“No, of course not. Leo is at another developmental phase, and it’s exhausting.” She smiles at Byron, who kisses her cheek as though they have got this—together.
“Well, you know I’m always up for babysitting,” Zara pipes up, and Jobe coughs. “But not on Saturday nights.” She smiles at Jobe. “That’s our date night.”
“You have a date night every Saturday night?” Franklin questions in shock.
“Yes, it’s a promise we made to each other.” Zara beams with appreciation. When did my brother turn gooey?
Penny nudges an elbow toward Franklin. “You need to take a page out of your brother’s notebook.”
I laugh. “Said no one ever.” Jobe pokes me in the side. “Ouch. C’mon, this is new for you. It’s not a bad thing. It’s taking a while for me to get used to my new mushy brother.”
My father groans. “What’s new is how my conversations are hijacked at every meal.”
“They were always hijacked, dear.” Mom rolls her eyes. “The subtlety of your children’s method has dissolved with time.”
My father raises his glass. “A man can’t be mad if subtlety isn’t his offspring’s strong point. We raised you as strong children to help you develop the resilience, confidence, and courage to reach your full potential and professional success.”
Yet Byron hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
Right now, he’s watching me as though I’m teetering on the edge, about tofall on my sword.
For most ofthe games played at home, I would head down to the locker room and listen to the Coach give his speech to the players. Something I have always done when my father was governor before handing the reins to me. I enjoy being amongst the players, feeling their nerves, excitement, desire to win, and being part of something, belonging. Since Brandon has returned, I have stayed away.
Until today.
After the players are dressed, I walk into the room alongside Coach Mathews. He is revved up for the win, andhis motivational speeches also inspire me outside the sporting world.
Over the years, I have learned there is a lot about team sports you can apply to life. Especially things like…
Success and failure is about perseverance and resilience.
Time management is about discipline and sacrifice.
Effective communication is essential for success.
Accountability, respect, and patience.
Appointments with the team psychologist helped me to understand my flaws are not failures and the areas I need to work on. Patience is number one, and lately, everyone is testing that, even my mother wanting help with the gala.
Does she think running a team is a hobby?
Within minutes in my happy place, the frustration is melting, only to be replaced with something else. I can almost feel the electricity in the air the closer I get to Brandon. I can’t distract his focus, so I stand on the other side of Coach.
Coach stands in his usual position, where the players can see him from their chairs beside their lockers. Byron’s ankles are taped. His playing shoes are by his feet. I slowly look up and meet his steely gaze, one that tells me he is ready.
I force my gaze to stay locked on Coach, his words barely registering as my pulse thrums in my ears. I don’t dare let my eyes wander, especially not to Brandon. I don’t need to see the emotion in his eyes to feel it—his attention burns into me like a brand.
He’s watching me, not Coach. I feel it in every nerve, every beat of my racing heart. My chest tightens, my breath comes quick and shallow, and I hate how easily my body betrays me. The worst part? The fear. Fear that everyone around me can see the pull between us. Fear that Byron, of all people, will notice, and it’ll ruin everything—not just our fragile sibling bond but the team’s shot at glory.
Brandon’s gaze dares me to look, but I refuse. Not here. Not now. Every second, I remind myself to keep breathing and to hold steady. When the room bursts into applause as Coach wraps up, I clap, too, more out of relief than anything else—relief to step away from his scorching focus.
Three years ago, what we had wrecked everything—the team’s chemistry, our playoff dreams, and my sense of control. I can’t let that happen again. Not now. Not when we’re this close to being the best team in the league.
The players gather, hands stacked, shouting in unison, “Believe!” But I’m already retreating, slipping through the tunnel. The roar of the fans hits me the moment I step out, their cheers washing over me like a wave. I plaster on a smile, raising a hand to wave at the cameras. Out here, under the lights and in front of thousands, the attention feels almost comforting—a distraction. A camera in my face is infinitely easier to handle than Brandon’s silent, searing attention.
Reaching the VIP section, I exhale as the cameras shift focus back to the players. My shoulders ease, but only slightly. My eyes drift to the far end of the court, where the opposing team warms up, their movements sharp and methodical. Anything to keep me from looking back. Anything to stop me from acknowledging the fire that still burns between us, threatening to consume everything.
“How are we looking?” Franklin asks.
