Page 9

Chapter Nine

Connor

T he clock reads 11:42 p.m., which would be a problem if I had any plans to sleep tonight.

We leave for the airport at dawn, the start of a whirlwind offseason tour packed with media, fans, cameras, and endless attempts to pretend like I give a shit about anything other than Lucy Daniels.

Which is exactly why my bedroom looks like a war zone.

There’s an overnight bag splayed open on my bed, half-packed and already bulging like I’m about to board a three-month cruise instead of a ten-day-long media blitz.

Hoodies, tee shirts, and about six too many pairs of black jeans are scattered across the duvet. I’ve packed, unpacked, and repacked four times already—because apparently, I’m the kind of man who suddenly cares about vibe matching his damn outfits.

Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me?

I open the closet and glare at the hanging rows of clothes. I used to be a “whatever’s clean” kind of guy. Ripped hoodie? Fine. Shirt with a stain from a protein shake I dropped during my Covid-lockdown home workouts in 2020? Even better.

Now? I’ve stood here for twenty minutes debating which t-shirt is most likely to make Lucy stare at my arms again.

I grab a charcoal tee and hold it up to the light. Meh . Too safe.

Then, my eyes land on it. The one piece of clothing I promised myself I’d burn after last year’s Halloween party.

The neon-orange suit.

I wore it after losing a bet Blake with during last year’s fantasy football finals—he picked my lineup for the last game and sabotaged me with kickers .

But I'm a man of my word, and I fucking wore it anyway.

It glows in the dark, has sequins on the lapels, and a patch on the inside that says “Blake is Your Daddy” . Yes, really.

I hold it up to the mirror, lift my phone, and snap a selfie with the most deadpan expression I can muster.

Then I fire off a text and send it to Lucy.

Me: Thinking THIS for the date you won. Don’t you think it’s time you got what you paid for, Lucy Lou?

I stare at the screen. Waiting.

Three dots flicker. Stop. Flicker again.

And then… nothing.

“C’mon, Luce,” I mutter, flopping back on the bed like a lovestruck teenager. “Give me something.”

My eyes drift to the far corner of the apartment, where her hoodie is still draped over the back of my couch. Icehawks green and gray. Oversized. I've picked it up more times than I can count, but it still smells like vanilla and the faintest trace of her shampoo.

She left it here after a team game night three months ago. Claimed she didn’t care if she got it back and I never returned it in the hope that she might come around and collect it one day.

She didn’t. She’s stubborn like that.

I cross the room and grab it, thumb brushing over the soft cotton.

Guess I’ll bring it to LA. You know— return it . Maybe knock on her hotel room door late at night, offer it back as an excuse just to see her in one of those flimsy tank tops she sleeps in. Maybe get another glimpse of those perfect fucking nipples, the ones I had in my mouth for all of twelve seconds before we were interrupted.

My jaw tightens.

I tuck the hoodie carefully on top of my clothes, then zip the bag closed.

Beneath it, buried deep in the side pocket, is a bag of those sour peach rings she always pretends she doesn’t like—then devours by the handful when she thinks no one’s watching.

I’ll offer them up as a peace treaty.

Or a bribe.

Or just a reason to linger in her room long enough to finish what we started.

I bought three bags earlier this week the moment I found out Lucy was going on tour with the team.

I roll off the bed with a sigh, drag a hand through my hair, and toss the orange suit aside. I swap it out for a simple black button-up, my best pair of jeans, and the jacket I wore the night of the auction. Her eyes lingered on it. I noticed.

Because I notice everything when it comes to Lucy.

So that's what I'm damn well going with.

I swear under my breath and toss my silent phone onto the dresser, then take one last look at the open suitcase.

Clothes. Toiletries. One carefully packed pair of shoes. Emergency stick of deodorant. Three protein bars. A pack of gum. One backup charger. And three bags of candy I’m not supposed to know she likes.

The apartment is quiet but then the sound of a fist slams into my front door like it’s trying to break through steel.

"What the hell?" I say to myself.

I’m halfway to the door when another thud echoes through the apartment, followed by the unmistakable sound of a shoulder shoving against the wood.

I swing it open and Ethan stumbles inside.

He reeks of whiskey and day old cologne. His shirt’s half untucked, the top buttons open, like he got in a fight with a mirror on the way here and the mirror won.

Even after he catches his balance, he’s still swaying slightly on the spot. Like even gravity’s done putting up with him and his current state.

“Stay the hell away from her,” he slurs, lifting a heavy arm to point a finger right in my face.

I dodge the finger and shut the door behind him. “Jesus. What happened to knocking like a normal person?”

“I’m serious.” He jabs the finger at my chest. “Lucy. Stay the fuck away from my sister.”

I step back, hands raised slightly. “Okay. Let’s try that again, only this time without slurring.”

He ignores me. Keeps pacing like he doesn’t know whether to sit down or throw something.

“You want water or something before you start throwing punches?”

His laugh is short. Bitter. “Thought about it. Not gonna lie.”

“Thought about which? The hydration or the homicide?" He glares at me as I hold my hands up. "Sorry, man. Just trying to decide if I should duck… or grab a Gatorade.”

He glares at me. “You think this is funny?”

I drop the sarcasm. “No. I think it’s fucking weird. It's been weird since the moment you got back here.”

He stares me down. Jaw clenched as he steadies yet another sway on his feet. “You’ve been circling her for years, haven’t you?”

That comment makes me pause.

“I—what?”

“You think I didn’t notice? Back when you first got to Iron Ridge. When you used to crash at our place, always hanging around, always finding some excuse to be in the same room as her.”

I move toward the kitchen and open the fridge. Slowly. Calmly. “We were just teenagers, Ethan.”

“Yeah. And now she’s not. And you’re all over her like you’ve been waiting for the green light.”

“I didn’t touch her then. And even if I did—”

“Don’t.”

I toss a bottle of water at him. He misses the catch and it thuds to the floor and rolls under the counter.

“Listen, man. I’m not gonna stand here and defend myself to a drunk asshole who vanished for two years and now suddenly gives a damn.”

He spins on me. “I left because I had to!”

“Yeah? You had to cut off your best friend too? Just like you did everyone else because you finally got the money your parents wouldn't give you?”

His jaw flexes. “You think I had the luxury of keeping everyone close when I was trying to rebuild my entire goddamn life?”

“Funny,” I mutter. “From where I stood, it looked like you were enjoying all the yachts and champagne.”

He flinches. And that blow to his inflated fucking ego lands hard.

“You don't get it,” he snaps. “None of you ever did. I was trying to outrun everything Iron Ridge ever fucking meant. The expectations. The image. You .”

“ Me ?”

“Yes! You! You were everything I couldn’t be. Team captain. Fan favorite. Staying behind like some local fucking hero while I was clawing my way out.”

“So that's why you stopped answering my calls?”

Ethan doesn’t respond.

I nod slowly and shake my head at the disaster piece falling apart right in front of me. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Silence stretches. His breathing’s uneven now. His hands curl at his sides like they want to break something.

“She doesn’t know,” he says, quieter now. “Not about the company. Not about the investors. Not about what I’m covering up to keep our parents from going bankrupt or ruining mom's precious reputation.”

I stare.

“That’s what this is about?” I ask. “Lucy kissing me is going to blow up your image ?”

He swipes a hand over his face. “It’s all connected, Connor. Everything’s connected. You don’t get to have her. Not when she’s the only stable thing I’ve got left.”

My voice is low and measured. But razor sharp as I breathe through my anger. “She’s not a thing , Ethan.”

He looks up at me, eyes bloodshot and blinking hard.

“She’s the one person who still thinks I’m worth something,” he says. “And now she’s looking at you like that.”

I step forward. “And you think me being near her ruins that?”

“I think you’re gonna break her heart,” he says. “And I’m not gonna watch that happen.”

I exhale slowly. “Look. I leave in six hours. For the tour. If you’re spiraling this hard, man, maybe you should take my place. Stay here and lay low for a bit. Clear your head.”

I reach for the counter, grab the spare key I keep for emergencies, and toss it his way.

He catches it. Stares down like I just handed him a live grenade.

“You think I want your charity?”

“No.” I meet his eyes. “I think you need a fucking lifeline.”

He stares at me like he doesn’t know whether to thank me or spit in my face.

Then he turns.

And walks out without another word.

The door clicks shut behind Ethan like a full stop. Sharp. Final.

The silence that follows feels louder than anything that came before it. I just stand there scrubbing both hands over my face.

What the hell just happened?

One second I’m texting Lucy, teasing her with a selfie in a ridiculous neon-orange suit, thinking maybe—just maybe—she’ll laugh. That I’ll get a smiley face or an eye roll or hell, even a threat of bodily harm.

Then Ethan shows up, drunk and feral, accusing me of stealing the one thing he’s still clinging to like a life raft.

You’ve been circling her for years, haven’t you?

The words stick like an unwanted splinter—small, sharp, and buried too deep to pull out clean.

Even if they're not entirely untrue.

Because yeah. I’ve noticed her. Always have. Back then, I called it protective. Friendly. She was just Ethan’s sister—the messy one, the funny one, the one who drew cartoon penises on my arm when Ethan and I played video games.

But then she grew up.

And somewhere between awkward adolescence and fiery womanhood, Lucy Daniels became everything.

Her laugh. Her brain. The way she bites her lip when she’s about to say something she knows she shouldn’t. The way she kissed me like she couldn’t stand another second without doing it.

She’s the one person who still thinks I’m worth something, Ethan said.

That’s what this is really about. He’s not scared of me breaking her heart.

He’s scared she’ll stop needing him.

He’s scared I’ll become her anchor instead.

I sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, heart still pounding. That fight—it wasn’t just a fight. That was a final blow. A friendship torn in half, right down the middle, the split marked by blood and history and everything we never said.

But then, like an angel senses the doom… finally, my phone buzzes and I see the only name I've ever wanted to see flash on my screen.

Lucy: Burn the suit, Walsh. It's horrid.

It’s not much. Just six words.

But they hit me harder than Ethan’s fist ever would’ve.

I grin. She saw it.

And more than that… she answered .

Goddamn, I want to reply with something charming, cocky, borderline filthy. I want to send her a photo of what I’m actually wearing underneath the suit—a plain white T-shirt I stole from the team’s laundry stash. I want to ask if she’s still thinking about what almost happened in her office.

But my thumb hovers over the keyboard, and all I type is:

Me: So you do want me to look good for you?

No reply.

I stare at the message. At her name.

She’s probably packing right now. Probably choosing outfits that’ll haunt me for the next ten days. She’s probably wearing that oversized sweater she always curls into when she’s trying to disappear at the book shop. Probably not thinking about how badly I still want to kiss her again.

I sit back, my chest tight, head spinning.

I should stay away. Should honor whatever friendship Ethan and I used to have. Should draw a line in the sand and keep my distance.

But how do you stay away from the only person who makes you feel like your whole world’s been waiting for her to show up?

How do you walk away from that ?

Fuck.

The next ten days are going to be hell.