A pause.
“Good. Eat something more substantial than airport almonds.”
My stomach turned.
He cared. Of course he cared. She was his wife. They had years, a house, a dog that probably loved her, routines I didn’t know about, private jokes, old grief, old sex, old everything.
I hated how much I wanted to rip the phone out of his hand.
“That sounds miserable,” he said, and there was almost a smile in his voice. “Send me the deck if you want another set of eyes.”
I put my headphones on without turning them on.
Milo leaned over from across the aisle. “You good?”
“Do I look like I’m asking for audience participation?”
He blinked. “Nope. Retracting concern.”
I spent the rest of the flight irritated at seat fabric, air pressure, Milo’s breathing, my own kneecap for touching the tray table, and Declan Reid for loving his wife in a normal tone of voice.
By the time we reached the hotel, I was wound so tight I could barely follow instructions. Room key. Bag. Elevator. Team dinner at seven. Sponsor drinks at eight-thirty in some private event space because apparently travel days didn’t count unless we were paraded past rich people with tiny appetizers.
At dinner, Declan sat at the far end with staff. Olivia didn’t call again. I checked. Not because I had any right to know. Because my eyes kept going to his phone like a bruise I wanted to press.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
At the sponsor thing, I played my part badly but not badly enough to get benched from society. I shook hands, answered questions, smiled when Tessa’s eyes said smile, and avoided Roman because he was watching me like he was deciding whether to stage an intervention in front of a shrimp tower.
Declan and I got trapped near the same exit when a sponsor cornered us both to talk about leadership.
“Jace is a natural leader,” Declan said, professional and smooth.
I almost laughed in his face.
Instead, I said, “Coach is generous when he’s being watched.”
The sponsor chuckled, thinking we were doing a bit.
Declan didn’t.
Ten minutes later, I walked out into the corridor before I said something that could not be mistaken for charm.
The hotel hallway was quiet, carpet swallowing my steps. I made it past two meeting rooms before his voice followed me.
“Holloway.”
I stopped with my hand on the stairwell door.
“No,” I said.
“Turn around.”
I did, because apparently my body still hadn’t received the memo that we were furious.
Declan stood halfway down the hall, tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked controlled. He always looked controlled. I wanted to wreck it. I wanted proof I wasn’t the only one walking around with my skin on wrong.
