Weston lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for an entire period.
“Okay,” he whispers. “At least our balls are still attached.”
Asher’s voice drifts from his stall, calm. “Barely.”
Kai doesn’t move. He stands there like he’s been nailed to the floor, staring at nothing.
I get up and step toward him.
“Kai,” I say, low.
When he finally looks at me, he is destroyed.
“Are you okay?” I ask, because it’s the only question I can ask that doesn’t make this worse.
Kai laughs once, sharp and humorless. “No.”
Then he breathes in slowly and shakes his head like he’s trying to recalibrate into captain again.
“Where is she?” he says.
My chest tightens. “Probably the hallway. That’s where we were supposed to meet after the game.”
Kai’s gaze snaps up. “You think she stayed?”
I nod once.
Kai’s expression shifts—pain, pride, fear all tangled.
“Of course she did,” he mutters.
And then he’s moving.
I follow.
The hallway outside the locker rooms is cooler, quieter, the kind of quiet that makes your pulse sound too loud. The arena noise is muffled here, like the building is holding its breath.
Harlow is standing by the concrete wall near a closed door that leads to the staff corridor.
Wren is beside her, hand on her back, posture protective without being possessive. I’m pretty sure she’d shred anyone who dared to even look at Harlow wrong.
Harlow’s eyes lift the second she sees us. And I hate the way my chest reacts like it’s been waiting. She’s still wearing my jersey. My number sits on her shoulders like a confession. Her face is pale, eyes too bright. But she’s standing, not hiding.
She’s here.
Kai gets to her first. He slows down right before her, like he remembers he’s trying not to hover. For one second, he just stares at her like he has to confirm she exists in one piece.
“Harlow,” he says, voice rough.
Harlow’s chin lifts slightly. “Kai.”
He swallows hard. And then he does something I don’t expect. He opens his arms. Harlow hesitates for half a second, then she steps into him. Kai’s arms close around her like a shield. Like a vow. Like a boy who once watched his younger sister disappear and refuses to ever watch it happen again.
I look away. Because that’s theirs. I can feel my own throat tightening for reasons I don’t want to name in public.
Kai’s hand spreads across Harlow’s back. He breathes her in like he’s trying to calm his own nervous system.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too low for anyone but her.
