I don’t do any of the above. I keep my phone in my pocket. I sit, drink soda, and try to look like I’m enjoying myself.
Marco leans in close so I can hear him over the music. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
He studies me for a second, then nods like he understands more than he says. “Just don’t disappear. Vets hate that.”
I nod in understanding and don’t disappear. Instead, I do the rounds. I shake hands. I let strangers take photos. I answer the same three questions on loop—how’s LA, how’s the team, am I excited for camp.
I say the right things. I smile when I’m supposed to. And still, loneliness sneaks up on me like a hand around the throat. Because there are moments—small, stupid moments—where instinct takes over. A song comes on that I know Rafe would hate, and my first thought is to text himthis is criminal.
A girl laughs at something I say and touches my arm, and my body reacts with that automatic politeness that doesn’t mean anything—except it makes me feel like a fraud. Because she’s beautiful and is clearly interested, and everyone expects me to be interested back.
The ring presses warm against my chest, hidden. I keep thinking about the ten days since I last saw Rafe. Ten days isn’t long. Not really. But when your life is constant noise, ten days without the one person who makes the noise quiet feels like starvation.
I’m at the edge of the dance floor when a woman steps into my space like she’s done it a hundred times. A confident smile is aimed my way. Glitter highlights the corners of her eyes. She leans in close, voice brushing my ear. “You’re Oliver Marshall, right?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I watched the game.” Her hand lands on my bicep like she’s testing if I’m real. “You were insane.”
“Thanks,” I say carefully.
She tilts her head. “You celebrating?”
“Team thing,” I answer, which is not an answer.
Her smile sharpens like she enjoys the challenge. “You should celebrate with me.”
My body goes still—not frozen, but… braced. I picture the leather cord, the ring, the vows said in a cheap chapel with a guitar-string band and Rafe’s hands shaking when he slid it onto my finger.
I swallow. And I do what I’ve learned to do: I redirect. “Appreciate it,” I say politely. “But I’m here with the guys.”
She pouts like it’s a game. “They can share.”
Behind her, Kirk—the legit asshole from our team—watches the interaction with a grin that says he expects me to play along. He expects a story, a win, likely a bullshit conquest story.
I hate that expectation almost more than the flirting itself.
The woman leans in again. “You got a girlfriend?”
The answer should be simple. It isn’t. I can’t sayI have a husband. Not here. Not like this. Not when I’m still fighting for a place and everyone around me is watching for anything to turn into a weakness.
So I do something that tastes like ash. I smile, a little apologetic, a little vague. “It’s complicated.”
She laughs like that makes it hotter. “Mmm. I like complicated.”
I don’t laugh back. I feel the ring burn and step back just enough to break the spell. “Enjoy your night,” I say, and then I move toward the table, toward the cluster of bodies that makes me harder to corner.
Marco catches my expression and reads it immediately. He steps in without making it obvious, slinging an arm around myshoulders like we’re brothers. “Rook,” he shouts, “come meet my cousin’s friend’s cousin or whatever. Networking.”
He drags me away, saving me without making a scene. I hate how grateful I am.
At the table, I do a double take. Two familiar faces are at the bar—hovering like they’re not sure they belong here either. It’s a couple of old college buddies. Not my teammates from the Panthers—some of those guys are scattered now, chasing their own dreams—but friends from the orbit of my old life. People who knew me before I was a draft pick and a headline.
They see me at the same time. One of them lifts his glass in a small salute. The other grins wide. My chest loosens, because they’re real. They’reminefrom my former world.
I cross over, and Jamie claps my shoulder. “Look at you,” he says, loud over the music. “League and shit.”
