She smirks, fingers already flying over her phone. “I wish I could say it was my idea, but you came up with it. You did the same thing for the Houston Panthers, remember? When they made the finals? I saw that clip and knew we had to recreate it.”
I pause, remembering. The noise of the Panther stadium, the confetti, the players’ faces. Another life. Another version of me.
“You’ve been stalking me?” I tease, elbowing her.
“Just doing my research,” she fires back, grinning.
We laugh, the kind of easy sound that untangles the tension that’s been twisting in my chest since last night.
“I’m just happy to learn from the best,” she adds.
I’m about to respond when my phone buzzes on my lap. I glance down.
Rogue:
Is your car at the airport? Or is your roommate picking you up?
I blink, heart doing that inconvenient skip it’s started to perfect.
Me:
Briana is picking me up.
Rogue:
Tell her she doesn’t have to. I’ll take you home.
My pulse stutters. I stare at the message, biting my lip, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Me:
Are you sure that’s a good idea?
Three blinking dots appear, vanish, then return.
Rogue:
I have a driver picking me up. Let me take you home, lass.
The bus hums around us; engines, chatter, laughter blending together, but my world has narrowed to those words.
I glance up, searching for him. He’s a few rows ahead, looking out the window as if nothing has changed.
Except everything has.
Chapter 26
The plane gives off a low, steady hush as the last of the passengers file in, the team quieter now. The rush of victory has faded into that half-dream state that comes after too much adrenaline—headphones in, voices low, bodies finally giving in to exhaustion.
I smile at the flight attendants as I board, nodding at the familiar navy uniforms, the faint scent of coffee and jet fuel already clinging to the air. My bag feels heavier than it should, probably because my heart’s been racing since I spotted him near the back.
He’s there, of course. Aisle seat, posture relaxed.
The moment his eyes find me, he stands. Without a word, he steps into the aisle, takes my bag before I can protest, and slides it into the overhead bin.
“Thanks,” I say.
He just nods, then waits until I sit before taking his usual seat.
