“It’s not a big deal.”
“That is a huge deal,” Briggs says. “A toothbrush is basic. Deodorant means you’re planning to get sweaty there again.”
Easton’s mouth twitches. “He’s not wrong.”
I look at him. “You want to talk about things left at apartments?”
That shuts him up.
Briggs makes a delighted sound. “Oh, I would love to talk about things left at apartments.”
Easton turns his head slowly. “Lawson.”
“Never mind. I respect privacy when threatened directly.”
Rider grins. “Since when?”
“Since Wade started looking like he’d fold me into a locker.”
Ryan exhales through his nose, which is about as close as Ryan gets to laughing in public.
The parking lot lights reflect off the rain-slick asphalt, and the air smells like wet pavement, cold lake wind, and exhaust from somebody’s truck idling near the far end. A few players are loading bags into cars. Someone laughs near the side entrance. Normal post-practice noise moves around us, but my phone feels like a warning in my pocket.
Ryan sees me reach for it again.
“She’ll text,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“You’re checking like you don’t.”
I shove my phone back into my hoodie. “I’m fine.”
Briggs groans. “Oh, he said fine. Somebody put him down before he suffers.”
“I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Rider says.
That phrase hits different now.
No, you don’t.
I think about Bliss saying it, eyes bright with fake annoyance and real feeling underneath, and my chest does the stupid fucking thing again.
Easton catches it. “You’re in deep.”
I don’t deny it.
That shuts them up faster than anything else could have.
The four of them look at me, and for once, nobody makes the obvious joke. Even Briggs lets the moment sit, probably because he knows how rare it is for me to hand them anything real without making them rip it out first.
“Yeah,” I say, looking across the lot toward my Rover. “I am.”
Briggs’s expression shifts. Still Briggs. Still annoying. But less performance now. More friend. “Good.”
Rider claps my shoulder. “About time.”
