Page 4

So much for a relaxing day before our game tomorrow. Leave it to her to ruin a perfectly good day. The plan was to cruise the beach, have my lunch, and go home for a nap. Now, I just want to get her laugh out of my head.

This has been a game from Hell; it always is when we play the Orlando Osprey. Not only because they’re our state rivals, but also b ecause he plays for Orlando. River Owens. My old best friend from college. The one who recruited my ex in an attempt to destroy my career before it even started.

These games are personal, not only for me but for my roommate Zeke, too. He’s our goalie and was the third musketeer in our little trio before everything fell apart. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I know how deep that betrayal runs for him, too.

Tonight, he’s laser-focused, determined to shut them out. So far, so good. We’re up 3-0, but there’s still time on the clock. My job as a forward is to score, which I have done. Twice. But I know better than to get comfortable with the lead we have.

The ball passes the midfield line into Osprey territory, and I take off, shouting to let Diaz know I’m open.

He sees me and dribbles the ball around the defender, executing a perfectly timed pass to the spot I’m running toward.

Adjusting my stride, I pull my leg back and kick the ball into the net seconds before an Osprey defenseman slides in front of me.

Hell yeah, hat trick!

I'm not one for flashy celebrations, but I gladly accept the high-fives from my teammates. Their energy feeds into the adrenaline already flowing through me. A glance at the clock tells me we’re in the eighty-seventh minute.

That means there are at least three minutes left of regular gameplay; with penalty minutes, we’re probably looking at closer to eight.

We take our positions as the Osprey kick off; Meadows sticks to their center like white on rice, making it nearly impossible for them to gain ground.

My whole team knows the history between Zeke, Owens, and me.

They fight extra hard, borderline dirty, whenever we play them.

The support is someth ing I’ve always been grateful for.

We may not be as tight as my brother and his team, but I know they have my back, just as I have theirs.

Meadows gets the ball past the midfield line, Remi quickly picks it up, cutting down the left side of the field with Diaz close behind.

Leaning forward, I sprint toward the goal.

Diaz picks up the ball from Remi and dribbles it closer to me.

I watch as his foot pulls back behind him at the same time as Owens comes from the side, pulling the ball away from my teammate without missing a beat.

I lunge, my ankle knocking the ball, pushing it slightly outside his narrow gait.

Jiminez is close enough to scoop it up and pull it away from the Ospreys.

Owens glares at me, eyes burning with frustration.

That glare might make a lesser man hesitate, but not me.

He should know better, I’m a product of his and Nikki’s betrayal.

Quiet, closed off, emotionless. Take your pick.

I jut my chin in his direction, a silent invitation for him to try again . His lips curl into a sneer as if to say this isn’t over. It never is.

Ninety-one minutes on the clock, and the ball is back in play.

He makes a run for it, his movements sharp and calculated like they always are.

He plays beautifully, it sucks that his personality lacks so drastically.

He tries to fake me out, but clearly, he’s forgotten we practiced together for twelve years.

He spent years perfecting his game alongside us, and I spent just as long learning his every move.

Anticipating his movement, I match it, snatch the ball, and quickly pivot. A swift kick sends it back to midfield.

The whistle blows before we can push forward, game over. I look toward Zeke, who steps out of the net, giving me a quick nod. I t’s his signal that he's all good, no injuries, but my relief is short-lived as we shake hands with the opposing team. Owen’s grip lingers a fraction too long.

“Nice game,” he says, voice low and dripping with malice.

He’s met with silence, I won’t give him the reaction he’s looking for.

He leans in closer, enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“You’ve got a good thing going here, Wilder.

It’d be a shame if something were to ruin that,” he hums as his hand claps me on the back of the shoulder.

What could he possibly be up to now? Whatever it is, I want no part in it.

As soon as I get to the locker room, I immediately strip down to my boxers and hop in the ice bath, laying my head against the back of the tub. It’s like salt in an open wound every time we play this team. But this time, Owens got to me with the insinuation of something happening.

“You okay, man?” Zeke says from somewhere behind me. I grunt in response, which isn’t unusual.

“Hat trick for Senor Grump!” Diaz sings as he hops into the tub next to me.

I crack an eye and level him with as much of a glare as I can.

He chuckles and does his normal full-body shudder, followed by a high-pitched squeal once he’s fully submerged.

“Thought you’d be happier. Did someone piss in your Wheaties this morning? ”

“Hooray,” I mutter flatly, twirling a finger in the air with the enthusiasm of a snail on sedatives.

There's bickering coming from every corner of the room; any other day, it wouldn’t bother me, but today?

Today, I want to bite someone’s head off, mainly because that entire interaction has my stomach in knots.

Irritation claws at my chest. I'm ready to explode, but before I get the chance, my timer goes off .

With a deep exhale, I pull myself out of the water, droplets sliding down my skin with every move. I wrap a towel around my waist as I head toward the locker room to change. My jaw is getting a workout with all the additional clenching it’s doing today.

I barely get my shirt pulled over my head when I’m whipped in the stomach with a towel.

“Are you coming out with us tonight?” Meadows asks from his place in front of his locker as Diaz whips his towel at me, jumping back as soon as it snaps like a lion trainer at a circus.

I grab the end and yank, pulling it out of his hand.

The guys love going out after games, but love it even more when we have early games like this, and they can go home and nap first. I roll my eyes before throwing the towel back at him.

Zipping up my bag, I sling it over my shoulder. “No, I’ve got a bachelor party planning meeting with my brother,” which might not be the worst thing in the world. Some quality brother time might just be what the doctor ordered.

“Hey, Han.” I pull my soon-to-be sister-in-law into a hug before releasing her and scratching her dog, Harley, behind the ears. She gives me a smile that I’m sure would melt my heart if I had one left.

“Good game, Tater Tot! I’m going to hold a competition to see which Wilder gets more hat tricks this season.

” She sends me a smile over her shoulder as she walks to her kitchen island.

Why we ’re meeting here instead of Greyson’s, I don’t know.

But I'm not going to complain, she always has better food, probably because her roommate does the shopping. Huh, the Terrifying Pixie is good for something. I wonder what would happen if I had groceries delivered to them one day? Would she explode over the loss of control? There’s a grand idea if I’ve ever heard one.

“Thanks, are you going somewhere?” Her arms are full.

She has both a backpack and a bag full of stuff that looks like it belongs in a craft store.

It’s a Tuesday night. Usually, she doesn’t work past five during the week, a benefit of working for not only a charity, but my dad’s charity.

She quit her job as a sports journalist after everything went up in smoke, but it was a good move for her.

She learned a lot from her job planning events for the Boswells, and a year later, when my dad asked her to head up the charity he’d been wanting to start for years, she didn’t hesitate to say yes.

She loves kids, loves getting to support them in a way she didn’t have growing up, my dad was over the freaking moon when she said yes.

They work side-by-side daily, and I don’t think he’ll ever get tired of her.

Just like she’s the big sister I never had, she’s the daughter he never had.

And she has the brains and knowledge of how things work, plus empathy in spades, so that helps, too.

“Yeah, Wilson and I are doing vision boards with some of the kids at the group home tonight.” She wiggles a sparkly crayon in my direction.

“Grey asked if you could have your movie night here with Harley, and of course, I don’t mind.

” Her beaming smile and mention of movie night tell me she has absolutely no idea what my brother is up to .

“She doesn’t mind either.” Her hand motions to where Harley is sitting by my feet, tail wagging a hundred miles an hour.

She waves and heads toward the door. “I gotta go, see you later!” The door shuts behind her, and I’m in her apartment alone.

Harley doesn’t leave me hanging for long, though.

Her paws hit my thigh, knocking me onto the couch, as she jumps and settles in my lap, ready for all the belly scratches.

A few minutes later, the door swings open, and I catch the tail end of a conversation.“I just don’t get why she can’t—”

Damn it. I should have known he’d pull something like this. This is the absolute last thing I need today. I don’t know why I thought she wouldn’t be here. Abby lives here. “Tatum...”

My eyes meet hers, and yep. She’s pissed.

“Terrifying Pixie.” Her eyes narrow at the nickname. Neither of us says anything, opting to look for answers in the big doof in the middle of the room. “Care to explain, dear brother?” I ask as I settle further into the couch.

Clearing his throat, Greyson sets the pizza box down on the counter and faces the two of us. “I need to get both of you in on this if I want to pull it off.” His smile grows to the point that it makes me cringe.

“What exactly is this , Wilder?” Abby asks with arms crossed over her chest and a hip pushed out to the side.

The scowl on her face looks so out of place that it almost makes me laugh.

There are very few things that get this kind of reaction out of her, but at the top of the list is being blindsided.

I’ve seen it happen a few times over the past few years.

It never works out well for anyone. The woman is such a control freak that the slightest detour from her plans sends her into a tailspin, one that she immediately tries to over-correct by microm anaging everything.

Like a prissy little princess, she stomps her foot, and everyone just does what she says.

“I want to have our bachelor and bachelorette parties together. But I want to have them in the mountains, and I want it to be a surprise.” Looky here, my big bro has a romantic side after all.

“And you need us for what?” she asks before I have a chance to.

“Hold on, let me get what I wrote down.” He pats all his pockets before realizing he doesn’t have whatever he’s looking for. “Dang it, I left the list in the car. Be right back!” He’s out the door before either of us can get a word in.

The second the door clicks shut behind him, she turns to me and glares.

Her existence is annoying, but she’s the least of my problems. I lean back against the couch and shrug.

Her eyes narrow further, and for a second, I think she might explode.

Instead, she just huffs and walks into the kitchen without a word.

Her very evident fraying nerves make me want to pull the thread of her sanity to see how far I can take it. “Oh no, whatever would we do without a list?” I chide, and her head snaps in my direction.

“You’re in my house,” she growls before turning to the fridge and pulling out three water bottles.

“Watch yourself before I throw your ass out.” She sets two bottles gently on the counter before chucking the other at my head.

Luckily, I have cat-like reflexes, and I catch it before it hits its intended target—My ruggedly handsome face.

Damn, that tiny woman has an arm on her.