“Why?”
He adjusts the strap of his bag, his eyes holding mine. “Because you looked like you wanted to go but were scared to.”
The honesty strips the air from my lungs. Not going for the wings. Not going for the team. He steps closer, just enough to force me to look up.
“I—Declan, I’m tired—”
“Then sit,” he says. His voice drops, low and rough, vibrating in the empty space between us. “Noise hits different when you're not in it alone.”
The sentence lands deep. Quiet. Heavy. True.
Safe versus complicated.
Complicated wins.
I hesitate, my fingers curling around the strap of my bag. “I’m not—”
I stop. The person I meant to avoid doesn’t matter. Rylan’s not welcome anymore. Nobody would let him through the door.
Declan sees the shift in my face. His voice softens. “You’re with me.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Okay.”
We walk out together. The night air is crisp, smelling of dead leaves and approaching snow. The parking lot lights hum overhead. We get into his truck—warm air, leather, clean soap.
“You’re bossy,” I mutter as I buckle in.
“You’re stubborn,” he answers, putting the truck in gear.
We fall into silence—not awkward, not tense. Just calibrated. Mutual.
When we reachThe Penalty Boxa few minutes later, the lot is full. He parks in the back row but doesn’t get out right away. He just sits there, staring at the neon sign flickering above the door.
“You can still bail,” he says quietly. “I’ll take you home.”
My pulse flickers. “You want me to come in?”
His jaw works. “Yeah.”
Not because he needs company.
Because he wants mine.
I unbuckle. “Okay.”
We get out together. The cold wind hits hard.
As we approach the entrance, the heavy door swings open. A figure steps out, zipping a Titans jacket against the wind.
I freeze.
Dad.
He stops dead, hand still on the door handle.
His eyes go from Declan, to me, to the space between us.
Surprise. Then instant, razor-sharp suspicion.
