CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BOUNDARIES
Grant
I’m up at five-thirty like always, dragging myself out of bed after another shit night of sleep where all I can think about is Elise’s mouth on mine and the way she looked at me after like I’d just destroyed something.
I need coffee. A run. Something to clear my head.
Instead I get a front-row seat to the absolute destruction of every boundary we’re supposed to have in this house.
I’m halfway down the hall when Wyatt’s door opens and Elise slips out, still wearing her sleep clothes, hair messed, that soft just-woke-up look on her face.
She freezes when she sees me. Deer in headlights.
I stare at her. At Wyatt’s door. Back at her.
“Morning,” she says, like this is normal, like she didn’t just spend the night in my teammate’s bed.
I don’t respond. Can’t trust what’s going to come out of my mouth.
She hurries past me to her own room and closes the door with a soft click that somehow feels louder than a slam.
I stand there. Processing.
Elise—who I kissed two nights ago. Elise—who I’m pretty sure hooked up with Jordie during his absence at the party…now leaving fucking Wyatt’s bed?
Rage simmers inside me.
I storm downstairs, my mood black enough to match the pre-dawn sky outside. The kitchen is already occupied—Jordie’s at the stove, humming to himself like he doesn’t have a care in the world, spatula in hand.
“Pancakes anyone?” He’s got that golden retriever energy cranked to maximum, grinning like an idiot. “I’m making chocolate chip. Or blueberry if you’re feeling healthy, which, let’s be honest, you’re not.”
“It’s five-thirty in the morning,” I snap, yanking open the cabinet for a mug with more force than necessary.
“Early bird gets the pancakes.” He flips one expertly. “You sleep okay? You look like shit.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Just pour coffee that’s too hot and drink it anyway, letting it burn all the way down.
Something’s off about Jordie. He’s too happy. Too… satisfied. Like he’s got a secret he’s dying to tell but is forcing himself to keep quiet.
My brain makes connections I don’t want it to make.
Last night. The party. Jordie disappearing for a suspicious amount of time. Coming back downstairs with that weird energy, kicking everyone out because he had a “hookup waiting.”
Elise leaving Wyatt’s room this morning with that same just-fucked glow.
No. No way.
But the math is mathing and I hate every number in the equation.
I slam my mug down hard enough that coffee sloshes over the rim. “Where the hell did you disappear to last night?”
Jordie doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps cooking. “Party got messy. Took care of some stuff upstairs.”
“What stuff?”
“Just stuff.” That infuriating smile. “Why? You keeping tabs on me, Cap?”
“Someone needs to. You threw a party and then vanished.”
“I came back. Kicked everyone out. Cleaned up. You were there.” He plates a pancake, adds more batter to the pan. “What’s got you so grumpy this morning?”
Everything. The fact that Elise has gotten under my skin when I don’t want her to be. The fact that she’s apparently working her way through my entire team. The fact that Carol’s stupid contract exists and we’re all violating it in increasingly creative ways.
“No one in this house has any boundaries anymore,” I mutter, pacing to the window and back.
“Boundaries?” Jordie laughs. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about roommate agreements. I’m talking about Carol flipping her shit if she knew what was happening under this roof.”
“Which is what, exactly?” Jordie’s voice is careful now, that smile fading slightly.
I’m saved from answering by footsteps on the stairs. Wyatt, looking more rested than I’ve seen him in months, maybe years. His eyes are clear. His shoulders aren’t carrying their usual tension.
He nods at us. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Jordie says brightly. “Pancakes?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
There’s something different about Wyatt. Something lighter. Like someone lifted a weight off him while he slept. Or he just has post-nut clarity.
Elise appears next, now dressed in leggings and a hoodie, hair pulled back, that glow still evident even though she’s clearly trying to look normal.
She smells like Wyatt’s soap. I can tell from here.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth hurt.
“Coffee?” Jordie offers her a mug like this is all totally fine and normal.
“Please.” She takes it, wraps both hands around it like she needs something to hold onto.
Wyatt’s eyes track her across the kitchen. Something passes between them—silent communication I’m not privy to. Then he touches her hand. Brief. Gentle.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For last night.”
The words punch me in the gut even though I have no right to be affected by them.
“Anytime,” she tells him, and the softness in her voice makes me want to break something.
Jordie’s watching this with something that looks suspiciously like approval. He moves behind Elise, drops a kiss on top of her head, pulls her into a side hug that’s way too familiar.
“Did you take care of the big guy last night?” His tone is affectionate. Intimate. Like they’re…
Like they’re together.
But she was with Wyatt. All night.
And Jordie doesn’t seem bothered by that fact.
The fuck?
What kind of fucked up situation is this?
Jordie’s plating pancakes like this is all totally normal. “Elise is good people. Always showing up when someone needs her.”
The implication hangs in the air. She showed up for Wyatt. Did she show up for Jordie too? Is that what we’re calling it now?
I’m staring at all three of them, trying to piece this together, and the picture forming makes my blood pressure spike.
I want to murder and destroy and start wars and raid villages.
“So let me get this straight.” My voice is cold, controlled, because if I let the anger out it’s going to burn the house down. “You—” I point at Elise “—hooked up with Jordie at the party last night.”
Jordie’s spatula stops mid-flip.
“Then you spent the night in Wyatt’s bed.”
Elise’s face goes pale.
“And you two—” I gesture between Jordie and Wyatt “—are just… fine with that?”
“Grant—” Elise starts.
“We signed a contract.” I’m slamming drawers now, pulling out silverware I don’t need just to have something to do with my hands. “A fucking contract that explicitly forbids this exact situation.”
The kitchen goes silent. Dead silent.
Jordie’s smile has vanished completely. Wyatt’s jaw is tight. Elise looks like I just slapped her.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says quietly, and there’s hurt in her voice that would gut me if I wasn’t so pissed.
“Don’t I?” I’m in her space now, crowding her against the counter, and I know I should back off but I can’t seem to make myself. “You had that satisfied glow last night. Jordie came downstairs with his hair fucked up. Now you’re leaving Wyatt’s room at dawn. What am I missing?”
“Everything.” She doesn’t back down, doesn’t flinch away even though I’m radiating fury. “You’re missing everything. But that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Missing what’s right in front of you.”
The words hit like a punch.
“Elise—” Wyatt’s voice carries a warning.
“No.” She’s not looking away from me. “He wants to make assumptions? Fine. Let him. But I don’t owe him explanations. I don’t owe him anything.”
She’s right. She doesn’t.
But that doesn’t make this easier to watch.
Doesn’t make it easier knowing that everyone in this house is getting pieces of her except me.
Doesn’t make it easier watching Jordie’s protective arm around her or Wyatt’s grateful eyes or the way they both look at her like she’s something precious.
“Carol would flip her shit if she knew,” I say, because it’s the only card I have left to play.
“Then don’t tell Carol.” Jordie’s voice is sharp now, the golden boy facade completely gone. “Stay out of it, Grant.”
“Stay out of it? I live here too.”
“Then act like it.” Wyatt stands, crossing his arms. “Stop being an asshole to the one person in this house who’s actually trying to help people.”
“Help people.” I laugh, bitter and sharp. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Helping extract the come from their useless cocks?
Cool.
“You don’t get it.” Jordie sets down his spatula with force.
“You don’t want to get it. Because if you admitted that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t about sex or contracts or whatever bullshit you’re telling yourself—if you admitted that she’s actually just a good person who gives a shit about people—then you’d have to face why you’re really so pissed. ”
“Enlighten me.”
“You want her.” Jordie steps closer. “You’ve wanted her since she moved in. Before that, even. And watching her with anyone else is killing you. But instead of doing something about it, you’re going to stand here and slut-shame her? Real classy, Cap.”
The words land like bombs.
The kitchen is silent except for the sound of my breathing, too harsh, too fast.
Elise is looking at me with an expression I can’t read. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment.
“Fuck this.” I grab my keys off the counter. “I’m going to the rink.”
I’m out the door before anyone can respond, letting it slam behind me with enough force to rattle the frame.
The morning air is cold enough to burn my lungs but I welcome it. Need it.
Because Jordie’s right. That’s the worst part.
He’s completely, devastatingly right.
I want her. Want her so badly I can’t think straight. And watching her give herself to everyone in that house except me is like dying by a thousand cuts.
But I’m the one who made it that way. I’m the one who kissed her and then called it a mistake. Who pushed her away every time she got close.
This is my fault.
All of it.
And now I get to watch from the outside while she builds something with Jordie and Wyatt that I’ll never be part of.
I get in my car. Peel out of the driveway too fast.
Head to the one place that’s always made sense when everything else is falling apart.
The ice doesn’t judge. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t look at me with disappointed hazel eyes that used to hold so much hope.
The ice just lets me skate until my legs give out and my lungs burn and maybe, if I push hard enough, I can stop seeing the way she looked at me in that kitchen.
Like I’m the biggest mistake she ever made.
And maybe I am.