“Don’t tempt me before a match, pretty girl. I play better angry.”
She hums like she’s considering it. “Wanna lose on purpose so you’ll punish me later?”
I blink up at her. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Her hands come up to cup my face, thumbs brushing just under my eyes. “You’ve already won something way more important.”
I arch a brow. “You saying I’ve got you wrapped around my finger, pretty girl?”
She smirks. “I’m saying I’ve got you wrapped around mine. So don’t spiral.”
I stare at her for a long moment then press my forehead to hers, exhaling slowly. “I’m scared I’ll break this pretty girl,” I whisper.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, because you care too much to let it happen.”
I close my eyes and myself hold her. Just for a second. One breathe and then another.
Carter’s down on the floor rolling up cords while Haven’s stuffing extra headset foam, thumb grips, and wrist braces into her gear bag with a kind of surgical intensity that’s lowkeyterrifying. I’m triple-checking my hard drive backup like I’m expecting it to get wiped the second I step outside.
Carter tosses me a cable without looking, and I catch it automatically, knowing what he needs before he says it out loud.
“Check that one,” he mutters, still digging through the bag. “It was cutting out last time.”
I crouch down beside the cases, running the cord through my hands, checking the connection points out of habit. It’s slightly bent near the end—nothing major, but enough to be a problem if it gets worse.
“Swap it,” I say, tossing it aside and reaching for a replacement from the pile I brought.
He glances over, nodding once then shifts closer without hesitation, our shoulders bumping briefly as we both reach for the same compartment.
“Left,” he says.
“I know.”
Haven hovers nearby, watching us for a second like she’s trying to figure out when this turned into something that looks like teamwork instead of two brothers tolerating each other at times.
Carter passes me a charger brick. I plug it in and watch the indicator light flick on.
“Good.”
“Snacks?”
“Carter,” Haven deadpans, “this is why you’re not in the tournament.”
“Disrespectful,” he mutters, zipping up the tech pouch with a dramatic flourish. “I’m literally carrying your emotional support water bottle.”
She leans over, plants a kiss on his cheek. “And I appreciate you for it.”
He turns pink.
We gather the gear, zip up the bags, stack the cases by the door and then we pause. The weight of it settles over the room like static before a storm.
Carter’s the first to move, pulling his hoodie over his head. “You guys ready?”
Before Haven can answer, I step just enough to stop her from moving past me.
