“I learned from the best.”
He huffs a small, broken laugh. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
We walk out together.
The Line is right where they said they’d be.
And Declan.
He’s leaning against the wall across from the office door, still half in gear. He straightens the second he sees me, eyes scanning my face, checking for damage.
My dad stops.
“Reid,” he says.
“Coach,” Declan answers. Voice respectful, but he doesn’t back down. He holds my father’s gaze.
My dad looks at him. Really looks at him. He nods once, sharp and acknowledging. A silent truce. A silent thank you.
“Good game, Reid,” my father says gruffly.
Declan’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. “Thank you, sir.”
My father turns to me. “You coming home for dinner this week?”
“Yeah,” I say, throat thick. “I am.”
He nods, turns, and walks away down the tunnel, phone already in his hand.
“So,” Zoë says, breaking the silence. “That was… heavy.”
“Are you okay?” Clara asks.
I take stock. The buzzing in my veins is gone. I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve run a marathon.
Declan steps closer. Doesn’t crowd me. Just reaches out and takes my hand. Palm warm, rough, solid.
“I’m okay,” I say.
I look at him, and he looks at me.
We did this. All of us.
I finally said the words. And the roof didn’t cave in.
Chapter 31
Declan
Bythetimemyapartment door clicks shut behind us, the noise of campus feels like it belongs to another planet.
Out there, it’s chaos—statements and headlines and a hundred blown-up versions of my father’s name. In here, it’s just the softthunkof the deadbolt, the low hum of the heater, and Talia’s hand still caught in mine.
“It’s quiet,” I say.
It comes out rough. Half-laugh, half-confession.
She stands in the entryway, cheeks pink from the cold, my hoodie too big on her frame. She looks smaller than she did in the Union, surrounded by screens and whispers.
