“Christ,” Nate muttered. “Holy shit.”
Roman exhaled, scrubbing his hands over his hair as if he could shake her out of existence. “Are you all right?” he asked, glancing between Nate and me.
“I’m fine. Areyouokay?” I swung my gaze to Nate. “Are you?”
“I don’t know.” Nate’s head tipped back, and he blinked at the ceiling. “She really looked like she was dying.”
“She did,” Roman agreed. “Not our problem.”
“No.” Nate dropped his chin to his chest. “It shouldn’t be.”
Adrian stalked back into the foyer, his expression implacable, all his feathers smoothed and unruffled. How had he managed to do that? Was it a magic trick, or did he really not care?
“Now that that’s over, come back in the living room and watch the match,” Adrian said.
Roman studied his brother’s face for a long second before giving a slow nod. “All right. We’ll talk about it later.”
Nate murmured his agreement, and Adrian shook his head.
“There’s nothing to talk about. We’ve wasted enough of our time on that…topic.”
We filed back into the living room and took up our original spots, like we were trying to slide ourselves back into the moment we’d lost. The crowd noise from the TV swelled, the announcer’s voice filled the uneasy quiet, and the kids resumed their chaos like nothing had happened.
But everything had shifted.
Roman’s jaw stayed too tight. Nate’s leg bounced when it hadn’t been before. Adrian’s focus was glued to the screen a little too intensely. And worry crawled under my skin. Not just for them, but for Ben, out there on that pitch, unaware a ghost had just knocked on his family’s door.
On the screen, he took another handoff, lowering his shoulder as he charged forward so strongly he was unstoppable.
If there was a storm coming, it wouldn’t touch him. Not today.
Today, Ben was flying.
And we were going to finish watching him win.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Ben
Mybrothersabsolutelywerenot going to tell me our mother had shown up at Roman’s house. They were going to keep it a secret from me—for how long, who knew. They all had shit-ass poker faces, so when I’d video-called them to give them the opportunity to shower me with praise for bringing home the gold, I knew something was up.
Even Adrian was frownier than usual.
I had to tug and yank and cajole. They had me thinking something was wrong with my kid or Mazz, so I couldn’t let it go. When Roman finally let it spill, I was relieved for a split second. That was manageable. I could handle that kind of news, so long as my girls were okay.
But seeing the looks on their faces. Adrian’s dead eyes. The effort Nate was putting into staying present and plastering a big smile on his face. Roman’s exhaustion—that was what got me. It ripped me right out of the euphoria of taking the championship, and I couldn’t get home soon enough.
Except—shewas there. I had less than no desire to see our mother, and knowing she was back in Denver, looking to reconnect, made me uneasy. Made me want to pack up and never return.
My flight home landed late at night, and even though Mazzy and Kat were at my house, I stopped by Roman’s first. The second he opened his door, he pulled me into his arms. Or maybe I pulled him into mine. Fuck, I didn’t know. All that mattered was my brother’s embrace, so tight he trembled.
He tugged me into his quiet house, the rest of his family asleep. “Incredible game,” he said.
I waved him off. “You’re not going to distract me. We both know I played incredibly—”
“There was a whole team out there with you,” he reminded me.
“Pffft. Not the point.”
