Honesty. That’s new.
My hands curl into fists at my sides because everything in me wants to pull her into my chest and not let go. Not when she’s this breakable.
But Cameron is right there. Watching. Not in a suspicious way. Not in an angry way.
Just…in that big-brother, hyperaware way, like he’s learned how to scan rooms for threats.
And I am the newest threat he’s figuring out.
Sloane’s gaze shifts past me to Cameron. “You’re staying?”
Cameron nods once. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”
A beat of silence.
Then Sloane looks back at me, and for a second, her eyes go shiny like she’s fighting something that wants to escape.
“I’ll be fine,” she says quickly, like she knows what I’m about to do with my face. Like she’s trying to stop me from seeing her. “Cam’s here. Jade and Blakely are coming by later.”
My throat burns. “Sloane?—”
“I’m fine,” she repeats, sharper this time.
I nod because I understand what she’s trying to do. She’s giving me permission to leave.
And somehow that makes it worse.
I step closer anyway, just enough to drop my voice. “If it gets bad, you call me.”
Her eyes flick down. Then back up. “You’re going to be in a room full of yelling men and cameras. You wouldn’t notice if I did.”
“I’ll hear you,” I say, like a promise.
She swallows. “Okay.”
Cameron shifts behind us, clearing his throat like he’s reminding me he exists.
I step back. Grab my jacket. Force my hands to stay at my sides instead of reaching for her.
“Text me when Beck gets the call,” Sloane says.
I manage a smile. “Deal.”
Then I leave before I do something stupid like kiss her forehead in front of her brother and set my own life on fire.
—
The draft party is at Beck’s dad’s house.
Beck’s been pretending all week like he isn’t nervous, like he isn’t watching his phone like it’s a ticking bomb, like he isn’t about to have his whole life changed by a name being said out loud.
But there are balloons inside and way too much food, and someone has a banner taped to the wall that says “TAKE YOUR PICK” in block letters, like this is a birthday party instead of the start of the rest of his life.
The living room is packed. Football guys, girlfriends, teammates’ parents, a couple coaches who “just happened to be in town,” and enough energy in the air to make my knee ache just from standing in it.
Beck is front and center on the couch, wearing a suit jacket with jeans like he couldn’t commit to being classy when he’s about to get drafted into the NFL.
Sophie is perched beside him like she owns him, legs crossed, hair perfect, eyes sharp. She looks like she could fistfight the commissioner for him if the draft takes too long.
