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He glances at me, the corners of his mouth lifting. "No. I'm practicing for my next career in competitive charcuterie."

"Charcuterie doesn't usually involve strawberries."

"Then clearly, you've been living in the wrong snack circles," he deadpans.

I laugh, shaking my head as I lean back against the cushions. It's been like this for the past couple of days—slow and weirdly domestic, like waking up in someone else's life but not hating it.

Liam shows up daily with some kind of food, claiming it's for the baby but always making enough for both of us. He brings pre-cut veggies, little containers of hummus, fresh bread, soup from that one overpriced place I love across town.

One night he brought over frozen pancakes and claimed it was 'a pregnancy craving via spiritual connection.'

He's also been staying here most nights.

Initially, he insisted it wasn't in the 'let's-make-a-baby-again' kind of way, but more in the quiet, comforting, sharing-space way.

I wasn't having that. It was my idea that we make up for all the sex we missed, and he's been making good on that.

I mean, don't get me wrong, we also watch TV.

We talk.

But, honestly, we don't do much of anything.

Sometimes we just fall asleep on the couch like two exhausted people clinging to a very strange new normal.

But mostly, we just hang out tangled up in each other's arms, and I've never felt more safe.

And the craziest part,

I like it.

I like him.

A lot.

And that terrifies me more than passing out in front of Kyle ever did. Especially with the first game of the season just a couple weeks out.

I should be obsessing over player meal plans and arguing with some rookie about how pizza isn't a carb-load strategy. Instead, I'm wondering if Liam will stay over again tonight.

Which is why I'm sitting here now, holding my phone in my hand, staring at Griffin's name, knowing I have to call him. I'm dreading it. But I've given him enough time to cool off. It's time for us to talk.

I blow out a breath, thumb hovering like the call button might bite me back, then hit it before I can chicken out. He answers after two rings, and I know he was waiting.

"Hey Kat."

"Griffin," I reply. "We need to talk."

"I know," he sighs. "You alright?"

I swallow hard at the concern in his voice. Even when we're fighting, he still worries about me. "Yeah. I'm fine. As fine as someone can be when everything feels like it's spiraling and their brother tried to kill the guy they might actually be falling for."

Griffin exhales like he's been holding it in for days. "Kat, come on."

"No, you come on," I snap. "You've been acting like Liam's the devil incarnate and I'm some clueless idiot. I'm not stupid, Griffin. I know who he is. I know his reputation.

I also know he stayed here three nights this week just to make sure I ate and slept and didn't cry myself into a hormonal spiral."

He goes quiet. I press on.