Page 26 of Traded

He looks so tired. Deep, dark circles underscore his eyes, lines buried between his brows that I’m not sure would disappear even if he wasn’t looking at me like something’swrong.

“Tell me,” I whisper. Even with the blankets, my skin feels like ice. My nails find my wrist away from his sight, scratching at it lightly. “Whatever’s going on, I want to know.”

He risks the blanket mountain to gently tug my wrist free, turning it over and pressing his lips to the reddened skin. “Don’t do that.”

“You know I can’t help it.”

“I know.” His lips find my forehead. And my cheek. My lips, so soft that I lean forward, looking for more. Ineedmore.

His face blurs as I close the gap. “You know you’re the only thing that matters to me, right?”

“What? Cart—”

“No,” he murmurs. His finger touches my lips in silent request. “Let me say it now. I mean it, Ro. Nothing else.”

“But theteam.” Liam, and Jonas. How can he say that?

“You think they don’t know?” He shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the game. Adore it. You know how much. But… it’s all for you. Always was. Every bit of it. The pack, the home. I want you to have everything.”

He doesn’t have to say it.Everything we didn’t have.

He carefully wipes the dampness from my face, his smile a ghost. “All roads lead to Rosie. I need you to remember that. No matter what.”

When I wriggle out of the blanket trap, kicking them away, he pulls me into him. His face buries into my neck, my arms wrapping around him until I could trace the faded script inked across his shoulders beneath his shirt.

All roads lead to Rosie.

Finally, he sighs. “Get dressed, okay? Take as long as you need. Meet us in the living room. Miles is here too.”

“Miles?” I pull back. Almost pullaface but manage to stop myself. “Why?”

“You should hear it from all of us.” Carter shifts back, climbing out of my nest as I stare up at him. His eyes are dark enough that I can barely see any blue at all. “We’ll be there when you’re ready.”

***

I’m not ready for this. Whatever this is. Swallowing, I rub my sweaty hands against my most comfortable yoga pants and bury one in the pocket of Carter’s hoodie before stepping into the living room. “Hey. This looks cozy.”

My eyes sweep across the set-up. Liam and Jonas are waiting on the couch, a space between them. Carter watches from the leather armchair, his jaw tight. And Miles springs up like a jack-in-the-box. “There she is.”

When I flinch away from his enthusiastic embrace, the feigned enthusiasm wavers. Miles settles his hands on my shoulders instead, squeezing lightly. His hair is the usual pale mussed-in-every-possible direction mess, but he’s wearing a shirt and jacket. “Why are you here?”

He only wears a suit for the tough conversations. Carter told me that when I wondered why their agent was wearing a bright floral beach shirt to the draft.Says it helps him get in the right mindset for a fight.

Miles purses his lips, still smiling, but it looks less real by the second. “I’m here to help.”

Help who?I want to ask, but Liam clears his throat. “Come and sit down.”

He pats the middle, and Jonas shifts over as I make my way to them. But his hand reaches for mine, winding our fingers together and squeezing. “You holding up?”

Liam snags my favorite blanket from where I left it sprawled out over the back of the couch earlier. He nudges it into my lap, and I grip it with my other hand. “Did someone die?”

I try to joke, but it comes out as a serious question.

“Nothing as dire as that.” Liam tucks a few flyaways back behind my ear, studying me. His hand lingers, and when I breathe in, I catch it again.

He still smells like Lauren.

My stomach flips. When I jerk away, his hand slides to my nape, massaging it.