Takeout bags covered the coffee table. Someone had hung a lopsided banner that said Welcome Back in what looked like marker on printer paper. The whole thing screamed “planned by guys who'd never thrown a party before and didn't know what the fuck they were doing.”
It should've been ridiculous. Instead, it made my chest go tight.
Callahan bounded forward like an overexcited puppy. “Hart! Holy shit, you look terrible. But like, in a cool way. Battle scars and stuff.” He stopped a few feet away, grinning. “We brought food. And beer. And Rook made us promise not to ask stupid questions, but I have so many stupid questions.”
“Finn,” Rook said from the couch. Warning.
“What? I'm just saying?—”
“Don't.” Rook stood up, walked over slowly, and looked at Jace with those tired captain eyes that saw too much. “You're still ours,” he said simply. “You don't get to disappear.”
I watched Jace's throat work. He nodded once, not trusting his voice, and Rook clapped him carefully on the good shoulder.
“Come on,” Rook said. “Sit down before you fall over. You look like you're about to pass out.”
Jace let himself be guided to the couch, moving stiffly, and I stayed in the doorway watching the team absorb his condition.
O'Rourke pushed off the counter and walked over to me, voice low. “Coach.”
“O'Rourke.”
“You brought him back.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He paused, studied my face. “You look like shit too.”
“Thanks.”
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, watching the guys settle into an easy rhythm. Callahan told a terrible joke that made Jace's mouth twitch despite himself. Rook handed him a container of lo mein and told him to eat something.
It was awkward and heartfelt and exactly what he needed.
After about thirty minutes, when the energy started to wind down and guys began making noises about leaving, I caught Jace's eye and tilted my head toward the bedroom. He nodded slightly, understanding.
Rook noticed. “You guys need to talk?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Won't take long.”
“Take your time.” Rook looked at Jace.
I walked into Jace's bedroom, knowing he'd follow when he was ready. The room was exactly as he'd left it—bed unmade, clothes on the floor, the organized chaos of someone who'd left in a hurry and hadn't looked back.
I heard the bedroom door close and turned to find Jace leaning against it, arms crossed, expression guarded. “That was unexpected,” he said.
“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?”
“I don't know yet.” He was quiet for a moment, jaw working like he was deciding something. Then: “You texted Rook, didn't you?”
“Yeah. This morning. Told him we were heading back today.”
“And he organized all of that.” Not a question.
“Looks like it.”
Jace stared at me, and I could see him moving toward something and then I watched him choose not to go there. His shoulders dropped slightly. His expression shifted into something carefully neutral.
“I'm okay,” he said.
