Midway through dinner, Eli’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, then stands up abruptly without an excuse, and slips out the back door, phone pressed to his ear. The table goes quiet for half a beat, everyone finally clocking the tension.
Julian’s jaw ticks, and he stabs at a tomato with enough force to splatter seeds across his plate.
I set my fork down. “Jules,” I say, keeping my voice low but firm. “You wanna talk about it, or are you just gonna murder your vegetables for the rest of dinner?”
He glares at me, mouth pressed into a tight line. “Drop it.”
I don’t. “Seriously. If Eli did something, just say it. If you’re pissed, let’s clear the air before someone throws hands and Killian bans us all from roast night.”
“You two gonna make up before or after dessert?” Ryan chirps, ever the instigator, but there’s a nervousness under it. “Because I can’t eat if you’re both staring daggers across the table.”
Julian just rolls his eyes and shoves back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’m not hungry.” He stalks out, leaving half his dinner behind.
The table is silent for a second, then Ryan comments, “Well, that was subtle.”
Killian shakes his head, but he doesn’t look all that surprised. “Let him go. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
Thorn looks at Luca with narrowed eyes. “Did Eli and Jules fight? That never happens.”
Luca shakes his head. “Don’t look at me. I’m on the same team as those idiots, and even I don’t know what’s going on. Julian’s been in a mood for days, and Eli’s acting all secretive.”
Ryan leans in, dropping his voice. “Wanna bet it’s about a girl? Eli’s been all weird about his phone lately.”
“Eli’s dating a sorority girl,” Killian says nonchalantly, passing a platter to Liam, “and Jules isn’t a fan. Welcome to college, boys.”
Luca’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “Why am I only hearing about this now? I’m literally on the team with them.”
Killian shrugs, all lazy amusement. “Because you’re too busy playing house with Sage, so you miss the fun stuff.”
I lean back, piecing things together. “Wait, so Julian doesn’t like the girl?”
Killian’s eyes flick toward the doorway where Julian disappeared. “Something like that. He says she’s bad news but won’t say why. Eli’s ignoring him, and now they’re both pissed off.”
Luca glares at him, more amused than angry. “Wait, why doyouknow this? Aren’t you supposed to be hockey royalty or whatever? When did you start keeping up with football drama?”
“Clearly, Killian’s got a mole,” Ryan adds. “Or maybe he’s just scarier than the rest of us.”
Roman snorts. “That tracks.”
Killian doesn’t even blink. “You’d be amazed at what you can learn when you keep your mouth shut and your ears open.”
Luca frowns, worry knitting his brow. “Should we… do something? Talk to them?”
Killian shakes his head. “Let ‘em work it out. If they don’t, we’ll stage an intervention. Or lock them in a closet until they remember they’re not twelve anymore.”
The tension lingers, but slowly, the conversation picks up again. By the time dessert rolls around—Killian’s famous bread pudding, because of course he shows off—I’m full and content, but still thinking about Eli and Julian. The Sin Bin is a machine, and when one part seizes up, everyone feels it.
After a while, the conversation returns to safer topics—upcoming games, a class someone’s failing, whether or not Killian is actually human. I join in, let myself laugh with Ryan and Luca, the kind of easy laughter that comes from feeling like maybe things are starting to go right again.
But even as I joke and eat, I keep thinking about Julian, about Eli, about the way best friends can split apart without warning. It makes me hold onto what I have a little tighter. Whatever’s brewing between Eli and Julian will work itself out, or it won’t. But for now, it’s just another night in the Sin Bin—messy, loud, absolutely fucking perfect.
Noah
I’mstillsmilingwhenDamien walks out my front door with that slow, lazy grin on his face. There’s something stupidly perfect about these good nights—how easy it’s become to wrap myself around his waist, nuzzle into his chest, and feel him press a kiss to my hair before letting go.
Tonight, I follow him out to the stairwell for no other reason than to watch him walk away. He looks over his shoulder, shakes his head at my soft, dumb smile, and winks as he disappears down the steps. I stand there for a long minute, heart rattling, until the hallway lights flicker and remind me to go inside.
Back in my apartment, I hit the switch on the lamp and grab my phone, scrolling through the dozen photos I took tonight. There’s one with Damien’s hand curled over my bare thigh, long fingers splayed and callused from years of basketball and lifting, knuckles scuffed, skin golden brown against my paler tone, and with a little scar below the ring finger.
