“You don’t get it,” Rhett barked, stepping toward Jay.
Jay, credit to him, didn’t move. Just lifted his head and looked right through him.
“I get more than you think,” he said, voice cold as ice.
Rhett scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Coming from the guy who doesn’t even feel heat?—”
That’s when Nate muttered something under his breath. Something low, bitter, and just loud enough.
“Maybe if you two weren’t so damn obsessed, she wouldn’t have run.”
Rhett froze.
Turned.
“Say that again.”
Nate stood, his own fists clenched, half dressed. “I said maybe she left because the rest of us are sick of being in the middle of your leash fight. You think she doesn’t know how you two look at her? You think it’s notobvious?”
The second he said it, I knew he regretted it.
But regret didn’t stop fists.
Rhett launched.
I moved.
But not fast enough.
He slammed Nate back into the row of lockers, one fist gripping the front of his jersey, the other cocked high and trembling.
“Say it again,” Rhett growled, teeth bared, scent flaring hard and hot. “Say it again.”
Nate didn’t.
Not because he backed down—because I was between them now, one arm shoved into Rhett’s chest, the other braced to hold them apart.
I met Rhett’s eyes. “Enough.”
His nostrils flared. Jaw tight. He didn’t move.
“Let go,” I said.
He didn’t listen.
Jay stood beside me suddenly, calm as always, but there was somethingsharpin his stance now. Coiled. Ready.
“This isn’t the way,” Jay said quietly.
That got through.
Barely.
Rhett let go. Not with grace. With a jerk, like his own body betrayed him by listening. He stepped back, hands still twitching, eyes still lit with the kind of fury that made alphas dangerous.
Nate adjusted his jersey. “He needs to get his head on straight before playoffs.”
“Shut up,” I warned, and he did. Fast.
