Page 254 of Break Away
Her mouth fell open. “You can’t no me in stereo.”
“We can,” I said, settling beside him.
“We did,” Easton added.
Cade pulled away from the curb.
Bliss stared between us, then pointed at the tiara. “At least explain that.”
I adjusted it with dignity. “I am second-place royalty.”
Easton leaned back, his hand finding mine between us. “She was robbed.”
I looked at him. “You were robbed. I was crowned.”
“You are enjoying this.”
“I’m dating a man who argued for Macedonian nuance at bar trivia. I have to find joy somewhere.”
Cade’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “You argued with a trivia host?”
“Historical integrity matters,” Easton said.
Bliss wiped beneath her eyes, smiling so hard it made my chest ache. “Oh, I love this.”
I looked at Easton.
He was already looking at me, rain-damp hair messy, shirt sleeves rolled, eyes soft in the passing streetlights, his hand warm around mine.
For once, the night had gone wrong in every possible direction, and none of it felt like ruin.
It felt like a story I would keep.
Epilogue
Thanksgiving…
Ryan Decker
Charm’s family didn’t threaten people with raised voices.
They did it with linen napkins, crystal glasses, and smiles sharp enough to open skin without leaving fingerprints.
I figured that out ten minutes into Thanksgiving dinner, right around the time her mother looked at my hands for the fourth time and her father asked me about hockey like he was asking how long I planned on entertaining myself before real life started.
I could’ve respected the insult more if he’d had the balls to say it plain.
Instead, Lance Harlen sat at the head of a table that looked like it needed its own zip code, carving turkey in a charcoal sweater and a watch that cost more than the first car I ever slept in, smiling like every question he asked came from harmless curiosity. His wife sat across from him with pearls at her throat and a mouth made for polite disappointment, tracking every tattoo that peeked from beneath my cuffs like the ink might spread if she looked away too long.
Charm sat beside me in a cream sweater with pearl buttons and her strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind one ear, so damn beautiful it should’ve been illegal and so stiff with nerves it made my back teeth grind. Her posture was perfect. Her smile was perfect. Every inch of her belonged in this cold, expensive house with its polished floors, framed family photos,and dining room full of people who knew how to use manners like a weapon.
Except her knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the table.
I let it go for the first few minutes because she was trying. I could feel it in every careful breath she took beside me. She wanted this to matter. She wanted me here. She wanted to believe bringing me home was the same as choosing me in front of them.
Then her father asked me if Flint Frost had a “realistic path forward” for players who came from “less traditional backgrounds,” and Charm’s knee knocked mine hard enough to make her silverware whisper against the plate.
I set my hand over her thigh under the table.
