrenaline from the crowd had thinned into the low, steady hum of voices filtering through the arena walls, but Nettie still felt the echo of it reverberating inside her chest. Once again, she found herself in the waiting lounge where the players’ families and friends gathered. The first time she’d stepped foot in this room, she’d felt like an outsider—hovering at the edge, unsure where to stand, how to act, what to say.
Tonight felt different.
Tonight, she belonged.
Smiles greeted her now, heads lifted in recognition. People waved her over, folded her into their circles, included herin their chatter without hesitation. It wasn’t just politeness anymore; it was familiarity. Nettie realized with a soft swell of wonder that this was what it felt like when life began to shift and mold around something unexpected. It was almost like a new shoe she hadn’t tried on before, wasn’t sure she needed… and surprisingly?
It fit.
“Oh my gosh, Theo is going to be so mad someone got him,” Aimee chuckled, rubbing her stomach as though to soothe both herself and the baby she carried. Her expression softened, though her eyes twinkled. “I’m glad he’s all right, but boy is he going to be in a mood.”
“I bet,” Becca replied with a grin, her hands folded neatly over her lap. “I’m just glad it wasn’t Travis—no offense…”
“None taken,” Aimee assured quickly.
Becca lowered her voice a little, glancing around before continuing. “His knees were really bothering him yesterday after practice, and this might be his last season.” She paused, chewing her bottom lip, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “You did not hear me say that.”
“Never heard a thing,” Nettie and Gina said at the same time, exchanging a surprised look. They all understood the unspoken rule: complaining behind closed doors was one thing. Doing it here, where the wrong ears could twist words into rumors, was entirely another.
Time to change the subject,she thought.
“Your brother did good tonight,” Nettie smoothed her hands over her knees and nervously tossed that out casually to Gina beside her, pride warming her cheeks with a blush. The words had tumbled out before she could stop them, and she immediately felt self-conscious. Why was she gushing about Tate to his sister? Still, it was true—he had been incredible, andNettie was so proud of his accomplishments that she couldn’t hold it in.
“His ego isn’t gonna fit through the door,” Gina smirked, rolling her eyes in exasperation. That drew laughter from several of the other women nearby. “But yeah, he did amazing. I couldn’t believe he didn’t finish beating that guy to a pulp.”
“Families were watching,” Nettie offered carefully, though her lips tugged upward.
“His team was watching,” Becca corrected with pointed emphasis, her smile sharp with knowing.
“Amen,” Aimee agreed, nodding firmly. “That is not something my husband will forget. Tate made a friend for life by pounding that Kodiak for Theo while he was pulling himself together.”
As if summoned by her words, the door opened with a rush of noise and cold air. Theo appeared first, battered but victorious, with a split lip and a blossoming bruise darkening around his eye. And yet he wore a cocky grin that said the win more than made up for it.
“Ma chérie,”he murmured to his wife, voice rich with exhaustion and affection. “Allons-y…Let’s go. I’m tired.”
Other players filed in behind him, trailing laughter and half-muttered conversations that floated across the lounge.
“That was such a good game…”
“Cassidy actually gave us a pep talk…”
“I thought he was going to chew us out…”
