Page 187 of Blackwood

Cade exhales slowly. “Costume change.”

The tent flaps open, and fuck me. Bella leads the pack, hair in a sleek high ponytail, dripping with attitude. She’s traded the flashy Trifecta uniform for black spandex shorts and a tiny topstyled like a cropped version of a Wolves’ football jersey. And plastered right across her chest, bold and unforgiving?

#7. Callum’s number.

Clay whistles like he just saw the winning Powerball numbers. “Well, I’ll be damned! That’s my quarterback’s number, isn’t it?”

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. She has Callum’s number on her tits. Goddamn it,” I groan as I run my hand down my face.

Cade leans over. “I don’t like it either, but it makes sense, babe.”

“What part of our girl’s tits being branded with another man’s number makes anyfucking sense, Cade?”

He grabs my thigh. “Three star players. Three Trifecta. It boosts school spirit. You know the drill.”

I glare back down at the field where Bella’s strutting like she owns every blade of grass. Ellie’s got August’s number stretchingacross her chest. Haley has Jalen’s. All three girls flanked by their stunt guys again like this is round two of domination.

I grit my teeth and mutter, “Tell me again why I can’t go down there and staple my number across her goddamn soul.”

Cade chuckles, not helping. “One, because you don’t have a number. Fighters don’t have jerseys. And two, because it’s a performance, not a mating ritual, babe.”

I cross my arms. “Feels like both.”

♥♥♥

The scoreboard lights flash as the buzzer sounds and Kingsley erupts with cheers. The Wolves are up. Callum’s already pounding his chest like he just secured a playoff berth. Typical.

I’m mid-eye roll when I notice Bella standing directly in front of me at the railing, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, looking out into the crowd like she’s searching for something. Ellie and Haley are perched behind her, legs swinging over the edge, smirks on their faces like they know something I don’t.

“What’s up, Bells?” Hugh asks over the speakers.

“Oh, nothing,” she calls back, her tone casual. But her eyes don’t stop scanning. “Just looking.”

“For what?” Hugh asks.

She tilts her head slightly. “I’ll know when I see it.” Then she gasps, loud enough to cut through the music and crowd. “Ah! There!” she yells, pointing. “Girls, look!”

Haley and Ellie jump off the rail, all three of them zeroing in on the middle of the stands behind us like predators locking onto prey. Bella takes off up the stairs.

“What the hell is going on?” Dad leans in, brows raised.

“I have no clue,” I mutter, sitting up straighter.

Suddenly, Bella’s coming down the stairs with a tiny human in her arms, a literal child, like this is just something she doeson the daily. The little girl is in a pint-sized Trifecta uniform, complete with glitter face paint and a bow that’s nearly the size of her head.

“Bella, why are you kidnapping a child?” Hugh says through the speaker.

“I’m not kidnapping her Hughy. I have an idea, just give me a second.”

Bella stops right in front of our row, cradling the girl on her hip like she’s been doing it for years. The other girls come up behind them.

“Hey guys,” Bella says, motioning toward the three Legacy stunt dudes, “Come here.”

They hustle over immediately.

Bella adjusts the little girl on her hip slightly to talk to her. “Hi, sweetie. What’s your name?”

The little girl shyly leans in and says, “Millie.”