Chapter 13 Finley
FINLEY
Auguste is staring at me impassively. Guilt for leaving Samson alone fists my heart again.
I feel terrible for letting Auguste down—disappointment is a flavor I’ve choked down my whole life after years of being lectured to please God, The Elders, my parents, and eventually the man I would marry—and if it hadn’t been for Elijah and Jayden, I never would’ve left my boisterous, four-legged bestie.
“I swear, I left everything the way you passed it on to me for the dog walker, and she said she would drop in a few times a day to make sure that Sammy is okay.” God, he’s going to hate me after this.
“Dude,” Jayden gives Auguste’s shoulder a squeeze while his palm settles on the curve of my back, shooting him a look like there’s a subtext he won’t say aloud. “Bruce…”
“Jesus, father of all the holy fucks in the goddamn universe,” Christina growls next to me, eager to clear this up so she can drag me to the hotel bar where some of the guys said they’d chill before dinner.
“Please tell her, reassure her, you don’t hate her, and that she hasn’t ruined your life or mistreated your baby. Please?”
Auguste looks between the three of us, eyes bugging. He seems ready to bolt until Christina steps closer, presses her hand to his chest, inhales and exhales like a yoga teacher, and whispers, “Tell her. Please. Four little words… No. Problem. It’s. Okay.”
“Umm…” Auguste shakes his head and pulls out his phone. The real-time footage shows Samson curled on his couch under the blanket I left from Eli’s bed. He loved it, so I couldn’t take it back. Next to him sits a petite woman with a laptop. “His mommy’s home.”
“Courtney’s back?” Jayden asks. “You didn’t say.”
“Yeah, she was staying with her mom while she was on a job in Kansas, and shit blew up between them because of her stepdad. Usual shit.” Auguste shrugs, his serious expression gentling. “She missed home.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Jayden says with a sigh, his fingers brushing the back of my hand before wrapping around it.
Fixing his attention on me, Auguste says, “Sammy’s fine, and we’re good. I get why you had to leave him.”
“See?” Jayden claps his shoulder. “Told you he’d be fine. Auguste is chill… Funny,” he chuckles to himself, “That’s an unintentional oxymoron. ‘Cause you know, August is summer, so it’s hot, and… chill is cool.”
“Oh my God, now the giant is a dork, too,” Christina groans at him at the same time as Auguste asks, “Are you high, man?”
“Why don’t you go peg Hillier?” Jayden throws back at Christina when she pulls a cross-eyed funny face at him.
They’re already so comfortable with each other, it makes me giddy. Christina can be a lot, but not for Jayden. He thrives on her haughty forwardness—she’s a hyper Kailey in wit and bounce.
“Fuck, asshole, why would you put that image in my head?” Auguste shivers, then gives me a quizzical grimace while Jayden and Christina veer off on a tangent I can’t track.
“No, they’re not high, and no, she isn’t going to go… you know… do things… that… to your friend.” Auguste nods once and walks off, muttering about a twilight zone.
“Now that’s taken care of, can we get a snack? I’m hangry,” Christina links her arm through mine while I keep hold of Jayden’s hand.
Our fingers are laced tight as he guides us into the bar-slash-burger spot. The atmosphere is calm, low-lit. A few of the guys I met at Matheo’s birthday party lounge at a long corner table with him.
Matheo’s gaze hooks on Christina the second he sees her, and she finally relaxes with him in sight.
I don’t miss how every pair of eyes clocks the sight of Jayden’s hand threaded in mine. My pulse spikes under the scrutiny, but I don’t let go. If anything, I hold him tighter while Christina peels off to the bar.
“We’ll go and get ready for dinner when Eli is done with Coach. My parents won’t be here for another couple hours.” Jayden kisses the top of my head as we approach the table.
Having so many eyes on me is triggering. I’m breaking out in a nervous sweat the closer we get to the table. It’s not that I care what people think of us. It’s that I want these people to like me. This team is a family, and I’ve seen how protective they are of each other.
We are a few feet away when Jayden dips his lips to my ear and whispers, “Fuck, Lucky, every time you move, I can smell him on you, and I swear to God, my mouth is watering for a taste. I want to fucking taste every inch of your skin where he’s touched you.”
Holy shit.
I trip over my feet only for him to haul me up by our linked hands, hitching me up his body, onto my tiptoes. With his other arm banded around my waist, I flatten my free hand to his chest, over his heart.
The frantic rhythm pounds into my palm as I lift my face to his. I’m dazed by the wave of need that crashes over me.
I stand frozen, glossing my eyes over his pitched lips. That sinful grin promises a catalog of ruin that scorch-marks my blood. If I had breath, I’d beg for all of it here, now.
“Breathe, Baby,” he rumbles, a drawl that rakes straight to my toes.
Easy for him to demand.
Maneuvering me to his side, he wraps my arm around his waist and his arm around my shoulders so that we are as intricately woven together as the green and amber hues in his hazel eyes.
At the table, he leaves two empty seats—Matheo’s and one for Christina—then pulls me into his lap like it’s nothing. He’s so relaxed, it’s impossible to stay anxious.
Cautious waves circle the table. The closest guy gives me a firm nod and a gentle half-smile. Blond hair tousled like he’s spent hours raking it; weariness shadows his features, a seriousness that reads older, maybe wiser.
Silence holds a beat before he shrugs. “We met at Rio’s party… Matheo’s birthday. You probably don’t remember all our names, so uhm… I’m Dylan.”
“We call him Daddy,” Jayden adds with his lips grazing my ear.
Dylan rolls his eyes and starts the tour. “That’s Ansel Reinhardt at the end of the table. Nobody pays any mind to him, unless he’s picking up Erik’s slack.”
“Like never,” Erik barks back, flicking a wet straw at Dylan.
His hair is nearly white-blond, his tan deepened by contrast—especially when Matheo and Christina rejoin us and Matheo sits next to him with his tanned arm resting on the table next to Erik’s.
“All the time,” Dylan says. “Just ask any of the other guys what they think of Andersen.”
“He has one helluva backhand shot, though.” Jayden’s warm chuckle oozes through me, his voice a low rumble that kicks my pulse.
“They should call me the annihilator or assassin or something,” Erik says, drawing a chorus of laughter.
“Know your place, sugar,” Matheo smirks, patting Erik’s shoulder.
“And you’ll definitely remember our resident panty-dropper, Rio.
” Dylan glances at Christina, winks, and reintroduces her to Erik and Ansel.
He carries that warm-but-held-together energy that makes the languor in his pale blue eyes even starker.
He sighs. “Obviously you know Bruce and the star D-Men of the team.”
“That’ll be me and Eli,” Jayden murmurs, flattening his hands against my stomach, thumbs grazing skin. In a low tone, he whispers, “Your superstar boyfriends.”
I twist to find his face. He sticks his tongue out, playful, and my breath stutters.
Boyfriends. I’ve never even had one. Now I have two.
Holy crap.
“Anyone know why Weissman’s ass was hauled home?” Dylan asks.
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Erik sighs.
“What happened?” Jayden keeps the conversation moving with a calm voice at odds with the hammering in his chest beneath me.
“To Weissman?” Matheo groans. “Coach pulled him aside, and he looked like a little lost puppy when he was done with him. Fuck man, we started out so strong, and now…”
“Everything is falling apart,” Erik huffs.
“Well, Andersen, sometimes there are bigger things in life than a fucking trophy,” Dylan snaps, tossing back his water like it’s something stronger. The melancholy in his eyes is as real as it looks.
“Shit, Dylan, I didn’t mean it like that. Just that we were at the top, and—” Erik grimaces and lets it drop.
Matheo doesn’t. “If we don’t fix this shit, we might as well pack up our shit and go home. This is embarrassing. What’s worse is we’re sitting here like pussy-ass punks, wallowing like we’re not the best fucking team in the league. Fuck Weisma—”
“What if something happened back home? To his family? His wife? Why are you an asshole?” Jayden snaps, his arm tightening around me like I’m his tether. “Is there anyone else you want to talk smack about today? ‘Cause my offer from earlier still stands.”
Heavy silence settles over the table. Jayden drops his forehead to my shoulder and breathes. Christina and I take the room’s temperature as heads duck, eyes wander… Dylan scrolls his phone like a hawk.
He breaks it. “Are you sure Oliver’s married?”
“Dude is eighteen,” Erik marvels as Matheo adds, “Explains why he never hangs out and is always in a rush to get home. All this time we thought he was stuck up…”
“If thinking and saying the wrong thing was a talent, you’d be the superstar for it,” Jayden grumbles into my shoulder.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, okay?” Matheo groans.
“What did you do?” Ansel whistles, goading.
“Shut it, Reinhardt!” Matheo flips him off, then looks back to Jayden. “I’m fucking sorry for what I said earlier, for… I didn’t mean it. I was mad and frustrated, and I’m an asshole. Okay?”
Jayden thaws under me, loosening his arm. “Asshole doesn’t cut it, but fine.”
“I’m sorry,” Matheo says again, offering a fist. He holds it there until Jayden bumps it. “It won’t happen again, bro, I swear.”
“I can’t find any photos of Twisty’s girl on his socials. Like, the kid posts two to three times a week, all personal shit, and there isn’t a single girl in it.” Dylan drops his phone in the middle and keeps scrolling through Oliver’s Instagram.
“Didn’t have him down as a skateboarder,” Matheo says, tapping a video.