Eli Vargas falls into step beside me, calm as always. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say.
Eli’s nods. He doesn’t push. He never does. That’s why I like him.
Before Dex can wind himself up again, a familiar voice cuts in.
“Well, well,” Bryce Blackhorn says, stepping into the hallway like he owns the lighting. “If it isn’t Nashville’s Most Emotionally Responsible Bachelor.”
Annabelle Hacker is right beside him, arms crossed, eyes sharp, taking us in like a PR audit. “I leave you alone for five minutes,” she says to me, “and suddenly you’re winning reality-adjacent game shows.”
“I didn’t win,” I say.
Bryce grins. “You absolutely did. Look at Mason, he’s disappointed.”
Mason scoffs. “Please. I’m happy for the captain.”
“Sure you are,” Bryce says. “You were one camera angle away from crying. And Gregory,” he turns, pointing, “you looked like you were calculating endorsement opportunities mid-applause.”
Gregory doesn’t deny it. “There were variables.”
Bryce laughs, then looks back at me. “Seriously, Hayes. You went up there, said nothing stupid, didn’t flirt, didn’t grandstand, didn’t turn it into a personality crisis.”
“That’s the goal,” I say.
“That’s terrifying,” Bryce says. “Men like you ruin it for the rest of us.”
Annabelle snorts. “He’s right. Mason thrives on chaos. Gregory thrives on metrics. You?” She looks at me. “You thrive in the game… on the ice, on stage, wherever the spotlight lands. It’s the almost-blind-date, with cameras and a PR handler breathing down your neck, that’s new territory.”
“For the record, dating isn’t exactly new territory,” I say. “I just don’t usually do it with an audience and a countdown clock.”
Bryce claps my shoulder. “Captain Bachelor,” he says again, like it’s official. “Try not to make the rest of the league look bad tomorrow night.”
Gregory fake punches my shoulder. “Seriously, you handled that well, Hayes.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it because Gregory doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
Dex leans in like he’s about to deliver a sermon. “How did it feel to be looked at through a voice wall, Colby? How did it feel to beheard?”
“It felt like a charity event,” I say.
Dex stares at me. “You are clinically incapable of whimsy.”
“I’m capable,” I say. “I’m choosing not to.”
We round a corner and nearly collide with an event coordinator. She sidesteps, unfazed, points at a sign like we’re being herded through an airport.
“Players this way. Media line starts in three minutes. Captain Hayes, you’re first.”
Of course I am.
Dex puts a hand to his chest. “We’re being summoned. This is the part where they separate us like we’re in a heist movie.”
“No one is separating you,” I say.
He gasps dramatically. “You don’t know that.”
A PR rep appears ahead in her sharp suit. She clocks our group instantly and walks toward us with purpose.
