Page 58 of King of Pain

“Damn,” he says, taking in the spread. “Seriously, this could be a problem. You know I can’t go back to eating shredded bales of hay cereal after this, right?”

I laugh, sitting across from him. “Just eat.”

He takes a bite of the omelet first, his eyes half closing as he chews. “Okay, seriously, you spoil me.”

The clink of forks on plates fills the room as we settle into a comfortable rhythm, the warmth of a good breakfast and good company softening the edges of the morning. Chance leans back in his chair, cradling his coffee mug, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“This was next-level, Pacini. I feel like a king over here,” he says, gesturing to his cleared plate.

I just give him a laugh, shaking my head. “If you think my lasagna and omelets are good, you should taste my Thanksgiving spread.”

Instead of lighting up like I thought they would, his eyes shift down toward the floor. “Thanksgiving, huh? Are you traveling for football? I figured the team might have a game or something.”

I shake my head, setting my fork down. “No game this year, thank fuck. We get the whole week off. Our last game of the season is the following week. No playoffs for us this year. What about you? Are you going back to Boston?”

Chance’s expression remains unchanged, the light in his eyes unusually dim. He takes a sip of his coffee, stalling for a momentbefore answering. “Nah, that’s not really a possibility,” he says, his voice quieter now. “It’s… complicated.”

I don’t push for more, but I can feel the weight behind his words, the subtle sadness he tries to hide. It stirs something in me, a strange mix of protectiveness and the need to do something to make it better. Like he would for me.

“No playoffs? This was your last season. Aren’t you upset?” Chance asks, changing the subject.

“Nah,” I reply, shrugging. “I’ve enjoyed my football experience, but I’m ready for what’s next. Butters would’ve liked to go out on top, but honestly, he’s already a sure thing for the draft. I think he wanted it for me more than anything.”

“Makes sense,” he says, nodding.

“Hey,” I say, leaning forward a little. “Why don’t we do a Friendsgiving? Jen is staying in town. She doesn’t have family here and I don’t think Butters is going home either. Maybe you can ask Lexi. We could do it here, if you’re okay with that. I’ll cook everything.”

Chance’s head tilts, and for a second, he just stares at me, like he’s not sure if I’m serious. Then, a huge smile spreads across his face, transforming his whole demeanor. “Yeah? You really want to do that?”

“Of course,” I say, my tone firm. “It’s a hell of a lot better than the take-out dinner you were probably planning.”

He laughs, a little sheepishly. “Guilty. I figured I’d grab something from the diner down the street that stays open and call it a day.”

The thought of him sitting alone on Thanksgiving, eating take-out, makes my stomach turn. “Absolutely not,” I say emphatically. “We’re doing this right. Turkey, stuffing, everything. It will be amazing.”

Chance’s grin widens, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “That sounds perfect, Ant. Really. Thanks for thinking of it.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool, but inside, I’m already making mental notes about recipes and timing. “It’ll be fun. I’ll make sure it’s the best Thanksgiving you’ve ever had.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, still smiling, and briefly, the pain I saw in his eyes earlier seems to ease. It suddenly strikes me that it feels good to be the reason for that.

“Alright,” Chance says, standing and grabbing our empty plates. “Let’s make it happen. But if you’re cooking, I’m at least doing the dishes. Deal?”

“Deal,” I say, watching him move to the sink.

As I start planning in my head, one thought solidifies above all others: I’m going to make this Friendsgiving unforgettable.

Chance deserves that much from me.

Maybe more.

TRACK TWENTY•FIVE

Toy Soldiers

Chance

I fire off a text to Murph as I sit at the kitchen table.