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“Yeah, Coach.”
“Dakota, my office before you go. Numbers.”
“Got it.”
Cruz cracks an eye open. “You sure that’s all you want her in your office for?”
“Cruz.”
“Coach.”
Eli’s ears go pink. He stands and walks toward his office. Cruz laughs into Dante’s thigh and Dante swats the top of his head. The whole time I’m watching Brady’s face.
He smiles. Small. Polite. Like he’s watching a family through a restaurant window.
Then he stands and heads for the locker room without saying goodbye.
“Brady—”
“Gonna grab a shower. See you tomorrow.”
Dante’s head turns. He watches Brady go. Then he looks at me.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Dakota.”
I meet his eyes. Cruz is still half-asleep on his lap, Eli is in his office, and it’s just us for a heartbeat.
“He needs more time than we’re giving him.”
Dante’s expression shifts. Cruz opens both eyes now, attention sharpening.
“What’s going on with Brady?”
“Nothing.” I push to my feet. “Yet.”
I walk toward Eli’s office, feeling two sets of eyes on my back, and I make a promise to Brady in my head.
You’re not alone in this. I’m going to make sure you know that you belong with us.
17
CRUZ
Dante’s apartment smells like garlic and red wine, the leftover residue of a dinner none of us really ate. Dakota pushed food around her plate the whole time. Eli barely touched his. I cleaned both their plates because waste pisses me off and because shoveling food into my mouth gave me something to do with my hands.
Now we’re sprawled across Dante’s sectional, Dakota tucked between my thigh and Dante’s, her bare feet hooked over Eli’s knee where he sits on the ottoman across from us. He keeps brushing his thumb along her ankle bone. Three weeks ago he wouldn’t have touched her in front of us if you’d held a knife to his throat.
She breaks the quiet first.
“We need to talk about Brady.”
Dante’s hand stills on her hip. Eli’s thumb stops moving. I let out a long breath through my nose because, yeah, no shit we do.
“Bad day?” I ask, even though I watched half of it from across the gym.
