Something tightens in my stomach at the name, which is ridiculous because it’s just a name.
“Bennett?” I repeat, mostly because it fills the silence.
Kai’s hand settles on my shoulder, automatic. “Yeah. Grayson Bennett. My roommate.”
“Ah,” I say, because my brain is doing that thing where it wants to file information neatly into a category even if it doesn’t matter.
Weston grins. “He’s not here to charm you into committing crimes.”
“Kai,” I say before I can stop myself, “why does that sound like an inside joke?”
Kai’s look turns sharp. “Weston.”
Weston holds up his hands. “What? I’m still being reassuring.”
Asher’s mouth twitches. “He’s…a lot.”
“Everybody’s a lot,” I mutter under my breath. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Weston leans closer like we’re best friends now. “Okay, Harlow. You wanna play beer pong?”
“No,” I say immediately.
Weston blinks. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been shot down that fast.”
“I don’t like…sticky things,” I add, because I realize that sounds weird, and my mouth is always trying to sabotage me.
Weston’s grin widens. “Respect. An honest queen.”
Asher taps Weston’s shoulder. “Go before Mercer ends you.”
Weston saunters off, whistling like he’s immortal. Kai shifts closer, angled slightly in front of me—blocking the kitchen doorway without making it obvious. It would be sweet if it didn’t also make my skin prickle with the reminder that I’m fragile in his eyes.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say.
My voice comes out too tight.
Kai’s eyes narrow. “Harlow.”
I take a sip of soda to give my hands something to do. The cold bubbles sting my tongue and anchor me to something real.
“It’s just loud,” I correct, forcing it into something more believable.
Kai’s shoulders loosen a fraction. “We can leave whenever.”
I nod too quickly. “Okay.”
Knowing leaving is an option helps loosen some of the pressure in my chest, but not all of it. The room keeps pressing in—music, laughter, the smell of beer, the chaotic swirl of bodieslike a storm I’m standing in the middle of, pretending I’m not soaked.
Kai stays close, talking with teammates, but his eyes check on me every few minutes like he’s counting my breaths.
Half an hour later, my mask is slipping.
“Want to get out of here?” he asks.
The wordoutlands like a rescue rope dropped right into my hands.
