Weston gasps, offended. “I am fully house-trained. I even know what a mop is.”
Asher doesn’t blink. “But do you know how to use it?”
Kai pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly, like he’s counting to ten. The laughter dims. Not gone, but quieter. Because they may chirp him, but they respect him. That part is obvious.
Asher’s voice cuts in, calm. “He’s serious. Don’t be idiots.”
Weston salutes. “We will be slightly less idiotic.”
Kai points at him. “No, you won’t.”
Weston beams. “Correct.”
Off-limits. It’s a stupid rule. Overprotective. Suffocating. It’s also the only way Kai knows how to keep me safe, because the last time he trusted a teammate around me, I ended up in a hospital bed with my heart rate so low they talked to my parents in that careful, too-gentle voice.
Tyler.
My stomach tightens. I push the thought away hard. Not today. Today is burgers and sunlight and me proving I can exist in a room without breaking.
More guys filter in, both from the front door and the patio, teammates I don’t know by name, their voices layering. Music starting low, then creeping higher. Someone slides open the patio door again and laughter spills in with the warm air.
My brain starts doing what it always does in loud environments—tries to process everything at once until it can’t process anything at all. So I do what I’ve trained myself to do: build an exit map in my mind. Back near the wall. Patio door in sight. Hallway visible if I need the bathroom or a quiet minute of reprieve in Kai’s room. I’m not planning to bolt; I just like knowing I could. Kai catches me scanning and shifts closer—not crowding, just present.
“You want to wait outside?” he asks quietly, like he’s offering a choice instead of issuing orders.
I blink. “I’m okay.”
Kai nods once. “If that changes, tell me.” That lands softer in my chest than I expect. Then Kai claps his hands once, immediately commanding everyone’s attention. The room angles toward him automatically. Hockey players obey structure like religion.
“Quick reminder,” he says, voice even. “This is my place, and my sister, Harlow, is here. Everyone better be on their best behavior, or you’ll be skating until you puke on Monday.”
Weston puts a hand to his chest. “Captain, we are always decent.”
Kai doesn’t look at him. “Cooper, don’t test your luck.”
A couple of guys laugh, but it’s controlled. The line is clear. My face warms anyway, but this version of Kai feels less like ownership and more like protection with dignity. It’s the only way he knows how to keep me safe without making me smaller.
The patio door slides open again, and the energy in the room shifts immediately, but not in a good way.
Coleson.
My brother’s newest teammate—the one I recognize mostly because Kai gets that look in his eyes whenever his name comes up.
“Mercer!” Coleson calls. “I thought you didn’t host social events.”
Kai’s face stays blank. “I don’t.”
Coleson’s grin widens. “Yet here you are. Growth.”
Kai’s eyes narrow. “Don’t break anything.”
Coleson laughs. “No promises.”
His gaze swings to me, and dread crawls up my spine. His eyes seem to hold nothing warm; in fact, the opposite. They’re cold. Calculating.
I’ve seen those types of eyes before, and nothing good ever came from them.
“And you must be?—”
