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Her voice carries the dry edge I’ve missed, but her hand is tight around her glass. She’s spent most of dinner listening unless someone speaks to her first, and before I can decide whether she needs rescuing or another minute to settle, Easton leans around me.

“You good, Liv?”

“Yeah.” Olivia’s fingers loosen slightly around her glass. “Just considering some of my life choices.”

“That’s fair.” Easton smiles, but instead of pushing for more like I expect him to, he leans back and lets Sullivan pull him into another conversation.

Olivia’s shoulders relax as his attention moves away, and I stare at Easton for a second longer than I mean to. Restraint isn’t usually a word I’d put anywhere near Easton Kinkade, but he noticed she needed an out and gave her one. Jubal catches my eye from across the table, one eyebrow lifting when his gaze flicks toward Easton. I shake my head before Dad pulls him back into their conversation.

“You two are terrible at this,” Olivia whispers, bumping her knee against mine.

My stomach drops, my attention snapping toward Dad, searching his face for any sign that he noticed.

“He didn’t see.”

“Jesus, Liv.”

“I’m not trying to out you.” Her voice stays low, but the teasing disappears when she sees my face. “I’m telling you because I know what I’m looking for, and even I almost forgot I’m not supposed to know.”

I glance across the table again, more carefully this time. Jubal is listening to Dad with the same focused attention he gives him at the facility, except there’s no practice waiting to pull one of them away. He laughs when Dad says something I can’t hear, his shoulders loose beneath his sweater in a way they rarely are during the season. I gave him so much shit when he complained about spending four nights without me, but we’ve only made it through one. This morning, I reached across my old bed before I was fully awake for the warm body that wasn’t there. The stupid little ache of finding cold sheets didn’t leave until Jubal came through Dad’s door and stole a kiss while everyone was distracted in the kitchen. Now he’s six feet away, smiling at something Dad says, and my fingers curl against my palm when I want to reach for him. I don’t have to think before I touch Jubal when we’re alone anymore, but here, I have to think about it every single time.

As the last of the food disappears, Whit pushes his chair back and reaches for the nearest empty serving dish, giving me somewhere else to put the restless energy beneath my skin.

“I’ve got those.” I’m already out of my chair when Dad points his fork at me from the end of the table.

“Leave it. There are eight perfectly capable people in this room who didn’t cook.”

Everyone starts clearing the table while I’m still standing there holding a plate, and Easton takes Olivia’s from her.

“You’re a guest,” he tells her, but she keeps one hand on the edge of the plate. “I’ve been here enough that Coach probably owes me a key.”

“Keep talking like that, and I’m putting you to work every Sunday.” Dad snorts as he pushes his chair back.

“That sounds suspiciously like an invitation.” Easton grins at Dad while slipping Olivia’s plate out of her hand and heading for the kitchen. She watches him go with the faint crease between her eyebrows that usually means she’s encountered something she can’t immediately categorize.

“He’s always like this, isn’t he?”

“Unfortunately.”

Olivia laughs under her breath and follows him while I turn back to the table. I reach for the plates left on our end, but Dad catches my wrist.

“Bug, sit down and relax. This is our reward for cooking for these animals.” Dad chuckles, releasing my wrist before dropping back into his chair. “You’ve helped enough.”

I lower myself back into my chair while everyone else disappears into the kitchen, their voices carrying through the doorway beneath the clatter of dishes. Dad reaches for his beer and settles deeper into his seat, perfectly content to let them handle the mess.

“This was nice.” Dad stretches one leg beneath the table and takes a drink. “I wasn’t sure how many of them were actually going to show up when you started inviting people.”

“You say that like you didn’t feed half the roster when I was growing up.”

“Touché, but they were a lot younger then.” Dad shakes his head and smiles at me instead of checking his phone or glancing toward the clock.

My stomach tightens as I look across the table at Dad. This is the moment I’ve been telling myself I needed: Dad at home instead of Coach Quinn at the facility, nobody pulling his attention away, nowhere either of us needs to be. But instead of relief, my pulse climbs until I can feel it beating at the base of my throat.

His smile fades slightly as he studies me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The answer is out before I decide whether it’s true, and I curl my fingers around the edge of my chair when the word buys me exactly nothing. “I just…”

Dad is sitting right there, waiting for me to say whatever comes next, and I can already see Jubal walking into the facility tomorrow with Dad looking at him differently.