Chapter 29
Tate
The day we’re supposed to head out for Finals doesn’t feel real until we’re actually getting our shit together.
Up until that point, it was just another noise in my head—notifications, schedules, reminders stacked on top of each other.
The drive’s going to take two hours give or take, depending on traffic.
The call time’s strict. Check-in, setup, sound check, warm ups.
No delays or excuses. Once we’re in, we’re in.
No resets.
I run through it all, mentally checking off steps so I can stay ahead of it if I map it out enough times.
It doesn’t stop the slight pressure from settling in though.
Haven’s moving around the apartment like she’s trying not to think about it too hard—grabbing things, setting them down, picking them back up like she forgot why she needed them in the first place.
It turns into full-blown chaos. I haven’t even had coffee yet, and Haven’s already in pre-final meltdown mode.
Carter’s crouched on the floor sorting through power strips and surge protectors like a man preparing for war, and Haven’s somewhere between a breakdown and a motivational pep talk she’s giving herself under her breath in front of the bathroom mirror.
I stand in the middle of it all, sipping from an energy drink. The can’s half-crushed in my grip. I wonder if maybe today’s the day I actually lose my fucking mind. Or maybe today’s the day I prove I don’t.
Carter makes a strangled noise from under the desk. “Did we bring the HDMI splitter?”
I don’t even look before I toss a bottle of water at his head instead.
“Drink something,” I say, because I’m not about to watch him pass out in the middle of this shitstorm. “Hydration before devastation.”
Carter catches it, barely. “You’re such a dick in the morning.”
“Thank you,” I say sarcastically sweet, adjusting the hem of my hoodie.
I glance toward Haven. I watch her for a second longer than I should, I know she’s not just nervous.
She’s bracing. That’s the part I don’t like. And I don’t have the patience to let her sit in it.
She’s pacing now, muttering something about bracket reshuffling and latency checks, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch, the way she’s halfway spiraling and the damn match hasn’t even started yet.
I watch her pace for another thirty seconds before deciding that’s enough. She’s not slowing down. If anything, she’s picking up speed, and that’s not how this works.
I push off the counter, and step directly into her path. She almost walks straight into me, stopping short with a startled look like she forgot I was even there.
“Eat,” I say, holding up a muffin and pressing it into her hand.
“I’m not hungry,” she shoots back immediately, trying to sidestep me.
I shift with her, blocking her again. “Not a request.” She can fight me on everything else, not this.
Her eyes narrow slightly, that familiar spark of resistance kicking in even now.
“I’ll eat later,” she says, quieter this time.
“No, you won’t,” I reply, just as steady. “You’ll forget, you’ll crash halfway through, and then you’ll get pissed at yourself for it.”
She opens her mouth to argue.
Carter glances up from the floor, watching the exchange, but he doesn’t interrupt. He knows better.
I hold her gaze, just waiting her out.
After a second, she exhales, her shoulders dropping a fraction as she peels the wrapper back. “You’re annoying.”
“Eat pretty girl,” I repeat.
She takes a bite.
I step out of her way, grabbing another one for myself even though I don’t want it, leaning back against the counter while I watch her chew like I didn’t just force that to happen.
Control isn’t always about taking over.
Sometimes it’s just making sure she doesn’t fall apart before she even gets the chance to fight.
Carter steps up beside me then, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, water bottle in the other. He looks at Haven, then at me, and for a second—just one—our eyes lock.
And we both nod. It’s not the kind of moment we’d ever talk about out loud.
We don’t do that, but it’s there anyway, sitting in the space between us like something solid. He handles her one way. I handle her another. Neither of us gets in the other’s way unless we have to.
And right now, we don’t.
I don’t need him to step back and he doesn’t need me to soften.
It works because we don’t question it. She’s got this, and we’ve got her.
The knock on the door is more of a *bang-bang-*pause-bang, and it’s followed immediately by Cassie’s voice shouting through the door, “OPEN UP, IT’S THE SUPPORTIVE HOT PEOPLE brIGADE!”
I barely manage to smother an almost laugh before Haven sprints past me, practically ripping the door open.
Cassie bursts in wearing a cropped hoodie that says Eat. Sleep. Game. Repeat. and carrying two obnoxiously large iced coffees. James trails behind her with that easygoing grin and a box of what I can only assume is more caffeine or emotional support carbs as Haven calls them.
“Finals day baby girl!” Cassie shouts, holding out the coffee. “And your ass is about to be famous.”
Haven blushes immediately, laughing as Cassie thrusts the drink into her hands. Carter emerges from the hallway just in time to catch a bagel to the chest, courtesy of James.
“You guys didn’t have to do all this,” Haven says, eyes wide, holding the muffin, a coffee, and a hug from Cassie all at once.
“Shut up,” Cassie says sweetly. “It’s tradition now. Every major stream day, I bring the chaos. And the carbs.”
James slaps Carter on the back like they’ve been best friends for years. “You ready to scream from the sidelines again, bro?”
Carter winces. “I’ll try to keep it together.”
“Don’t lie,” I say. “You almost cried when she hit that final kill last round.”
Haven snorts into her drink. “Leave him alone. He’s emotionally in tune.”
Carter flips me off behind her back. I grin. But the energy shifts just a little when James turns to me.
“You’re playing today too, right?” he asks.
I nod once, jaw tightening. “Yeah.”
“Finals material?”
“I plan to win.”
Cassie leans in close to Haven, whispering not-so-quietly, “Your boy’s got murder eyes again.”
“Yeah,” Haven says with a small, knowing smile. “That’s how I know he’s ready.”
For a moment, it all feels surreal—this mix of intensity and chaos, friends and fire, everyone orbiting Haven like she’s the sun we’re all trying to keep burning.
But that’s what this is. Her moment. And I’ll burn the whole goddamn bracket down to make sure she gets it; including myself.
While everyone is chatting in the front room I take the moment to myself to I boot up my monitor just to check one last thing, but the second my Twitch homepage loads, I freeze.
It’s weird seeing my face like this. Banner art, overlays, panels—it all looks way too polished now.
Like I’m supposed to be a brand instead of just a guy who plays like he’s got a vendetta against pixels.
I scroll down past the stream countdown, past the chat popping off with pre-match hype, and land on the replay clips.
Most are chaos—me screaming, cursing, the kill cam spinning like a fever dream but there are a few quieter ones.
Strategy breakdowns. Late-night training streams. A clip of Haven laughing through comms after I accidentally called her “my girl” during a solo push.
I don’t delete it because it’s not about hiding anymore. This whole stream? It’s proof. That I’ve changed, that I give a damn. That I’m not just noise in the background of her story.
I used to stream for the rage. Now I stream for the proof that I was here.
The apartment has quieted, mostly. Carter’s in the bedroom doing something that probably involves sticky notes, a Twitch dashboard, and that very specific furrowed brow he gets when he’s trying to “optimize vibes.”
Cassie and James left with promises to watch the stream from their apartment.
Which leaves me alone in the living room, staring at my monitor like it’s staring back.
The pressure isn’t just hers anymore. It’s ours. I feel it in my chest, tightening with every breath. In my hands, still and useless on my lap. In my fucking head, running scenarios like I’m prepping for war.
And for the first time since this whole tournament started I hate to admit I’m nervous.
Not the jittery, twitchy kind. The if I fuck this up, I might actually break something kind.
“Hey.”
I turn to find Haven leaning against the couch, her hair pulled into a messy braid. She crosses the room without waiting for me to speak, climbs into my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and wraps her arms around my neck.
“Your heart’s beating so fast,” she murmurs against my jaw.
“Yours too,” I whisper back.
Then she shifts in my lap—just slightly—but enough to make me suck in a sharp breath.
She gives me a tiny smirk. “Distracted?”
“Don’t tempt me before a match, pretty girl. I play better angry.”
She hums like she’s considering it. “Wanna lose on purpose so you’ll punish me later?”
I blink up at her. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Her hands come up to cup my face, thumbs brushing just under my eyes. “You’ve already won something way more important.”
I arch a brow. “You saying I’ve got you wrapped around my finger, pretty girl?”
She smirks. “I’m saying I’ve got you wrapped around mine. So don’t spiral.”
I stare at her for a long moment then press my forehead to hers, exhaling slowly. “I’m scared I’ll break this pretty girl,” I whisper.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, because you care too much to let it happen.”
I close my eyes and myself hold her. Just for a second. One breathe and then another.
Carter’s down on the floor rolling up cords while Haven’s stuffing extra headset foam, thumb grips, and wrist braces into her gear bag with a kind of surgical intensity that’s lowkey terrifying. I’m triple-checking my hard drive backup like I’m expecting it to get wiped the second I step outside.
Carter tosses me a cable without looking, and I catch it automatically, knowing what he needs before he says it out loud.
“Check that one,” he mutters, still digging through the bag. “It was cutting out last time.”
I crouch down beside the cases, running the cord through my hands, checking the connection points out of habit. It’s slightly bent near the end—nothing major, but enough to be a problem if it gets worse.
“Swap it,” I say, tossing it aside and reaching for a replacement from the pile I brought.
He glances over, nodding once then shifts closer without hesitation, our shoulders bumping briefly as we both reach for the same compartment.
“Left,” he says.
“I know.”
Haven hovers nearby, watching us for a second like she’s trying to figure out when this turned into something that looks like teamwork instead of two brothers tolerating each other at times.
Carter passes me a charger brick. I plug it in and watch the indicator light flick on.
“Good.”
“Snacks?”
“Carter,” Haven deadpans, “this is why you’re not in the tournament.”
“Disrespectful,” he mutters, zipping up the tech pouch with a dramatic flourish. “I’m literally carrying your emotional support water bottle.”
She leans over, plants a kiss on his cheek. “And I appreciate you for it.”
He turns pink.
We gather the gear, zip up the bags, stack the cases by the door and then we pause. The weight of it settles over the room like static before a storm.
Carter’s the first to move, pulling his hoodie over his head. “You guys ready?”
Before Haven can answer, I step just enough to stop her from moving past me.
“Hold on,” I say, reaching up to adjust the strap of her bag where it’s digging into her shoulder.
She stills immediately.
The strap’s twisted slightly, sitting wrong against her collarbone. I fix it, then smooth the edge of her hoodie where it’s bunched underneath, my fingers brushing her shoulder for a second before I pull back.
“You’ll feel that after an hour,” I say.
She watches me the whole time. “Thanks,” she says softly.
I nod once, stepping back because details like that are the difference between focus and distraction later.
And I’m not letting anything stupid get in her way today.
“Now let’s go win a fucking championship.”
Carter’s got the keys in his hand, Haven’s standing just ahead of him, and I’m a step behind, watching the way her posture shifts again now that we’re actually here.
She exhales slowly, like she’s trying to steady herself without making it obvious, and I can see the moment it almost gets to her again—the hesitation, the split second where her brain tries to drag her back into everything that could go wrong.
My hand brushes hers again when I step past her to grab one of the bags, not lingering this time, just contact and gone.
“Move,” I add, glancing back at Carter.
He smirks. “Bossy.”
“Efficient.”
Haven huffs out a small breath that almost sounds like a laugh, “Let’s go raise some hell.”