“Why?” I ask, genuinely.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares into his beer like it might talk back.
“It’s not my story to tell, brother,” he finally says.
The words hit harder than I expect.
My mind spins instantly, filling in blanks it has no right filling. I think about the way Amelia keeps herself locked down. The way she’s calm in the face of things that should shake her. The way she said being seen excites her.
I nod slowly. “Fair enough.”
Kamden glances at me then, eyes sharp. “I trust you, Wild.”
Something tightens in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say. “You can.”
He clinks his bottle against mine. “Just look out for her, okay?”
I force a grin, the mask sliding back into place like muscle memory. “Always.”
We sit there a while longer, talking about stupid shit. The old games, inside jokes, stories from road trips that still make us laugh. This is us. Best friends. Teammates. Brothers in everything but blood.
And as the noise swells around us, one thought won’t leave me alone. If Kamden ever finds out what I feel for Amelia, this easy moment right here is what I stand to lose.
And that scares me more than anything else ever has.
The apartment isquiet when I get home. Too quiet.
I drop my keys on the counter and kick my shoes off, the buzz from the bar already fading, leaving everything else sharper. Louder. The night should’ve been a blur of laughing, flirting, bodies pressed close.
Instead, I spent it turning women down.
Every smile. Every hand on my arm. Every whispered invitation.
Not tonight.
That alone should’ve told me how deep I’m in.
This isn’t who I am. I didn’t earn the nickname Wild by being restrained. I earned it by leaning into temptation, by never hesitating, by taking what was offered and never looking back.
Kamden noticed.
“Who the hell are you and what have you done with Wild?” he joked at one point, nudging me as another woman walked away disappointed.
I laughed it off. Let him think it was grief. Let him think my dad’s death dulled the edge.
But that’s not it.
I wish it was.
I’d love to drown this out. To fuck it away, drink it numb, bury it under noise and skin and sweat. But it’s more than that.
It’s her.
My fucking thoughts are consumed by a woman I shouldn’t be thinking about at all. A woman I shouldn’t want. A woman whose name shouldn’t hit me low in the gut every time it crosses my mind.
Amelia.
