Page 14 of Well That Happened

Rilee

I check the mirror one last time.

Lipstick reapplied. Hair tamed. Cat ears back on, corset in place. Bite marks mostly covered.

I look… normal-ish.

Totally fine. Not at all like I was on my knees ten minutes ago and about to make a very bad (but totally hot) decision with my new roommate.

Downstairs, the house is louder now. Packed. Music thumping, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. Halloween lights flash orange and purple in chaotic strobe, and it feels like every head turns when I step into the room.

Hunter meets me at the base of the stairs, face tight. “He’s in the kitchen. Tried to shake it off, but he’s bleeding all over the damn place.”

I follow him without a word, brushing past people, ignoring the way a few of them do double takes when they see me. I’m sure I look wild—hair a little tangled, cheeks a little too flushed. Whatever.

Work mode, Rilee. Now.

We hit the kitchen, and sure enough—there’s a freshman sitting on the counter with a blood-soaked towel pressed to his eyebrow. Two other players hover nearby, looking more panicked than he does.

I stride forward, calm and steady. “Name?”

“Connor,” he says. “I’m good, it’s just—”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

I peel back the towel. Blood trickles, dark and fresh, but the cut is clean—deep, but not jagged. “You’re gonna need a couple stitches,” I say, already grabbing clean paper towels and gloves from under the sink. “Did you hit your head? Any dizziness?”

“No. Just elbowed in the face.”

I nod. “Pressure here,” I direct, pointing to the spot. He presses down, wincing.

Hunter’s watching. Still tense. “You sure he’s okay?”

“I’ve seen worse during morning shift at the hospital,” I reply, not looking up. “We’ll butterfly it and tape it for now. I’ll show you how.”

Hunter finally breathes. “Thanks.”

“Keep the towel on him. I’ll grab supplies from upstairs.”

He nods. “I’ll hold the towel. Don’t need another rookie passing out.”

I leave the kitchen, pushing through the crowd like a girl on a mission.

Because I am.

And for the first time all night, my hands aren’t shaking.

* * *

After the rookie is sorted, I grab a cup from the drinks table, just to have something to hold.

I catch Grayson’s eyes from the other side of the room. He makes his way over, stopping right in front of me.

“You good?”

I force a smile. “Yeah. Great.”

His gaze flicks over me—slow, unreadable. “You look nice.”

I blink. “Thanks.”

Then, softer. “Different.”

My heart stutters.

“What do you mean?”

Grayson tilts his head. “I think you know.”

And just like that, I’m flustered all over again.

Because how does he know about me and Caleb?

Because I can’t seem to want one thing at a time.

Because I’m an actual hot mess express.

A guy approaches and starts talking hockey with Grayson, and I take the opportunity to slip away. I’m halfway through my second drink and trying not to spiral.

I’m also pretending not to be hyperaware of every glance from Caleb… Grayson… and Hunter.

I’m mid-doom spiral when it happens. A stranger—tall, confident, flashing dimples and expensive cologne—slides in beside me near the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says. “You here with anyone?”

I glance up. He’s definitely hot. Sharp jaw, dark hair, built like he probably owns a gym and uses words like macros unironically.

“Technically,” I say, “I live here.”

His smile widens. “Even better. So what’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Rilee.”

He offers his hand. “Damon.”

I shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

“You always this chill at parties? You look like someone I should get to know.”

It’s not aggressive. He’s not gross. Just… persistent.

I open my mouth to say something—half snark, half smile—when I feel it.

A shift in the air.

Hunter.

He appears like a thundercloud in a black T-shirt, jaw tight, eyes locked on Damon like he’s sizing him up for a fight he didn’t know he signed up for.

“Problem here?” Hunter says, stepping between us.

Damon raises both hands. “Didn’t know she came with a bodyguard.”

“She doesn’t,” I cut in sharply, stepping around Hunter. “I’ve got it.”

Hunter doesn’t move.

“Seriously,” I add, louder now. “You can go back to sulking in the corner. I’m not your responsibility.”

His jaw ticks. “I told back up I’d look out for you.”

I step closer, eyes flashing. “Yeah? Well I didn’t ask for that.”

Hunter flinches—just slightly. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

“I’m not some problem you have to manage, Hunter. I can handle myself. I have been handling myself. So unless you’re here to apologize or shut up, maybe sit this one out.”

Damon’s long gone by now. Doesn’t matter.

The damage is already done.

Hunter stares at me, unreadable. And then—without a word—he turns and walks away.

The tension doesn’t leave with him.

But the power shift?

That’s all mine.

I step outside to get some air, and the cold hits me hard.

I lean against the porch railing, trying to slow my heart.

Then I hear footsteps.

Not heavy. Not hurried.

It’s Grayson.

He stands beside me in silence for a second, then pulls something from behind his back.

His hoodie.

“I figured you’d need this,” he says.

I take it, slip it on, the sleeves fall over my hands.

“Thanks.”

“You were impressive,” he says.

I huff a breath. “Thanks, but I doubt that.”

“You were in charge. You were calm. You handled it.”

I glance over at him. “That’s the job.”

He nods once. Then, quieter, “I liked watching you do it.”

My stomach flips.

“You okay?” he asks.

I should be.

I nod.

But then his hand brushes mine—just a little—and the contact steals the air right out of my lungs.

“Good,” he says. “Because if you weren’t, I’d carry you inside.”

I laugh. “Is that supposed to be comforting or threatening?”

He smirks, looking out at the street. “You tell me.”

“I think I’m okay. Thanks, though. Just need a minute of air.”

He nods like he gets it. “I’ll be right in there if you need me.” And then he heads back inside.

The party’s humming behind me like nothing happened.

Connor’s patched up. The guy who threw the punch is long gone. And I should feel proud—cool, collected, competent.

Instead, I feel like I’m made of caffeine and static.

The calm lasts about four seconds.

Because I hear the door open behind me.

I turn around.

It’s Hunter.

Of course, it’s Hunter.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes on the yard like he’s trying not to burn a hole through the grass.

“You gonna give me grief too?” I ask, not turning.

“No,” he says.

I blink. Glance over. He’s not looking at me, exactly. Just past me.

“But,” he adds, “I told you I don’t want you hooking up with my teammates.”

I scoff. “Sorry, Dad.”

He turns then, eyes sharp. “What the fuck were you doing with Caleb upstairs?”

“That’s none of your damn business,” I snap.

He steps closer. “Happening right under my own roof… you’re kind of making it my business, Ri.”

My breath catches.

He’s close now. Too close. The porch light hits his cheek just right—jaw tight, dark stubble, a faint smudge of someone else’s blood on his shirt.

“You don’t have to like it,” I say, voice steady. “You don’t have to like anything I do.”

His jaw ticks. “That’s not how it works.”

“No?” I challenge. “Then how does it work, Hunter? Do you get to control me because you made some promise to my brother?”

He says nothing.

“Because I’m not yours to protect.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” I step forward, chest brushing his. “Because you’ve been acting like I’m a bomb about to go off, and I’ve got news for you—I’m not your responsibility.”

He exhales hard, gaze flicking to my mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that if you don’t want something from me.”

“I don’t,” he says. But it’s a whisper.

And a lie.

I see it in his eyes.

Then—

Footsteps.

The door opens.

Someone stumbles out, laughing too loud.

And just like that, it breaks.

Hunter steps back.

His expression slams shut.

And I’m left standing there, heart in my throat, wondering what the hell was that?

The party’s winding down.

Someone put on a chill playlist. The lights have dimmed to something softer. There’s beer spilled somewhere near the couch and a couple making out in the hallway.

I should head to bed.

Instead, I end up in the kitchen, rinsing out a cup just to have something to do with my hands.

“Hey,” Caleb says behind me.

I turn, heart already doing the guilt-shuffle.

His curls are messy, shirt untucked, that orange cowboy hat long gone. But his smile? Still warm. Still the kind of soft that makes your chest ache.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Just needed to decompress.”

He leans against the counter, watching me. “You were incredible tonight. Like—legit terrifying nurse goddess energy.”

I huff a laugh. “That’s the goal.”

His smile fades just a little, turning quieter. “You always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Take care of everyone but yourself.”

I freeze.

My throat tightens.

He steps closer, touches my wrist gently.

“Caleb—” I hesitate. “About tonight.”

His jaw shifts slightly, but he stays quiet.

I exhale. “I just—” I stop, restart. “I don’t think I can handle that kind of distraction right now. Not with everything else.”

A slow nod. Measured. “Okay.”

His mouth quirks. Barely. “You’re saying I’m too charming for your own good.”

“I’m saying I need to focus. And if we keep doing… that ,” I gesture vaguely, “I’m going to fail out or burn out or possibly implode… under a mountain of student loan debt.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s not all amusement. There’s something tight behind it. “Do you want to stop?” he asks. “Or do you think you should?”

That hits harder than I expect.

“I think I have to.”

He nods again. “Okay.” Then he leans in, brushes a kiss to my temple. “Sleep well, nurse goddess.”

And then he’s gone.

I exhale slowly.

The warmth of his lips still lingers, but it’s tangled with a knot in my stomach.

I’m carrying secrets . Lots of them.

Caleb tonight…

That run-in with Hunter that still crackles under my skin…

And Grayson’s steady presence that unravels me…

I don’t know what I’m doing.

All I know is I need to get out of this costume, into bed, and maybe—just maybe—stop setting fires I don’t know how to put out.