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Zane

Living close to home has its perks. One of them? Raiding my parents’ pantry whenever I have the guys over for a night of gaming.

Colter, Hayes, and Knox are coming over for a two-on-two Madden matchup, which means one thing: snacks are mandatory.

Knox already agreed to grab a couple of pizzas from The End Zone, and I have my part covered—two bags of chips and a case of beer tucked under my arm as I step onto the deck.

The night air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass and chlorine from the hot tub. I make my way down the stairs toward the guesthouse, the glow from the porch light casting long shadows on the patio.

My parents built the guesthouse for Leslie, our live-in nanny, when I was younger. It made sense back then, with my dad constantly traveling and my mom drowning in work. When Leslie left, Miles took over the space while he was in college. Then me. And next year, after I graduate, Myla will move in too.

The setup works. Freedom without fully moving out.

As I round the hot tub, my gaze drifts toward the Vaughn house next door.

To Wyatt.

I hadn’t expected her to direct me to her mom’s house the other morning when I gave her a lift home from Keaton. She hasn’t lived there since graduation, which was about the last time I climbed through her bedroom window.

Yet every night since I dropped her off, I’ve caught myself checking for the light in her room—and every damn time, it’s been on.

It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

More than I’d ever admit.

I make a mental note to dig for information from Colter tonight, hoping he might let something slip about Wyatt.

I tell myself it’s just curiosity. That I’m only checking in.

But the truth?

It was easier to push thoughts of Wyatt out of my mind before.

Two years was enough of a gap to justify keeping my distance. Different stages of life, different paths. A built-in excuse I’d clung to, even when I’ve had a thing for her since she started high school.

Colter and I have been tight since the day his mom bought the house next door.

And for years, Wyatt was just his little sister—the one off-limits to all of us.

I never questioned it. Hell, I’d set the same unspoken rule for Myla. But at some point, Wyatt wasn’t just Colter’s sister anymore.

She was my friend.

Then, somewhere along the way, she became something else entirely.

I knew it, felt it, but I never acted on it.

After Colter and Wyatt lost their dad, I watched her—saw the way she kept everything bottled up, the way she never asked for help, even when she was drowning.

I wanted to be the person who pulled her back to the surface.

I wanted to be everything for her—even when I knew I could never be what she needed.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that love doesn’t last.

I watched my parents go from two people who gave everything to each other to two people who could barely stand to be in the same room.

My father’s rumored affair broke them, turning them into strangers who stayed together for the sake of appearances.

For money. For power.

For us, they claimed. Bullshit.

They should have walked away instead of pretending. Instead of turning our home into a battlefield.

And maybe that’s why I’ve always known—I could want Wyatt all I wanted, but it wouldn’t change the inevitable.

She deserves more than someone who doesn’t even believe in happily ever afters.

I didn’t know the first thing about being in a relationship.

Not the kind that actually lasts.

Colter and Wyatt’s parents did the smart thing—they got a divorce and spared their kids from growing up in a house filled with resentment.

I wish mine had done the same.

Instead, my parents stayed together, claiming it was for us, but that was all crap.

They should have split years ago, but my mom had grown comfortable in the safety and luxury of being married to one of the greatest NBA players of all time.

With my dad’s salary and endorsements, he was worth over a billion dollars.

That kind of wealth buys loyalty, or at least the illusion of it.

I’ll always be grateful for the opportunities his career gave me. But being James Kinnick’s son comes with its own weight.

Expectations. Pressure. A path already paved before I ever had a say in it.

It was hard enough convincing him I didn’t want to follow him—or Miles and Myla—into basketball.

Football has always been my game.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the thought of doing something different—of proving that I’m more than just James Kinnick’s son.

I pause outside my door, my gaze drifting across the yard, locking onto the soft glow of Wyatt’s bedroom window.

I’ve debated climbing that damn tree more times than I care to admit. Knocking on her window, seeing if she’d let me in.

But after the other day? Yeah, not likely.

She’d pull up the blinds, take one look at me, and slam them shut just as fast.

Aside from a muttered thank you when I dropped her off, she hasn’t said a word to me since.

I’ve seen her on campus a couple of times.

The first time, she didn’t notice me watching. The second? She did.

And the moment I moved toward her, she bolted—a straight shot to the cafeteria, vanishing into the crowd before I could catch up.

The memory grates at me as I punch in the door code, pushing my way inside.

I toss the chips and beer onto the counter and reach for my phone on the coffee table, thumbing the screen awake. A few texts from the guys light up my notifications.

They’re on their way.

Knox is the first to show. He has a stack of pizzas balanced on his shoulder like we’re feeding an entire football team instead of just four guys.

I prop the door open, arching a brow. “Think you brought enough?” I ask as Knox strides in with a case of beer under his arm. So much for a chill night in.

Right behind him, Colter and Hayes lug their gaming chairs inside, already bickering over who’s teaming up with whom for Madden .

We waste no time digging into the food, flipping on ESPN highlights as we eat. Tomorrow’s matchups scroll across the screen, but it’s Knox’s recovery that’s on all our minds.

“Coach say anything about your chances of playing again before the end of the season?” Colter asks, tossing the last bite of his crust into his mouth. “I mean, hell, we have a shot at the playoffs, and we need you back on the defensive line if we have a prayer in winning.”

Knox exhales, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off the weight of the question. He takes another bite of pizza, chewing slowly, buying time to find the right words.

I know he’s been frustrated as hell.

His injury happened so damn fast—one play, one unlucky hit, and suddenly, he was down. A player fell on his knee, and the force of getting rolled up on made his leg twist awkwardly.

A partial meniscus tear. Season-altering.

“He hasn’t said much to me, honestly,” Knox finally mutters. “And I think that’s only frustrating me more. I’m coming up on six weeks since the surgery. Recovery time was supposed to be four to six weeks, but with the bye week coming up, they might push it to eight.”

I don’t blame him for being pissed.

I’ve been nursing a hamstring injury since earlier this season after Beckham launched a deep Hail Mary and sent me sprinting for the end zone.

We made the pass. Scored the touchdown. But the second my feet hit the ground, I knew something was wrong. The pop was instant. A sharp, burning tightness crawled up my thigh. For a split second, I thought I’d just played my last game of the season.

Thankfully, it hadn’t been as bad as I’d feared. A strain, not a tear. But I wasn’t taking any chances.

Colter was right—we were screwed without Knox.

If any of us went down again, we could be saying goodbye to the rest of our season.

“Maybe eight weeks will be what you need,” Colter says, his eyes on the screen as he shoves the last bite of his pizza in his mouth. “Like you said, you’re only missing one more game with our bye week. If it gives you extra time to heal and come back stronger, take it, man.”

Hayes nods in agreement. Knox exhales heavily, but he doesn’t argue.

After eating, we fire up the Xbox and start playing our game. It’s niggling on my mind to bring up Wyatt moving back in without raising any suspicions as to why I’m asking.

“Noticed Wyatt’s car parked in the driveway the past few days,” I say, not looking up.

“Yeah…” he trails off, grunting as his player misses a tackle and goes down.

“Everly said she moved back home,” Hayes mentions. I have to wonder if he knows why I’m asking, but thankfully, he’s not saying much to let on if he does.

Colter sighs, flicking through the play selection.

“Her roommate transferred, leaving Braysen out of nowhere,” he explains. “Left her in a bind, mid-semester and all. It’s not like it’s easy to find a reliable roommate at the last minute. Plus, my mom has the space, and I think she likes having her home again, so Wyatt moved back.”

His voice is matter-of-fact like it’s not a big deal.

But it is. At least to me.

“Why? Did something happen?” Colter asks, finally looking over.

I shrug, keeping my face unreadable. “Nah. I was just wondering if something was up. Her car hasn’t moved much.”

It’s a lie.

I’ve seen her leave a couple of times. I’m trying not to make it obvious that I’ve noticed, but most of the time, she gets rides from Tatum and that chick Claudia. She rarely drives herself.

Colter hums like something just clicked. “Oh yeah, that reminds me…”

He trails off. Pauses.

I glance over. “What?”

Colter shrugs like he’s just now remembering. “She mentioned her check engine light was on. I told her I’d see when you were working again, Hayes. Maybe she can swing by, and you can take a look.”

“No problem,” Hayes replies easily. “I’m only working a couple of days a week during the season, but I’ll text her the days I’m there, and she can come by.”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral before adding, “If it’s not too much to fix, just go ahead and take care of it. I’ll cover the cost.”

Colter frowns. “You don’t have to do that, man.”

“Just tell her it was nothing. That you looked at it, and it’s fine.” I lift my beer to my lips, keeping my tone casual. “No sense in having her stress over it.”

Hayes smirks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. “You got it.”

We play a couple more rounds of Madden , tossing back beers, letting the night slip by. By the time the guys start packing up, it’s after eleven.

Knox lives a block away, so he grabs his leftover pizza and heads out on foot while Colter and Hayes ride home together.

I should go to bed early. Get some rest before practice. Instead, I lace up my sneakers and slip out the door. I cut across the yard—through the Vaughns’ backyard—until I’m standing at the base of the tree outside Wyatt’s room.

I shouldn’t be here, and even I know it. But knowing and caring are two different things.

I could go to the front door and knock like a normal person, but that’s never been how Wyatt and I worked.

If I’m going to show up uninvited and question her about moving back home, it has to be the same way I always have—climbing this damn tree, just like all the times before when I wanted to check on her.

My body protests as I reach for the large branch, groaning as I swing a leg up and grab on. My foot scrapes against the bark, slipping slightly before I catch my balance and haul myself higher.

It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I keep myself in pretty solid shape playing football, but tree climbing? Apparently, it’s not my strong suit anymore.

Something I’ll have to fix now that Wyatt is living next door again.

By the time I reach the thick branch level with her window, my muscles burn in places I don’t want to admit.

Breaking off a thin twig, I stretch out and tap it against the glass.

Nothing.

I try again. Still nothing.

I start to wonder if she forgot to turn off her bedroom light before heading out—until I see it. A shadow moves behind the blinds, and a second later, they shift, and she peers out.

She can’t see me clearly in the dark, but she doesn’t need to.

Because no one else would be climbing her tree at nearly midnight, knocking on her window like an idiot, hoping she’ll let them in.

She pulls the cord, the blinds snapping up as she reaches for the lock and cracks the window open just enough for me to hear her.

“Zane, what the hell are you doing?”

I smirk, bracing one hand against the window frame. “I heard you moved back in next door. Thought I’d come by and welcome you back to the neighborhood.”

Wyatt exhales sharply, crossing her arms over her chest. And that’s when I notice she’s not wearing a bra.

The movement pushes her breasts up, and despite every rational thought telling me to keep my damn eyes on her face, they drop to her chest anyway.

Her tits bounce slightly when she shifts, and when she uncrosses her arms, they do it again. I bite down on my tongue, fighting the urge to groan.

Fuck.

If she had any idea how many times I’ve imagined touching her, pleasuring her, fucking her until she’s breathless, she’d probably shove me out of this tree and slam the window shut.

Her eyebrows lift, and I drag my gaze back up before she calls me out on it.

“You know, you could’ve used the front door like a normal person,” she deadpans.

I lean an elbow on the window ledge. “Didn’t know if your mom was home. Figured she’d probably wonder why I’m showing up at almost midnight to talk to you.”

“And why are you showing up at midnight to talk to me?”

I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep. Heard you moved back in. Wanted to check on you and see how you were doing.”

Her eyes narrow, though the glow of her bedroom light behind her makes it hard to see her features.

“I’m fine,” she mutters. “You should probably go, though. It’s late, and I was just about to head to bed.”

I huff out a laugh, shifting my weight on the branch. “All right then, geez.”

I move to climb down, but her voice stops me cold.

“I just figured, like you said, you wouldn’t want my mom to come home and overhear you… or worse, what if Colter showed up and caught us together?”

There it is.

I knew she’d say it. Colter’s name is like an invisible line drawn between us, and she’s daring me to cross it. Honestly, I’m more surprised it took her this long to bring the past up.

Before I can respond, her lips curve slightly, but there’s no humor in it.

“Don’t you have a party to get to?” she asks, resting a hip against the window frame. “Saw you had people over the other night. And again earlier. I’m sure your hookup will be arriving any minute now, so you might want to run along before she starts wondering where you are.”

I stare at her, jaw ticking.

“Hookup?” I echo as she reaches for the window.

She cuts me off with a sharp, “Good night,” and slams the window shut before I can get another word in.

I don’t move. Just stare as she reaches for the cord, yanking the blinds down like she’s laying the final brick in the wall she’s building between us.

Another barrier. Another line drawn.

Message received.

If I have any hope of breaking through, I’ll have to tear it down, piece by piece.

And something tells me Wyatt’s not going to let me through without a fight.