Page 64

Crew

I t was the conference championship against our rivals, St. Cloud State, and I was feeling more pressure than when we were in the NCAA tournament last year.

By the middle of the second period, we were up by two, but it wasn’t without difficulty.

St. Cloud was playing fucking dirty. And they were getting away with it.

Number fifty-nine on the opposing team, Ethan Silas, was playing the filthiest of all. Our schools had bad blood dating back for decades, but he wasn’t just playing dirty— he was playing personal, specifically targeting Lane.

A lot of teams targeted Lane since he was our best player and the hardest to maintain, but goddamn, this was another level.

Lane had been tripped, rammed against the glass more times than I could count, elbowed, pushed to the ice... The list went on and on.

I wasn’t safe from any of it either. There were a few hits that I took that knocked me on my ass too, and when the refs didn’t call it, the crowd lost their shit.

I was pissed, knowing they’d just gotten away with dirty hits, but I didn’t have the time to sit there and cry about it. In the middle of a game, you had little to no reaction time. Everything and every one moved at the speed of light, and if you didn’t keep up, you were in fucking trouble.

Thankfully, even with how immoral St. Cloud was, we still managed not to reciprocate, playing clean enough to set a new record for our team, only receiving two minor penalties throughout the whole game. On top of that, we won. Coach was ecstatic.

It wasn’t over yet though.

Conference championships were best of three, which meant we had another game tomorrow. If we could clinch the win, we’d be conference champs. If not, we’d have to play a third game.

My favorite part about today though? Seeing Kota wear my jersey.

The first time she ever wore my jersey, I wanted to walk into the stands and rip it off her, then soak it in bleach to make sure all her germs were off it.

Now, the sight was branded into my mind like a core memory.

Every time the whistle had blown, I used it as my opportunity to get a glimpse of her in the crowd. I wished she’d jump up, wave at me, show off my jersey like she was proud to be wearing my name and number. In a perfect world, Bobby would’ve been nearby to see it. I’d admit, I was a jealous and petty prick for that part, but I wanted him to know how fucking off-limits she was.

But unfortunately, none of those things in my fantasy happened.

Kota had been sitting in a flock of all our moms, including mine, and my mother had absolutely no idea what was going on between us.

But having introduced themselves as my roommates, and with Bridget wearing Lane’s jersey, my mom didn’t think anything of it other than a few of our friends coming to support us.

Going to the bar a night before a game, especially one as major as tomorrow’s, was typically a big no-no.

The exception? Lane requested it.

Long story short, he had some deeply rooted issues with his mom, and after the conversation I overheard post-game outside the locker room, a drink was in store.

So, like every other day of my teammate’s and my life, Lane made the rules tonight.

Rule number one: no one was allowed to get hammered. Buzzed, fine. But nothing more.

Rule number two: only our starting line was able to go, because the underclassmen weren’t trusted to not get obliterated.

My post-game request? I asked Kota to wear my jersey to the bar. But apparently, I wasn’t as smooth as I thought because she laughed in my face.

I couldn’t tell what expression I’d been holding, but whatever it was, my disappointment must’ve shone through, because her compromise was that she’d put it back on later for me.

A thousand and one obscene visions flew through my mind, but I buried them down, trying to be on my best behavior to spend some quality time with all the people I cared about most— my teammates, Lane, Bridget, and Kota.

Currently, I was trapped between Cody and Matt as they screamed at each other, giving me déjà vu. Unlike New Year’s, this fight wasn’t about bigfoot or the Lochness monster. It was about the fucking Bermuda Triangle.

Cody was arguing that all the disappearances and mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle were due to some magical magnetic forcefield.

Matt claimed it was aliens.

Who the fuck let these two come out with us?

It felt like I was getting stupider and stupider by listening to the conversation, but it was too entertaining to walk away from.

Until my bullshit radar started going off.

The bar was pretty packed. Clearly, most people came straight from the game, surrounding us in a sea of Cedar U gear.

Even through the crowd, I was able to spot Bobby, and I followed his eyesight all the way to where it was focused on Kota.

I fucking swear to God.

This kid was relentless. Not to mention careless. Was he trying to get himself killed? After all the threats and warnings I’d given him?

I pushed right through Cody and Matt, holding my beer high as I beelined towards Kota. Well, as fast as one could beeline through a mob of people.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi,” she smiled at me, and the flutter in my stomach nearly knocked me to the ground.

“Stay by me, yeah?” I requested, grabbing her small hand and rubbing my thumb over it.

Her smile didn’t waver. “What for?” she asked sweetly.

“I just wanna—”

“Kota.”

She swung around at the sound of her name, and the temptation to guide her behind me and protect the fuck out of her was overpowering all reason within me.

I didn’t hesitate to do it, but she fought me on it, giving a slight scoff. “Crew.”

Bobby stiffened, growing an inch, but still not tall enough to even come close to my height.

In that moment, I turned cold-blooded and bloodthirsty, ready to fight any second.

Pretending like I wasn’t there, Bobby gave a slight lean so that he had a clear view of Kota from behind me. “Can we talk?”

I responded, “Uh, no,” at the same time that Kota said, “Alright.”

My jaw hit the floor and I stared at her like she just grew a second head. What could she possibly be thinking right now? Was she trying to make me jealous?

Because if so, watching him whisk her out of my reach was working.

I stayed in place, my feet practically cemented to the floor. Every move Bobby made, I watched with malicious intent, waiting for him to do something— anything— out of line.

Get too close to her. Touch her. Smile at her.

I didn’t care. If he overstepped any boundary, he’d be waking up in the hospital.

Unfortunately, I sucked at lip reading, and it was far too loud to make out what they were saying from six feet away. But thankfully, he was maintaining his distance, definitely not as intoxicated as he was the last time we ran into him.

“Hey,” Lane tapped me.

I didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t budge. Didn’t do anything other than acknowledge him with a hollow, “Hey.”

He stepped beside me when he realized I wasn’t going to face him. “Ah,” he expressed with a small nod, following my eyesight, “trouble in paradise?”

I folded my arms stiffly across my chest. “Everything’s fine.” Hopefully.

He rested an arm on my shoulder. “Alriiight, well, when you’re done with... whatever’s going on here... George wants to interview us.”

Everybody on campus knew who George was. He was practically a campus celebrity. He was a bigger, African American guy with a heart of absolute gold. He illuminated teddy bear vibes and was someone that everyone wanted to be friends with.

George was also a huge sports fan, especially hockey. He attended every home game and had a sports blog where he wrote all sports-related content. There were a handful of times where he would ask to interview some guys on the team, and no one ever had the heart to say no to him; he was too nice.

George was truly one of the nicest guys I’d ever met, but goddamn, I didn’t have the time or mental capacity right now.

My first priority in this very moment was Kota. I needed to make sure she was okay, and that Bobby didn’t try to pull any shit either. Because I swore to God if she left this bar with anyone other than me, I’d lose my fucking mind and burn this city down until it was nothing but a pile of dust.

I still didn’t bother looking at Lane as I spoke. Quite frankly, it seemed impossible for me to look anywhere other than at Kota and Bobby. “Can’t he interview somebody else?” I sharply replied.

“He said, and I quote, that he wanted to ‘interview the dynamic duo’.”

My brows faltered and I huffed. “Why the hell did he call us that?”

“I dunno,” Lane shrugged.

“Well, he might be waiting awhile.”

“Alright,” he gave a friendly pat on my back. “Let me know if you need any backup.”

“Mhm.”

There were a few times where Kota caught my gaze, just for a millisecond each time, but it was enough for me to notice. I didn’t really give a fuck if I was giving stalker vibes. I was stubborn. I was protective. And I was feeling a strange knot in my core at the sight of her with him .

Kota lightly placed her hand on his arm. It felt like my world was being so swiftly torn apart, and all I did was stand there and endure the damage. But just as quickly as she had touched him, she walked away, and the tornado that had been ripping me to bits vanished.

I was dragged out of my own disastrous thoughts as she stopped a mere foot away. “So?” I asked.

Her scornful glare was giving me slight whiplash after how sweet she’d been before Bobby came over and ruined it all. “So, what?” she cocked a brow, arms crossing.

As if I wasn’t getting burned from the dark fire in her eyes, I asked, “What did he want?”

Kota sighed, breaking eye contact. “He said he was sorry. And that he wants to try things again and actually be together this time.”

Holding back a growl, my voice turned low. “And what did you say?”

“I told him no.”

I had to focus on holding back a smile. I could sing and dance right now if there weren’t people around. “Why?” I asked, longing to hear the words.

A tiny smile stained Kota’s lips, and I took a mental screenshot to replay this moment over and over again in my head later. With a stiff finger, she poked my shoulder. “You know why.”

I had an assumption of why, but I wanted her to say it.

“No, I don’t,” I grinned, shaking my head. “Tell me.”

But of course, once again, she refused to give me what I wanted. “You know why,” she repeated. “I gotta go over by B.”

“Kota, I—”

Gone.

Compelled to follow her but forcing myself the opposite way, I joined Lane and George over in the corner.

George smiled so brightly at Lane and me that it made me feel bad for ever dreading these interviews. With his phone camera pointed at us in one hand and a microphone that didn’t actually work in the other, he asked question after question about our game tonight, our thoughts about it, and how we felt going into tomorrow’s game.

The microphone was shoved in my face, practically sitting atop my mouth when Kota ran straight to me, squeezing my hand so hard that she probably could’ve ripped it right off my body if she pulled. I held a finger up to George and with a worried nod, he backed away.

Frantically, Kota’s gaze bounced back and forth between Lane and me, and the fear caught in her features was causing my fight or flight to kick in like no other.

“What? What is it?” I panicked, looking her up and down to make sure she was unscathed.

“It’s Bridget,” she answered, causing Lane to step forward, matching my distress.

“What happened? Where is she?” he let out breathlessly. After knowing Lane for years, I’d never heard that level of concern in his voice before. Over anything.

I wasn’t sure if it was his rampaging heartbeat or my own that was hammering in my ears.

Kota was speaking in bits and pieces, and if we were strangers that hadn’t lived with her for seven months now, we would’ve had no fucking idea what she was trying to say.

“Ethan. Her ex. On St. Cloud. He won’t leave her alone. He just followed her to the bathroom. He’s—”

Lane was off before anyone could blink, rummaging through everyone as quickly and respectfully as a true gentleman could.

I was fully aware already that St. Cloud was in the building— we were all aware of it. My bullshit radar was going off the second they had walked in, all cocky and smug even though they took a major loss just a few hours ago. It was ballsy of them to walk into a bar that wasn’t theirs. For them, this was enemy territory, and I had a feeling they were about to get shown how badly they’d just fucked up.

A crash drowned out the music, and over the heads of the people before us, I was able to see flashes of Jett, standing aside the bar as he warily pushed Bridget behind him.

Uh oh. Here we go.

Gripping onto Kota’s hand, I pulled her along with me through too many people. I didn’t even know why they allowed so many people in this fucking building.

Heads were turning from the commotion and as more people caught sight of the fight that was bound to start, they spread outwards, probably just trying to get a front row seat to the show.

Bridget stood off to the side, out of the direct crossfire, but still too close for my liking. I grabbed Bridget’s wrist, holding each of the girls in one hand and leading them a little farther off to the side.

My voice was strained, rolling out as a warning so they understood how serious I was being. “Don’t get any closer.”

Lane and Silas were standing face to face, almost chest to chest. St. Cloud’s starting lineup stood behind Silas, ready to back him up, and our players mirrored them, fists clenched and chests broadened like they were simply waiting for Lane to tell them when.

As Lane’s right-hand man, it was only right for me to position myself behind him and a step off to the side, securing my spot on the front line if things got ugly.

I had no idea what words had been exchanged before my late arrival. But judging by the dark, teasing gleam in Silas’s eye and the rising, boiling, uncontrollable resentment that was oozing off Lane, it couldn’t have been good.

Lane was protective of our team. He was hands-down the best captain this team had ever seen and would’ve done anything for any of us.

Yet even though I hadn’t known about him and Bridget for long, I could already tell that protective behavior was multiplied by a hundred when it came to her.

I knew the feeling.

“Don’t make me tell you again, Silas,” Lane hissed.

It was like I could smell their thirst for blood, specifically Silas. No wonder why it seemed like he’d had a personal vendetta against Lane on the ice. As far as I knew, Lane didn’t know a single thing about him being Bridget’s ex, and quite honestly, I was fucking surprised that she dated Ethan at all.

Bridget was one of the sweetest, most soft-spoken people I’d ever met in my life, and I didn’t know Ethan Silas well beyond our encounters on the ice, but his persona screamed asshole. It seemed like he was the complete opposite of Lane.

At least she upgraded, I thought to myself.

Ethan flashed an insidious grin, acting untouchable. “Why do you want her anyway, Avery? I feel like you could do better.”

I stepped forward, ready to shut Silas up myself, but the back of Lane’s hand met my chest, and I halted instantly.

I was amped up for a fight. I wasn’t sure if it was the leftover enmity that Bobby placed into my veins like an IV, or if it was hearing this son of a bitch say something so degrading about Bridget. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Bless Lane’s heart though. I could tell it was taking every little bit of control that he had to keep his cool. And my guess? He was trying to protect our team, our chance at the conference championship.

If someone on our line got hurt and had to sit out tomorrow, Lane would never forgive himself.

“If you want to be half as good as you need to be tomorrow,” Lane said, “I suggest you leave and go to bed. This is our fucking bar, Silas. And we sure as hell don’t have room around here for assholes trying to start shit or pussies who mess with our girls, or any girl for that matter.”

This whole time, Ethan’s brash grin hadn’t wavered, but all at once, it disappeared, and he stared at Lane with a glare that could crack glass. But Lane stood unimpressed and impervious.

“Just a word of advice, Avery,” Ethan said, bringing that shit-eating grin right back, “all you have to do is drop the L word to get her to open her legs.”

There was no reaction time before Lane’s hands were on him, propelling him backwards into his own teammates.

That was the green light we’d all been waiting for.

Every Stallion player had their target chosen, and no one hesitated to charge forward and strike like we were on a battlefield.

Xander Hicks was my counterpart on St. Cloud. Their right wing was more than familiar to me, having been the fifteenth pick in the second round during the same year that I was drafted. He was no stranger to me or to the league, being notorious for starting shit on the ice.

He didn’t hesitate to swing first, underestimating my speed. I ducked easily and rebounded quick enough to land a left right combo, my fists meeting both of his cheeks.

Stumbling a few steps, he caught his footing and came back for more.

Before he had the chance to make a move, my hands planted in the center of his chest, pushing him full force and onto his ass.

Launching at me from halfway off the floor, Xander greeted my jaw with his fist. The ache was immediate, spreading through my face like a wildfire.

Yeah, that’s gonna leave a bruise.

Head lulled off to the side, I pulled one back and let him have it, every ounce of my fury from tonight thrown into that single punch.

He dropped to the ground again, limp. A tiny pool of red appeared when he spit onto the floor, probably trying to rid his mouth of the metallic taste.

With my guard up, ready for more, I waited for Xander to pop back up, to try tackling me to the floor or get even for the possible loss of a tooth that I just caused him.

But he stayed down.

A high-pitched, obnoxious screech wailed in the distance, becoming louder and clearer as it approached, accompanied by flashing red and blue lights.

Cops. Fucking great.

The crowd that had been surrounding us was dwindling as people rushed out, pushing and tripping over each other like there was a fucking fire behind them. St. Cloud players were fleeing one by one, disappearing into the sea of chaos.

Adrenaline had already been racing through our bloodstreams, and now, it was saturating the air. Every Stallion stayed put, frantically looking at Lane and waiting for directions like kindergarteners would. For everyone else, running was second nature, even for the people that weren’t involved in the fight at all. But for us, following Lane was second nature.

Veins bulging out of his neck, Lane screamed, “My place! Now!”

With an unsaid, “Yes, Captain,” the boys started scurrying through people to get to the backdoor.

I was already reaching for Kota, thanking God that she was smart enough not to move from where I’d left her, even with the absolute turmoil happening around her.

Lane pointed at Bridget. “Grab her!”

With a rushed nod, each of my hands encircled around the girl’s wrists, dragging them towards the back. Bridget wasn’t making my life easy though. She was fighting me on it, digging her heels into the ground while she clawed at my hand to undo herself from my grasp.

I knew she was trying to stay behind, to be left with Lane and try to protect him from whatever was bound to happen next. But he’d handed her over as my responsibility, and I wouldn’t go against his wishes.

I tightened my grip on Bridget, not enough to hurt her, but just enough to keep her from getting loose.

When we set foot outside into the cool March air, it looked like a prison had just accidentally left the doors open and a mob of prisoners got loose.

Dozens of people were everywhere, shouting for their friends and running around madly, which I didn’t quite understand. They were acting like an underaged house party just got busted, not a fucking bar fight.

I guess drunk people ran from cops regardless of the circumstances.

Jett and Matt were waiting outside our apartment as I brought the girls and myself to a stop, heaving from the state of panic.

Resting his back against the wall outside our front door, Jett stood with his head down. The hallway lighting was shitty, but I could make out the disheveled ruffle to his jet-black hair and the lightest trace of blue along his cheek.

Matt rested beside him, looking completely unscathed. No surprise there. I wish I saw what his opponent looked like. Guess I’d see tomorrow. That was, if he was decent enough to play.

I pulled Kota and Bridget into the apartment, and the guys followed.

“You see Cody and TJ while you were out there?” Jett asked me.

“No,” I murmured quietly, concern creeping in. As if Kota had just been the one in a brawl, my gaze flitted over her, inspecting for injuries as she stood in the corner of the kitchen where the countertops met.

Her skin was still that smooth, light bronze it always was, face still ethereal with a dash of unruly. She seemed perfectly fine, other than the light rub she was giving her wrists.

Did I hurt her?

Rushing to her side, my heartrate spiked again, right after it had finally begun settling down. “Are you alright?” I whispered, gently reaching for her wrists like I was picking up a newborn.

“I’m fine,” Kota said sternly, eyes landing on my jaw. Her brows furrowed, and she brushed her fingers along the sore skin. A small wince left my throat, and in the moment, I forgot that Jett and Matt had absolutely no idea that we’d been messing around. I hoped they weren’t watching.

“Jesus Christ,” Cody announced his arrival, his breath hitching as he bent over in the doorway with TJ on his heels.

“It’s fucking insane out there,” TJ said.

They joined the other guys on the couches, and I studied the empty spot between Cody and TJ like Lane would appear there in a puff of smoke like a magic trick.

Filling in the space between Cody and TJ on the long couch, I sat, trying to calm down after the madness of the last twenty minutes.

Bridget was standing beside the door, staring hopelessly at it. My heart cracked a little from the sight.

Meanwhile, as if she was an old-fashioned war nurse, Kota circled around the room, handing out ice packs and examining our wounds. When she got to me, she gave another cringe when her eyes landed on my jaw. But after simply placing an ice pack in my hand, she didn’t linger, moving right along to TJ.

The cold compact hit my skin, immediately soothing the ache that was still pounding along my jaw. Minutes of silence ticked by, until I finally stood, asking the question aloud that everyone was thinking to themselves. “Where the hell is Lane?” I tossed my ice pack behind me, onto the couch.

“I don’t know,” Matt said, “but if he’s not back soon, we need to go find him.”

Cody shook his head. “I say we go find him now.”

Agreed.

Feet digging into the ground, TJ pushed himself back against the couch. An icy scowl settled over his face, jaw twitching. “You guys think they went back for him?”

Tightening and loosening his fists repeatedly, Matt leaned forward. The skin on his knuckles was broken, split apart and branded with drying blood. “They’re dead if they tried.”

My mind was spinning, and it felt like I was detached from my body as I wandered over into the foyer by Bridget. Voice echoing in a scratchy, pained note, I muttered, “I’m more concerned about the cops.”

“Way to bring that up,” Jett grumbled behind me.

“Just being realistic.”

“Does anyone need water?” Kota asked. In any other circumstance, I would’ve smiled at how exceptionally warmhearted she was being. If this bar fight happened six months ago, she probably would’ve been high fiving St. Cloud and treating their wounds instead.

A chilled water bottle was placed in everyone’s hand, aside from Bridget, who still hadn’t moved an inch from her spot beside the door.

In an attempt to give her some sort of comfort, I reached for her shoulder, but she lunged forward, out of my grasp as Lane burst through the door.

“Lane!” she screeched, but he groaned in pain as he caught her, rolling his shoulder once she eased back.

My rampaging heart was finally able to still, and the relief in the air tasted sweet like honey, filling everyone’s lungs.

The guys stood, eyes resting solely on Lane, same as me. As he consoled Bridget for a moment, we waited quietly for an update or an order or really anything at all.

The second Kota pulled Bridget aside, I swept in, arms around Lane like he’d been missing for twenty years, rather than twenty minutes.

Lane hadn’t said it aloud, but he just sacrificed himself for us. He stayed to make sure we got out. I could see it all over his face, could read his mind like a book as he viewed us one by one, checking over us like a concerned dad.

“It’s getting late...” Matt spoke. “We need to go home and get to bed. We’ve got morning skate.”

“No one’s leaving,” Lane announced, face stoic like a talking sculpture. Eyes droopy with exhaustion but layered with urgency, he made sure every single one of us felt the weight of his words. “There are cops all around us right now, and on the off chance that they see a group of slightly bruised and bloodied hockey players after getting called about a bar fight, we’d be screwed.”

No denying that.

We already dodged a bullet tonight that no one got significantly hurt. We may have been a little bruised up, and it sure as hell would feel sore tomorrow, promising to ache and burn with every hit we each received on the ice, but we were still good enough to play. This was a valuable victory, and it would be stupid to gamble that now.

If anyone got caught by the cops, we would be in deep shit. They’d probably have their ass taken to the station and coach would probably whip the rest of our asses with our own hockey sticks.

Cody nodded to Lane, respectfully asking, “Are you locking us in, captain?”

“Team sleepover!” TJ exclaimed, securing seven eye rolls from the rest of us.

Ignoring him, Lane spoke again, a cutting edge of authority in his tone. “We’ve got plenty of room for everyone here. Crew and I will drop everyone off at the house in the morning so you guys can grab your shit before morning skate.” When no one gave a response, Lane’s tone hardened further. “Got it?”

“Got it, captain!” we responded as one.

“Good,” he nodded.

“Um,” Bridget squeaked, leaning closer to Lane, “someone could take my bed tonight.” “Oh, me!” Jett’s hand shot up.

The floor shook as Matt stepped forward, giving Jett a playful swat on the shoulder. “I want the bed,” he whined, sounding like a toddler trapped in the body of a six-foot-five man.

“Not unless you wanna share it.”

With a visible shudder, Matt griped, “Hell no! You’d probably try to spoon me in the middle of the night.”

To outsiders, the brotherly bickering that often occurred between all of us was probably entertaining. Some girls had even overheard Cody and Jett argue over who was an uglier baby and the girls thought the argument was “cute.”

But to us, we thought our useless arguments were extremely annoying in the most endearing way.

Crossing his arms, Jett gave Matt an ornery side eye. “Oh, please.”

When Kota’s hand raised inch by inch, I thought she was about to tell them to shut the fuck up. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Teeth nibbling at her bottom lip, her eyes found their way over to me, looking self-conscious in a way I’d never seen in her before. “Someone can have my bed too.”

“Mine!” Matt screamed, before reading the room and sinking backwards as much as a human giant could. Everyone else, with the exception of Lane and Bridget, were gaping at us. “Wait...” Matt said. “You two too?”

Tipping my head side to side, I admitted, “Sorta.”

“I knew it!” TJ yelled.

“Shut up, TJ,” I squinted at him. “You didn’t know shit.”

Jett pointed a lousy, accusatory finger between Kota and me. “What, so... you two have been fucking?”

Get me out of here.

Talking about my feelings made me uncomfortable. Hell, feeling my feelings made me uncomfortable. And it was especially torturous being open and honest with the group of people who knew me for being notoriously unemotional.

“It’s not just like that. We actually... sort of care about each other,” I said.

“Ew!” the guys hollered altogether.

“It’s not gross.” Kota scoffed.

“I’m sorry,” Cody shook his head, “but Crew having feelings is a little gross.”

All I could do was scratch the back of my head, wincing through the awkwardness of this conversation. Truthfully, it had nothing to do with Kota. I’d shout from the rooftops proudly that she was the one I’d been sneaking around with. The embarrassment stemmed solely from my own discomfort of being mushy.

“Welcome to my world,” Lane said.

Jett made a face. “I gotta side with them on this one.” A heartless glare plowed over Jett as Kota stood like a soldier on the frontlines, ready for war. Immediately, Jett knew he fucked up, and if she went berserk on him, I’d just sit back and watch. I’d probably cheer her on, honestly. “It’s nothing against you, I promise!” he assured.

“Mhmm,” Kota hummed.

In a panic, Jett brought his hands up, surrendering. “I promise I didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t dye my underwear pink or hurt me in my sleep.”

“Mhmm,” she repeated, grabbing my hand and dragging me through the guys.

We made sure everyone was situated with plenty of pillows, blankets, and water for the night. I watched Bridget tuck the boys in on the couches before we all retreated to our sleeping arrangements, the apartment falling silent.

Tonight may have been a whirlwind from start to finish but our thoughts all went to the same place when our heads hit the pillow.

We had a fucking game to win tomorrow.