“Thanks,” he said, “for saving me back there.”
“Blocker side was open,” I said.“Easy read.”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Austen admitted.He turned to face the yard, shadows cutting across his face.“I hate this.The variables are too random.The noise-to-signal ratio is zero.”
“Yeah, I have no idea what you just said.”I chuckled, leaning back against the siding.“I guess we both have things to learn from each other.Me, I spend my whole life trying to control angles.”
I squared my shoulders, demonstrating.“It’s about depth.You step out, you cut the line of sight.You make the net disappear behind you so the shooter has nothing to aim at.”
I dropped my hands.
“But here?I can’t square up to this.This place is ricochets everywhere.”
We stood there for a minute, shoulder to shoulder in the cooling air.The first time since I’d moved in that the silence between us didn’t feel like a standoff.It felt like a bunker.
The sliding door rattled.Ryan stuck his head out, spotting us.
“There you are!We’re doing a keg stand competition.Carter, you’re up against the freshman d-man.”
My stomach turned.Not the alcohol—the performance.The eyes.
I looked at Austen.He was shrinking into his hoodie, bracing for impact.
“Actually,” I said, loud enough for Ryan to hear, “Lovell’s not feeling great.Something with the… pipe situation.”
Austen caught on instantly.He put a hand to his stomach and offered a grimace that was truly Oscar-worthy.“Bad eggs,” he whispered.
Ryan looked between us, disappointed but not suspicious.“Weak sauce, Math.Fine.Carter, get him home.But you owe me a round next week.”
“Deal,” I lied.
Ryan ducked back inside.I looked at Austen.
“Bad eggs?”I asked.
“Callbacks are the foundation of good improv,” he deadpanned.
“Come on.”I nodded toward the side gate, bypassing the house entirely.
We walked to the car in silence, dry leaves crunching under our boots.When we got inside the truck, the engine groaned to life, blasting stale air before the climate control kicked in.
Austen buckled his seatbelt with a decisive snap, staring straight ahead.“I never located Maya.”
“Your friend?”I asked, checking the mirrors.
“Yep.I was supposed to rendezvous with her.”He rubbed his temples.
“If she’s inside that house, she’s probably fine,” I offered, shifting into reverse.“Or at least too distracted to notice we left.That crowd seemed… occupied.”
“Probability high,” Austen agreed, though he didn’t look convinced.He leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closing.
I merged onto the dark road.The silence felt heavy again, but not in a bad way.It felt like the air leaving a balloon.
I reached for the radio dial, instinct taking over.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
