Vale’s eyes are locked on mine.
Mine are locked on his.
And everything ugly and unfinished and male sits there between us in broad daylight where everybody can finally smell it.
Kane looks from him to me and swears under his breath.
“Not in here,” he says.
He means—not in front of trainers
not in front of staff
not in front of the season…
He’s right.
That doesn’t improve my mood.
A trainer hurries over.
Then another.
One of the assistant strength coaches steps in from the hall and looks between us with the weary expression of a man who knows exactly how much paperwork a fight between flagship athletes would generate.
“What’s going on?”
Nobody answers.
No one’s snitching.
Not football.
Not basketball.
Not me.
Not Vale.
We all know the rules.
The assistant coach looks at Kane.
Kane lifts both hands.
“Nothing.”
The lie is insulting.
The coach takes it anyway because the alternative is a scene.
Jace’s hand stays on my shoulder until I finally take one step back.
Then another.
Vale doesn’t move.
Doesn’t say anything.
