And then there was Beckett — loud, infuriating, impossible Beckett — who didn’t try to fix me or flatter me or smooth over the rough parts. He just showed up. Unapologetically. Messily. Consistently.
I rested my forehead against the steering wheel and exhaled.
He makes time.
The thought came quietly, uninvited, but it wouldn’t leave.
I started the car, headlights catching the last of the sunset on the glass storefront. The world looked suspended for a moment — warm light, fading color, the echo of his voice still in my head.
See you at the gala, James.
I drove off before I could decide whether that thought made me ache or hope.
Chapter 16
Beckett
I dropped onto the bench, sweat still clinging to the back of my neck, the air in the locker room thick with that post-scrimmage mix of noise and adrenaline. My legs burned, my throat was dry, and for one blessed second I thought I might actually get a minute of quiet.
Then Adam flopped down beside me, grin already locked and loaded.
“So, Mason,” he said, bumping my shoulder, “how’s life working PR for Reynolds’ girl?”
I didn’t even look up. “Don’t start.”
Derek leaned in from across the aisle, towel slung around his neck. “Too late. We’re already in the group chat about it.”
I blinked. “There’s a chat?”
Logan, sitting on the lower bench lacing his boots, didn’t even look up. “There’s always a chat.”
The room burst out laughing, the kind of laughter that bounced off metal lockers and made everything sound too loud.
Adam waved his phone like he had evidence. “You’re basically her sidekick now, man. Photos, fundraisers, the whole thing. It’s cute.”
My jaw tightened. I could feel the muscle jump under my skin. “It’s not like that.”
Adam arched an eyebrow. “Then why’s she always calling you instead of golden boy?”
Derek smirked. “Because golden boy’s too busy chasing scouts.”
The laughter picked up again, but it hit me sideways — something hot and restless tightening behind my ribs. I slammed my locker shut hard enough to make it echo.
“Drop it,” I said, sharper than I meant to.
That got me a few looks — half-amused, half-warning. The kind guys gave when they realized they’d hit something raw but weren’t sure if they wanted to keep poking.
Adam lifted both hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Mason. We’re just saying — for someone who claims to hate PR work, you sure spend a lot of time doing it.”
I stared at the dent in the locker door instead of his face. “I’m just helping out. I was forced to, remember?"
Logan’s voice cut through, calm but edged with something that sounded like curiosity. “You don’t help people, Mason. You show up, do your job, and leave. This one’s different.”
He wasn’t wrong, and that pissed me off even more.
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “someone’s gotta keep things from falling apart.”
Adam snorted. “Sure. Just make sure Reynolds doesn’t find out you’re fixing his girlfriend’s problems for him.”
