I’m saved from responding by a commotion a few rows up. Someone’s phone is ringing—loud, insistent—and there’s shuffling as they try to answer it.
Archer.
He’s pressed against the window, phone to his ear, voice low but tight. I can’t hear the words, but his body language says everything. Shoulders hunched. Jaw clenched. Hand gripping the seat infront of him like he’s trying not to break something.
“Trouble in paradise,” Logan murmurs, following my gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“Archer and Bree. Things have been… rough.” He lowers his voice. “The travel, the twins, the schedule. She was home alone with two toddlers a lot.”
I watch Archer end the call, staring at his phone in his hand. He looks exhausted. Not just tired—depleted. Like he’s running on fumes and willpower.
“That’s hard,” I say quietly.
“Yeah. He doesn’t talk about it, but you can tell.” Logan’s usual brightness dims slightly. “I hope they figure it out. He’s a good guy. And those kids are adorable.”
Archer shoves his phone in his pocket and tips his head back against the seat, eyes closed. He looks like a man carrying a heavy weight.
I make a mental note to check on him. Maybe during the next yoga session. Sometimes people need someone to notice.
“Anyway,” Logan says, bouncing back to his usual energy, “back to my duplex. What color should I paint the living room? I’m thinking something bold. Like orange.”
“Please don’t paint your living room orange.”
“What about lime green?”
“Logan.”
“You’re right. Too subtle. I need something that really pops.”
I spend the next hour talking Logan out of various terrible design choices while Banks sleeps inthe back and the sky blurs past in an endless gray ribbon.
A few more days of this road trip. A few more days of pretending I’m not falling for someone I’m not supposed to fall for.
No problem.
Chapter Nineteen
All In
Banks
I didn’t want to come to poker night.
But Zayden is impossible to say no to.
“You’re coming,” he’d said after practice, not as a question. “Archer’s hosting. It’s been planned for weeks. You’re not wiggling out of this one.”
“I don’t wiggle.”
“You absolutely wiggle. You’re the wiggliest person I know when it comes to social obligations.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You’re coming. End of discussion.” His voice was firm, and the vein in his forehead told me this was non-negotiable.
So here I am, at Archer’s house. Surrounded by my teammates. Holding cards I don’t care about.
