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“Are you sure this isn’t some kind of overreaction to Dash porking your sister?” Erik asks and everyone groans before hearing a loud thud. It’s only when Erik topples down that I realize Scotty has punched him in the stomach. Good. He shouldn’t be saying shit like that.

“This has nothing to do with the fact Dash and my sister are dating . As long as they keep making each other happy, then I’m happy for them. This is for me and me only. Well, actually me and Savannah. And maybe Stanley. He loves her almost as much as I do.”

I won’t mention the fur ball has been lucky enough to comfort her tonight while I’m out of town.

“So before any of you bother with any more of your questions, I’m going to save you the trouble. Yes, it’s real, and no, we haven’t set a date yet, but we’re both extremely happy about it, and we obviously want you all to be part of the wedding.”

“That’s great,” Scotty says, the first one to congratulate me. I then end up in a long line of bro hugs and congratulations before I get back to Dash, who’s still sitting, his face locked with an unreadable emotion.

When everything is calm and it’s just me and him, he leans over. “I’m guessing there’s more to the story, which I’m interested to hear.”

“Really?”

“Of course, and the answer is yes.”

“To?”

“Being your best man. As if there was going to be any other outcome. You’re my brother. Always.”

He holds his hand out, and I clasp it, shaking it as it’s as close to a hug as we can get in this cramped bus.

“I love you, man,” I say.

For the first time in history, okay, that’s an exaggeration, but for the first time since I found out about him and Madison, he smiles at me.

“Love you, too,” he says gruffly.

I ignore the snickers coming from the seats in front of me, noticing they abruptly stop when Scotty mutters something under his breath. My grin only grows wider because things are finally starting to feel like they make sense.

I collapse on the bench, dragging a hand down my face as my teammates buzz around me, already rehashing plays and cracking jokes about Southern Collegiate’s pathetic defense.

I should be exhausted. Dead on my feet after sixty minutes of pure aggression on the ice, but instead, I’m wired. Every nerve ending still fires from those two perfect assists I delivered from the left wing.

Even now, with the final buzzer long gone and our skates off, adrenaline refuses to leave my system. But it's not just from the game anymore.

“We’re heading out for drinks to celebrate,” Erik announces, slapping me hard on the shoulder. “You in?”

I shake my head with a sigh. “Celebrate? We’ve got to catch a bus at six a.m. tomorrow.”

“That’s exactly why we’re hitting the tea place,” Scotty says. “Gonna fuel up on kombucha, man. Keep it classy.”

“Nah, I’m good,” I reply, leaning heavily back against my locker.

Scotty raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Since when do you turn down a post-win drink?”

“Since our boy here went and got himself engaged,” Erik says loudly, giving me another forceful shove forward, this one strong enough to jolt me fully upright.

As if I forgot that little fact. Savannah is the only person I really want to celebrate this win with tonight.

“It’s not about that,” I lie easily, dragging my hand down my face again, hoping it convinces them. “I’m just exhausted.”

I look up at Dash, who’s towering over me now, saying ‘ bullshit ’ with his eyes, but the gentleman he is, he doesn’t call me out on it. I’m sure he gets I just want to be alone for a while.

“Go without me,” I say, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “I’ll catch you guys after our next win.”

Nobody argues, probably thanks to Dash. Knowing him, he’s throwing them all a silent, warning glare to leave me be.

When I finally make it back to the hotel, I let the door slam shut behind me with more force than necessary. I chuck my gear back onto the bed farthest from the door so Dash can deal with the one by the entrance when he stumbles in later.

I strip off my sweaty clothes, swapping them for a pair of worn-in sweats and a T-shirt, then collapse onto the bed with a sigh, but the second my head hits the pillow, my thoughts go straight to Savannah.

Did she have a good day? Did anyone have the balls to sit in my spot next to her? How's Stanley handling being without his dad? Has she eaten anything, or is she surviving on coffee and anxiety as usual?

I need to know every mundane detail of her day.

Every smile, every moment I missed. I grab my phone and start typing Miss me?

But stop halfway through, my chest constricting with the sudden, desperate need to see her face.

To watch her eyes light up when she talks.

To memorize the way her lips curve when she’s trying not to smile.

But I can’t. She’s still stuck with that ancient piece of shit phone, and I’m not even sure my iPad has enough juice left.

Fuck it. Hearing her voice will have to be enough.

I hit call, but it goes straight to voicemail. The sound of her recorded greeting makes my chest tight with longing.

I try again. Nothing.

I attempt to reach my iPad. Radio silence.

What the hell?

Unease slithers through my chest like poison, threading through my ribs, squeezing until I can barely breathe. She said she’d be home tonight, but what if she’s not? What if Luke dragged her back to that shithole? What if he threatened her again while I was hundreds of miles away, useless?

Motherfuck.

I jackknife upright, white-knuckling my phone as my leg bounces like a jackhammer. My brain conjures every nightmare scenario—Savannah cornered, scared, needing me and getting nothing but silence.

I could text Madison, have her do a wellness check. But that feels pathetic and not nearly fast enough for the panic clawing at my throat.

Then it hits me.

No. That's insane… isn't it? Completely unhinged, and she's probably already asleep anyway. But if Stanley's not in the living room, at least I'd know he's with her. That she's home and safe.

Fuck rational thinking.

My fingers move before my brain can talk me out of it, scrolling through apps until I find the one with the yellow collar icon. My pulse hammers against my eardrums as I tap it open, waiting for the feed to connect. The seconds drag like hours.

When the image finally loads, my chest goes tight and I feel like a complete psycho for grinning at a goddamn phone screen like a lovesick teenager.

She's there. She's home.

And she's perfect.

And wearing my T-shirt, flaunting the fact that she’s mine but I can’t have her.

Her damp hair falls over her shoulder as she settles onto the couch, a book balanced on her lap, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m watching.

The glow from the lamp casts soft shadows across her face, her bare legs tucked beneath her, looking more at home in my, or our, apartment than I ever have.

Stanley, the traitor, is sprawled out beside her, his giant head resting on her thigh, fast asleep. She absentmindedly scratches behind his ear, and they look so natural together; not like she’s only been in our lives for a few weeks. Like she’s always been there. Like she’s ours.

Fuck. I have it bad for her. She could literally smile at me, and I’d give her everything I own.

Closing the app would be the smart move. A normal, non-obsessive fiancé would shut it down, respect her space, and get some damn sleep, but my need to hear her voice outweighs any shred of sanity I have left. Without thinking, I press the mic button.

“Hey, Pretty Girl.”

My voice crackles through the small speaker, and Savannah jolts, her head snapping up. Her book slips slightly from her hands as she gasps, her wide eyes darting around the room.

Shit. Maybe I should have led with something less creepy.

“Cade?” Her voice is tense, her body coiled tight. Stanley barks, his tail thumping against the floor because he already knows exactly where I am.

“Over here,” I say, pressing the green button on my screen. With a flick of my finger, I activate the treat dispenser, and a small biscuit drops to the floor. Stanley snatches it up in one bite, his tail wagging like this is the best surprise of his life.

Savannah startles, her head tilting in confusion. But before she can fully register what’s happening, Stanley steps right in front of the camera, barking for more.

“Sit,” I command, and the moment he obeys, my view clears, revealing Savannah behind him, her lips parted in sheer outrage.

“Are you serious?” She drops her book onto the couch and marches toward the camera, her face filling my screen in the best possible way. “You’re spying on me now?”

God, she’s stunning. Even pissed off, she’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. I smirk, shifting on the bed, trying to get comfortable while secretly enjoying every second of this.

“I’m not spying,” I say smoothly, stretching my legs out. “I’m just checking in, making sure you got home safe after your classes.”

She folds her arms, leveling me with a glare that should probably make me feel guilty. It doesn’t. Not even a little.

“Honestly, I thought you’d be asleep,” I add, my voice softer now, because the truth is, I didn’t expect to see her at all. But seeing her wrapped up in my shirt is the best part of my day.

She laughs, strolling back to the couch, and I nearly get a boner watching her pert little ass in a pair of tight sleep shorts. “You do realize that sounds creepy, right? You watching me while I sleep?”

“Is it creepy when you’re my soon-to-be wife?”

“Even creepier because who knows what you’re doing while you watch me,” she teases, and I bark out a laugh.

“Oh, are we going there, Pretty Girl? I called just to check up on you. If you want to do something dirty, you know all you have to do is ask, right? Anytime. Any day. I’m ready when you are.”

She fiddles with her hands and even in the grainy shot, I can tell she’s blushing a little. “Stop it,” she chastises me playfully.