Chapter Thirty-Six #2
It was the first time my heart stuttered all night, and it had nothing to do with fear. It was the way he watched me. Like he’d been tracking me through the crowd. Like he knew every inch of me and was aching to touch it again. Like restraint was a physical thing binding him in place.
Like he loved me.
And I knew he did.
Butterflies sprung to life inside my stomach, making the smile that bloomed on my face impossible to fight.
Shane was dressed to kill in a tailored beige suit with crisp lines that hugged his broad shoulders, the jacket sitting open just enough to hint at strength beneath it.
His hair was styled with casual precision, stubble edged sharp along his jaw, his blue eyes dark with intent as they cut through the crowd and stayed fixed on me.
I felt the blush on my cheeks before my brother clocked it.
Georgie narrowed his gaze at me, then looked over his shoulder, and when he turned back to me, it was with his tongue in his cheek and a little pop of his brow.
“Oh. I see you and Shane McCabe have been reacquainted.”
I feigned innocence, tipping my champagne to my lips and taking the tiniest sip.
“Come on, I want to go say hi.”
Georgie looped my arm through his and I didn’t fight him. I’d take any excuse to get close to Shane, even if just for a moment, even if I couldn’t touch him the way I wanted to or feel his lips pressed against mine.
Shane pretended to look away, to be locked in his conversation until the moment Georgie and I approached. Then, he appropriately reacted with surprise, eyes widening at the sight of my little brother.
“Coach,” Georgie said with that bright smile of his I loved so much. He extended his hand for Shane’s. “Long time, huh?”
Shane laughed as he took Georgie’s hand and shook it firmly, only to shake his head and pull my brother in for a hug. “I’ll say. Last time I saw you, you were about this tall,” he said, holding his hand by his hip. “And very much into The Backyardigans.”
“Hey, that show slapped.”
“I still know every word of ‘Into the Thick of It.’”
“As you should.” Georgie’s smile turned mischievous as he threw his arm around me, ushering me closer. “Pretty crazy, the two of you back in the same place after all this time.”
Shane’s eyes finally slid back to mine, and the air hummed between us. “That’s one word for it.”
Again, I couldn’t stop my smile, especially not when Shane held out his hand for mine and then pressed a slow, tender kiss to my skin.
“Happy birthday,” he said. “You look stunning.”
“For a forty-year-old,” I supplied.
“For any age,” he corrected, and I could see it, how he wanted to say more, how he longed to pull me into him as much as I wished to be held.
Georgie was too smart not to see it, too. He smirked at the two of us like a little devil as Shane and I finally broke apart.
And that was it.
That was the last little moment of serenity before my whole night imploded.
Georgie began chatting with Shane, a few of the other coaches joining in on our conversation and introducing themselves. When I felt the moment was right, I snuck in the question I couldn’t hold in any longer.
“So… did the league ever confirm who’s handling officiating for the next road stretch?” I asked Shane.
It was our code question, a way for me to ask him if things were on track, if the league rep who’d promised he’d be here tonight was coming through.
Shane didn’t look at me right away.
It was the briefest hesitation, barely a beat, but I felt it like a shift in the air.
“Not yet,” he said evenly. “Still waiting on confirmation.”
My insides went cold.
He was supposed to be here by now.
Michael Reeves wasn’t just some faceless league bureaucrat.
He was senior counsel in the league’s integrity office — the guy who handled betting irregularities, coercion, anything that threatened the credibility of the game itself.
Shane had gone to him quietly, off the books at first, armed with screenshots of line shifts that made no statistical sense, the emails I’d pulled, practice anomalies documented over weeks, the whole Ben and Will timeline, and his full theory on the betting lines not adding up.
Then I’d slid in with even more — financial records from Sweet Dreams, audio from the overheard phone calls I’d recorded from the next room over, documentation of all his trips to Vegas that didn’t line up with any manager meetings.
It was all proof that Nathan wasn’t just unethical — he was dangerous.
And he wasn’t planning on stopping his schemes any time soon.
Reeves hadn’t promised outcomes. He’d been very clear about that. But he had promised to show if the evidence held. He said he’d be here tonight to observe — and to intervene if necessary. He assured us he could make sure nothing could be buried once it came into the light.
If what you’re telling me is true, he’d said, voice calm and clinical over the phone, this won’t be handled quietly.
Tonight mattered because Nathan always overplayed his hand in public. Pressure to perform and not watching his alcohol intake made him sloppy. And we had witnesses, a whole ballroom full of them, for when we pulled our Ace.
Reeves was supposed to be here to see it.
I nodded like Shane’s answer meant nothing, like my chest hadn’t just gone tight enough to steal my breath. But my attention fractured instantly, scanning the room with new urgency.
When I spotted our Ace in the hole, my nerves frayed further.
Ben stood at a cocktail table near the edge of the terrace, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt despite the cool night air. A glass of brown liquor sat nearly empty in front of him, his hands flexing and curling at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
Shane had gotten him alone yesterday. He’d told him our whole plan, risking our necks because he trusted that Ben would help us take Nathan down.
He hadn’t come at him with accusations or threats, but with the kind of calm that made it hard to keep lying.
He showed Ben the betting line shifts, the practice notes, the patterns that couldn’t be explained away, and then he told him the truth — that this wasn’t about punishing him, that it was about stopping the man who had put him in an impossible position.
Ben had tried to deny it at first, insisting he’d never thrown a game, that he’d never crossed that line. Shane hadn’t argued. He’d let the silence do the work, letting the weight of the evidence settle until Ben finally cracked. When he did, it all came out at once.
Nathan had started by offering help, positioning himself as a savior when Ben’s dad’s medical bills began piling up, promising access and solutions Ben didn’t have on his own. Then the favors came due.
Sitting a shift here.
Missing a play there.
And every hesitation on Ben’s part was met with a reminder of who held the power and what would happen if Ben stopped cooperating.
Shane had listened without interruption. When Ben finally looked up, shame written all over his face, Shane told him what he hadn’t realized he needed to hear — that what had been done to him was coercion, not choice, and that the league would see it that way if Ben told the truth now.
Cooperation meant protection. It meant taking down the real mastermind instead of letting him keep pulling strings from the shadows.
Tonight had been the final step in our plan: a public confrontation with witnesses everywhere, the truth spoken out loud where it couldn’t be buried or spun. Ben had agreed. He’d promised he could do it.
But looking at him now, pale and unraveling at that cocktail table, it was obvious the fear had crept back in. The weight of it was too heavy, the cost suddenly too real.
When his eyes met mine across the terrace, panic flared bright and unmistakable. He shook his head once, set his glass down too hard, then shoved his hands into his pockets like he was trying to hold himself together from the inside.
And then he disappeared into the crowd.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
I turned back to Shane, and I knew he’d seen it too.
Our eyes locked, the same thought crashing through both of us at once.
This was going wrong.
Shane muttered an excuse me, ready to bolt after Ben, but before he could take a step, his eyes snagged on something else across the room. When I turned, dread slid through me.
His gaze sharpened, tracking past me, and when I followed it, my pulse kicked up another notch.
Carter.
He stood at a cocktail table in the far corner with Nathan, the two of them angled close together.
Carter’s posture was tense, shoulders hunched slightly as he spoke, his eyes darting around the room like he was afraid of being overheard.
Nathan, on the other hand, looked relaxed, smiling in that smug, indulgent way he always did when he thought he had the upper hand.
This was it.
Carter was trying to get in on the betting. Trying to catch Nathan in the act.
For a split second, hope flared.
And then Nathan’s smile slipped.
His eyes cut across the room and landed on me.
It was like a jaguar spotting its prey through the tall grass. His expression was cold, sharp, and knowing.
He said something low to Carter, straightened his jacket, and excused himself without another glance back. The way he moved toward me was unhurried, deliberate, like he wasn’t worried about who was watching.
My next breath lodged in my throat. I couldn’t look away, even as his menacing gaze tore through me like a blade.
I saw Georgie register it before Nathan even reached me — the shift in my posture, the way my smile fell away. My little brother went still, his body angling toward mine, concern flashing across his face as he took a step forward.
I shook my head subtly.
Don’t, I warned without words.
When he reached me, Nathan’s hand closed around my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt.
He pulled me a step away from the cluster of guests, just far enough that it looked intimate instead of aggressive.
His grip tightened as he leaned in close, his breath hot and faintly alcoholic against my ear.
“If you think I don’t know what you’re up to,” he murmured, his voice smooth and venomous all at once, “you’re wrong.”
My heart plummeted.
“I’m smarter than you are,” he continued, his mouth curving into a cruel little smile.
“You’re not going to get me by sending some stupid idiot to try to trap me.
And the way you’ve been acting tonight?” His eyes flicked briefly toward Shane, then back to me.
“I’d bet you think you can just catch me in something and waltz away into the night.
Run off with your college sweetheart. That right? That your big plan?”
The grin he gave me then was wicked and satisfied, especially when all the blood rushed from my face at his acknowledgment of me and Shane.
“Oh, trust me,” he said softly. “I know about you and precious little Coach McCabe. I know about your past. I know you spent a day gallivanting around with him when I was out of town. I know everything, Ariana,” he seethed.
“Just like I know you thought Carter could get me to say something incriminating. Just like I know you tried to bribe Ben into playing your little game. But Ben’s not betraying me. Not if he wants his dad to live.”
My blood ran cold.
“And Shane’s little attempt to get the league involved?” Nathan went on, squeezing my arm harder even as his voice softened a click, like we were just discussing when we should cut my birthday cake. “That’s a wash, too. I’ve got everyone in my pocket, sweetheart. Most of all you.”
He leaned back just enough to look at my face, his thumb brushing my jaw in a gesture that made my skin crawl.
“So smile,” he whispered. “And give me a kiss. Or I’ll make you give me much more later.”
The room spun, the lights suddenly too bright, the music too loud. I could feel Shane somewhere behind me, the tension rolling off him in waves, but in that moment, Nathan was all I could see.
And for the first time all night, real fear took hold.