Chapter 25
Haven
I’m not sure what day it is.
Somewhere between the last match and the upcoming finals, time started slipping sideways. Everything feels like a fever dream of late-night snacks, long streams, and even longer mornings tangled up in the twins I definitely shouldn’t still be craving this much.
But I do. God, I do.
I shift under the blanket, blinking at the sunlight trying its best to make its way through my dark curtains.
Carter’s arm is draped across my waist, his face buried in the pillow beside me, a faint snore puffing against my neck.
He’s a heavy sleeper but he doesn’t want to let go even when he’s unconscious.
Tate on the other hand is not in bed, of course.
I hear movement from the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and something clattering to the floor followed by a loud “fuck.”
I grin into the pillow before I slip out of Carter’s arms, tug on one of his shirts, and tiptoe barefoot down the hall.
Tate’s shirtless in the kitchen, making a mess of toast and eggs, his hair a complete disaster. He glances up when he sees me, and from the look on his face he’s picturing me bent over the counter. “Morning, pretty chaos,” he says, flipping a very sad-looking egg.
“You’re gonna give yourself food poisoning,” I reply, leaning against the counter, watching him try to salvage it. I hate to admit it, but between the two Carter is definitely a better cook.
“Not my fault your stove is out for blood.”
“You’re just impatient.”
“Wrong. I’m hungry.” His gaze slides down me like he’s not talking about food anymore.
“Please don’t flirt with me before I’ve had coffee.”
“Fine.” He drops the spatula. “I’ll make you one.”
“You’re not touching my espresso machine.”
“I touched you last night, and that went pretty well.”
I roll my eyes hard but when he brushes past me, his fingers trailing down my back, I don’t stop him.
Carter finally stumbles in a few minutes later, his hair fluffed in every direction and yawning so dramatically I want to record it. He walks right over, wraps his arms around my waist, and buries his face in my neck. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”
I hum, resting my hands over his. “Sleep okay?”
“Mmm. Had this dream you were moaning my name while Tate held your wrists down.”
Tate sets the coffee on the counter without a word, smirking as he grabs the plates.
I sigh. “It wasn’t a dream.”
“Best sleep of my life.”
By midday we’ve had too much coffee. There’s us screaming into headsets and making out during stream breaks.
Forgetting how to function every time one of them looks at me.
I’m in the middle of a three-hour stream with ranked scrims and the tension is ungodly high when Tate’s voice comes through my headset. “Left side. They’re pushing.”
“Copy.” I snap to cover as my fingers fly over my keyboard. I land a shot that gets us a team wipe.
The dings from chat haven’t stopped since we started the stream.
Agirlsgirl: HOLY SHIT HAVEN WTF
Agirlsgirl: GODTIER MOVE
spooky: is ghost actually letting her get last kill?
I snort, muted of course before I lean back in my chair for half a second. Carter’s not in the game but he’s curled on the floor behind me with a laptop, live on his “Just Chatting” stream, narrating everything like a backup sports announcer with a crush.
“You should’ve seen the way her hands moved,” he’s telling his chat. “Like, that was the sexiest headshot I’ve ever—wait. Not like that. I mean. Uh. Hi, welcome to the stream.”
I grin, my cheeks heating.
Tate’s not helping. “Don’t lie, golden boy. You meant it like that.”
“I didn’t!”
“I did,” Tate adds, unmuted, his voice going out to both of our streams. “She can shoot or sit on my face, either way, I’m dying happy.”
That clip is definitely going to go viral. I’m going to die.
“Muted!” I hiss-laugh, slamming my mic off to slap at Tate’s leg as he leans into my space.
“You love it,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming behind the neon red mask he threw back on halfway through the match. “You love when they hear what you do to us.”
“I love when you shut up so I can carry your ass.”
“You wound me.”
Carter reaches up to squeeze my thigh under the desk.
brEAK
By the time we break for a snack, I had fallen asleep on my bed. Half an hour passes before I’m awake, lying across the bed in just Carter’s T-shirt beside him. His hoodie is balled beneath my head like a pillow, when the notification pops up on my phone.
TOURNAMENT UPDATE: Final Showdown Arena Confirmed
It’s one of those moments where the air shifts before your brain can catch up. I open the email and my heart stutters. Live Finals. Five days. In-person, full bracket, full media coverage. Streaming booths. Press interviews. VIP access. Fan exposure.
My chest tightens. Wait, live? No screen to hide behind or comfy room with soft lighting and one of the boys nearby to balance me. Just me and my name with the entire fucking internet watching.
“What’s that face?” Carter’s voice is sleepy, but his instincts are sharp. He pushes up from the bed, propping himself on one elbow as I try to school my expression into something that won’t send him into soft protector mode.
He takes the phone from my hand. His eyebrows lift. “Oh.”
I nod, lips pressed together, trying to keep it cool. “Yep. Finals, they’re doing them live. Surprise to us I guess.”
I push myself off the bed, suddenly too warm and restless, pacing the room in search of something to do. My phone ends up on the dresser. My fingers tug at the hem of Carter’s shirt. I can’t breathe. “I’m not ready for this.”
He’s off the bed before I even finish the sentence. He crosses the room calmly but his eyes are locked on mine like he’s reading the panic simmering just beneath the surface. He steps behind me and wraps his arms around my waist before he quickly presses a kiss to my temple. “Yes, you are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I suck in a breath. “Carter—”
“You’ve been running circles around the entire bracket,” he says, pulling me back gently until I’m leaning into him, my back flush with his chest. “You’ve carried more than half your matches. You’ve done it with us, and without us. This? It’s just a new room sweetheart.”
“It’s a room with cameras and fans. And Dylan, fuck and probably assholes just waiting to say I didn’t earn my spot because I’ve got tits and a twitch following.”
He exhales slowly. I feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. “They’re going to say that no matter what you do, so make them eat it.”
I blink. “What?”
He grins against my cheek. “Wreck their favorites. Win the whole damn thing while you look right into the camera and smile like the problem you are.”
I huff out a shaky laugh.
“And if that doesn’t work,” he adds, “I’ll buy one of those absurd ‘GAMER GIRL’ tank tops and scream from the front row.”
That gets a laugh, a real one.
He squeezes my waist. “You’re going to crush it. But even if you didn’t, if you lose first round or if your mic cuts out, hell even if your entire setup explodes I’ll still be proud of you.”
I twist in his arms and look up at him. “Why are you like this?”
“Because I lo-like you a lot Haven, and you deserve everything.”
The room spins. I’m about to say something when a notification buzzes from my phone across the room.
And then another and another.
Carter lifts a brow. “Think your boy’s about to go apeshit?”
I nod. “Definitely.”
When I walk back into the living room, Tate’s sitting on the couch with his phone held far away, his mask pushed up on his head like a headband, and the worst scowl I’ve ever seen etched into his face.
He doesn’t say anything, just taps something aggressively.
Carter trails behind me snorting. “What happened now?”
Tate growls. “Pick me girls. Pick me streamer girls. My entire inbox is thirst traps and fucking ‘I’d treat you better’ DMs.”
I blink. “From the clip?”
He turns his phone around. “From the fucking hand photo.”
“Okay, but you did post it.”
“I didn’t think they’d lose their shit over my hand.”
Carter’s leaning over the back of the couch now, glancing at the screen. “That one says she’d sit on your fingers like a throne.”
“I SAW IT.”
I drop onto the couch beside him and steal his phone before he even realizes. “Let me.”
“Don’t respond to—”
“I’m not gonna respond.” I grin, opening my own social tab. “I’m going to simply remind them.”
Carter whistles low. “Oh, shit.”
I scroll through his camera roll, past screenshots, clips, a few blurry selfies he took of the three of us in bed, half-naked and laughing. And then I find it.
Tate’s in a white t-shirt, sprawled out across my floor with me in his lap, both of us flushed from streaming, our hair messy, and his mask on but tugged just enough to show the curve of his smirk.
I send it to myself and start typing out a post. I crop the picture just right, add a little saturation, and hit post.@HavokHearts mine. [photo] I tag him @nooneghost.
Carter cackles.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” I say sweetly, setting his phone back in his lap but within seconds it starts vibrating.
“Congrats,” Carter chuckles, walking to the fridge. “You just broke the internet again.”
Tate leans back and drags me into his lap. “You know that means I’m getting you back for this, right?”
“Looking forward to it.”
Carter pops the fridge open. “If you’re gonna do it on camera, warn me.”