Chapter 28 #2
“Yeah. We make it look normal. We’re already around them enough that it won’t raise flags.
If Aura is leaving class late, Easton or one of us happens to be nearby.
If Charm closes at The Sin Bin, someone makes sure she gets to her car.
If Bliss is walking across campus, she doesn’t do it alone unless she wants to and we know the area is clear. ”
Briggs’s eyes narrow. “She’s gonna hate that.”
“Probably.”
“Charm might hit someone with pepper spray on principle.”
“Then announce yourself before approaching.”
Easton glances up. “Aura will hate it more if she feels handled.”
“Then don’t handle her,” I tell him. “Respect her. Make it practical. Make it casual. Make it about all three of them, not just Bliss.”
His eyes stay on mine for half a second too long.
Yeah.
He hears me.
Ryan crosses his arms tighter. “Her brother a cop?”
I nod, “I’ll let him know when she tells her family.”
Rider leans back against the lockers. “So, the plan is: eyes open, no solo hero bullshit, keep the girls from getting cornered, document anything weird, and if Dempsey shows up, call it in before anyone gets creative.”
“Exactly.”
Briggs looks offended. “Creative is such a better word for protective.”
“Creative gets subpoenas,” Ryan says.
“This is not about making us feel better,” I say, and the room stills again. “It’s not about revenge. Not today. This is about making sure Bliss, Aura, and Charm can move around campus without him finding a soft spot to press.”
Easton’s voice comes quieter. “What if he already does?”
I look at him.
There it is.
Aura.
The thing he isn’t saying because he doesn’t have the right yet, but every line of him is saying it anyway.
“Then we close it,” I say.
His nod is small but lethal.
Briggs drags both hands over his face. “I fucking hate this.”
“Good,” I say. “Use that to pay attention.”
He looks at me. “How much does Bliss want shared?”
“Nothing specific,” I say immediately. “Her story belongs to her. You don’t ask. You don’t dig. You don’t look at her like she’s breakable.”
Briggs’s face changes at that, and for once, all the humor is gone. “I would never.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Mercer.”
“I know,” I repeat, softer this time, because I do.
Briggs has been Bliss’s friend longer than I have. He’s loud and stupid and schedules parties like he’s running a small corrupt government, but he loves his people without making them prove they deserve it. If he’d known, he would’ve gone to war for her years ago.
That’s probably another reason this sucks.
Because none of us knew. And Glory Days used that.
Rider tosses his tape into the trash. “So, what do we call this? Watch rotation? Buddy system? Secret service but hotter?”
“Awareness,” Ryan says.
Briggs makes a face. “That’s a terrible group-chat name.”
“We are not making a separate group chat,” I say.
Briggs freezes.
“Absolutely not.”
Rider slowly turns toward him. “He already made one.”
Easton sighs. “Of course he did.”
Briggs pulls his phone halfway out of his locker. “In my defense, it’s called Glory Daze and Confused.”
For three seconds, nobody moves.
Then Ryan closes his eyes like he is praying for strength he doesn’t believe in.
I stare at Briggs. “Delete it.”
“It has a great logo.”
“Delete it.”
“It’s just a placeholder.”
“Briggs.”
“Fine.” He taps his phone dramatically. “Art dies again.”
Rider leans over to peek. “You used a photo of a VHS tape?”
“Because he’s stuck in the past.”
I shake my head. “That’s unfortunately clever.”
“Thank you.”
“Still delete it,” I say.
He does, muttering under his breath about creative oppression.
The moment breaks enough for everyone to breathe, and I let it, because that’s what my team does. They take something heavy and put their shoulders under it without making a show. They chirp because if they don’t, the weight wins.
I get that now more than I ever have.
Ryan waits until Briggs and Rider start arguing about whether a group chat logo counts as evidence of premeditation before he nods toward the hallway. “Walk.”
I follow him out.
The hall outside the locker room is quiet, fluorescent lights humming overhead, concrete still damp near the rink entrance from skates and snow spray. Ryan stops by the vending machine and leans back against the wall.
For a minute, neither of us says anything.
Then he asks, “How bad?”
I stare at the closed locker room door.
“Bad.”
His jaw shifts.
“I can’t tell you,” I say.
“I didn’t ask for details.”
“I know.”
He studies me. “You’re close to the edge.”
A laugh almost comes out, but there isn’t any humor in it. “I’m past it.”
“No. Past it means you’re gone already. You’re standing here asking for help, so you’re not past it.”
That is the thing about Decker. He says shit like that and makes it impossible to argue without proving his point.
I drag a hand over my jaw. “I need you to keep me in check.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens. “That bad?”
“Worse.”
Ryan nods once like I just confirmed something he already knew. “Am I stopping you or helping hide the body?”
“Depends how the day goes.”
“Then I’ll start with stopping you.”
I look at him and he doesn’t blink.
“You don’t want to be the reason this gets harder for her,” he says. “That’s the line. Not legal. Not moral. Her. Anything you do either protects Bliss or makes her carry more. That’s how you decide.”
The words hit exactly where they need to.
I hate that.
But I need it.
“Yeah,” I say.
Ryan pushes off the wall. “And if there comes a point where protecting her means putting him down, call me before Briggs.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. “Because you’re more rational?”
“No. Because Briggs would livestream it by accident.”
I actually laugh. One short, fucked-up laugh, but it counts.
Ryan’s mouth curves barely. “Laughing and cutting up with us still doesn’t mean you don’t care.”
“Don’t.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The locker room door opens, and Briggs sticks his head out. “Are we having an emotionally intimate hallway moment without the group?”
“Yes,” Ryan says.
“Rude.”
“It’s better without you.”
“Most things are,” Rider calls from inside.
Briggs points back over his shoulder. “That is why nobody likes him.”
Easton appears behind him. “We all like him.”
“Traitors.”
I look at them then—Briggs in his half-taped wrist chaos, Rider grinning like trouble has a favorite son, Easton pretending not to be five seconds away from asking another Aura question, Ryan calm and steady beside me—and something settles.
The ice helped because it gave my rage structure. Lines to stay inside. Rules to obey. Whistles to stop me. Systems to follow. A place to put the violence where it could be useful instead of catastrophic. “I’ll be back at Hockey House tonight,” I say.
Briggs nods. “We’ll be there.”
I grab my bag, shoulder it, and head toward the exit with the boys falling in around me. For the first time since I left Bliss asleep in her bed, my thoughts don’t feel quieter. They feel organized. That is enough.
For now.