My throat tightens again, and I focus on the socks in front of me like they’re fascinating. “Yeah. Hopefully.”
Beck kicks my shin lightly. “Also, if you don’t marry her one day, I’m sure one of my new teammates would.”
I shake my head. “You’re insane.”
“Correct,” he says, then lifts his phone. “Also, Sophie says if you don’t bring Sloane to my first preseason game, she’s going to fight you.”
“Tell Sophie to get in line.”
Beck grins and types a reply. “Oh, I will.”
We sit there for a second, the room quieter now that the duffel is zipped and the chaos is contained.
Beck’s eyes flick to my knee. “You gonna be okay without me around to bully you into doing shit?”
“I have Sloane,” I say automatically.
Beck’s grin turns knowing. “Yeah, you do.”
I stand, stretching carefully. My knee doesn’t scream anymore when I move. Not like it used to. It’s still there—still tight in the mornings, still sore when I overdo it, still a quiet warning when I push too fast.
But it holds.
Like me.
I look down at Beck. “You ready?”
He swallows, and for the first time, his grin falters into something softer. “No.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You are.”
He nods, then stands and pulls me into a hug—hard, brief, the kind guys do when they don’t want to name the emotion.
“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he mutters against my shoulder.
I scoff. “Me? Never.”
He pulls back, eyes bright. “Text me updates.”
“On what?”
He smirks. “On your domestic bliss. On Sloane’s mood swings. On whether Cameron murders you.”
“Cameron’s not going to murder me,” I lie.
Beck laughs. “Sure.”
I grab my phone off the desk, thumb hovering over the screen for half a second.
Because there’s one text I want to send more than anything.
Not to Beck.
To her.
you awake?
I stare at it, then delete it.
