Page 27 of Fly

NINE

Jari

I stepped into the meeting room already searching for an empty seat at this first planning meeting for Cam’s charity. Maybe a dozen people were scattered around the long table, coats draped over chairs, takeaway cups clustered near a cardboard box stamped with the charity’s logo. Conversation hummed under the scrape of chairs and the rustle of agenda packets; the kind of polite noise that made it clear everyone was still feeling each other out. My chest tightened, and my breathing was shallow, every sense dialed up too high, as if I were braced for impact. But everything eased as soon as I saw Cam.

He was leaning back in his chair, talking to Cap, and when his gaze flicked up and found me, his whole expression softened. It was just a small smile, but he seemed genuinely glad I’d made it. I smiled back before I could stop myself, quick and instinctive, and the tension loosened its grip a little. Not gone. But manageable.

I straightened my shoulders and took another step into the room.

I can do this.

I barely took two steps before someone stepped up behind me, close enough that their shoulder brushed my arm as they passed. I’d stalled without meaning to, turned myself into a human roadblock while I stood there trying to get my bearings. Heat crept up my neck as I half turned, already forming an apology, fingers lifting in a useless, belated gesture.

Tennant Rowe.

His presence filled the doorway in that effortless way some men had. Calm. Solid. Like he belonged anywhere he chose to be. He smiled immediately and stuck out his hand.

“Tennant Rowe,” he said as if I wouldn't know who he is. “Jari, right? Good to finally meet you.”

I froze for half a beat—then shook his hand. Fast. Too fast.

“Yeah. Jari, hi,” I muttered, already pulling back, gaze dropping. I disengaged almost before the contact registered, headed straight for the table, and took the chair beside Cap.

I should have known Tennant would be here, right? After all, he was one of the organizers of this charity with Cam.

He went to his seat halfway down the table, relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair. I couldn't look at him, so I kept my eyes on the agenda packet in front of me and still couldn’t focus on the words.

“Okay then,” Cam said, glancing down at his notes. “Before that, though, we still need to lock down the main event.”

“Casino night is always a draw,” someone further down the table offered. “Low barrier, good sponsor tie-ins.”

“High cost, though,” Layton countered. “Dealers, tables, insurance. And some fans don’t love the gambling angle.”

“What about a burlesque night?” another suggested, half-joking, half-serious. “Ticketed, flashy, easy publicity.”

Tennant leaned his forearms on the table. “Great energy, but we’d need to be careful about tone. This is still a mental health fundraiser. We don’t want it to feel like we’re undercutting the message.”

“Silent auction?” Cam said. “We’ve got access to jerseys, experiences, and meet-and-greets. Keeps it inclusive.”

There were nods, pens tapping, ideas being scribbled down. The conversation flowed easily back and forth, pros and cons weighed without anyone talking over anyone else. I followed along as best I could, grateful for the structure of it, for something concrete to focus on instead of the way my pulse still hadn’t quite settled.

“… and we’ll need volunteers for the outreach with Cam,” Layton added.

“Jari can help,” Cap said easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

My head snapped up before I could stop it. “What?”

Cap smiled at me. “If you’re willing.”

Every eye turned. The room tilted. Just a little. Enough that my hands went cold. “Yeah,” I heard myself say. “Sure.”

Tennant’s gaze found me then. I held it for half a second too long before looking away, pulse spiking.

When Cam called for a coffee break, I stayed seated, barely registering the end of the discussion before I stood, muttered something about the restroom, and pushed out into the hallway, lungs already working too hard. The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the noise, but my chest stayed tight as I found the nearest corner, braced my hands on the cool wall, and stared at the floor.

Don’t spiral. Don’t make this a thing.

I pushed off the wall and dragged in a steadier breath. My hands were still trembling, but the worst of the spin had settled. I told myself that was enough to walk back in, but footsteps approached from the meeting room, and someone had found my hiding place. God, I hoped it was Cam. He’d know just what to say to me.