Chapter 5
HARLOW
By the time I need to leave for Kai’s, I’ve already changed outfits three times and hated all of them.
Not because I’m trying to impress anyone.
I’m not. I would rather swallow a thumbtack than try to impress a room full of loud men who communicate exclusively in grunts and protein goals.
But there’s something uniquely maddening about standing in front of a dorm mirror and realizing you don’t know how to dress like a person who belongs here.
Once, there was a time where I absolutely hated what I saw staring back at me, but it wasn’t my own thoughts that started those feelings. Worse, it was a boy. A boy who happened to be one of my brother’s closest friends. His teammate.
My thoughts are interrupted by my phone vibrating.
Wren: HI, MY LOVE!! Facetime???
I smile to myself, yet can feel the twinge of sadness before I even type my reply. With the time difference between here and London—where Wren is currently living—finding chances to talk to her have been challenging.
Wren has been my best friend since before we were even in preschool. Our families grew up in the same neighborhood, and our moms have been inseparable since they attended Oregon State University together.
I guess there are ups and downs to having families so close together. On one hand, you have a built-in friend. On the other, things can get complicated if lines are crossed.
My mom and Mrs. Calloway have stayed close through everything, but we can’t really say the same for our fathers. Then again, Mr. Calloway was too busy doing another woman to be around much when everything hit the fan.
Harlow: Can’t. Kai is once again forcing me to be social. This time, it’s a team barbecue.
Wren: Oh no, the horrors of being around athletic men that might also be attractive.
Harlow: LOL, you know hockey players are a no from me.
Wren: A girl can dream. Talk soon!! xoxo
I look over my outfit one more time: oversized cream sweater that doesn’t touch my stomach, with a dainty bralette underneath to make sure it doesn’t squeeze, black leggings that have the perfect amount of compression but don’t make me feel like I’m suffocating, and some white sneakers.
Safe and comfortable. I can breathe easier in it, which is the point.
I grab my tote—since my brain likes Plan B in bag form—and shove my e-reader inside, even though I know I’m not going to read at a team barbecue. It’s a security blanket with a battery.
When I check my phone again, it’s officially time to go.
I take one steadying breath, lock my door, and step into the hall.
It’s louder than my room, as usual—doors shutting, someone laughing too hard, bass thumping through a wall like the building has a pulse.
I keep my eyes forward, my steps measured, and make it to the parking lot without absorbing anyone else’s chaos.
Outside, the air is warm for October. California doesn’t do fall the way my brain thinks it should. It just…softens. Less brutal sun. A little wind. The occasional leaf decides to pretend. Nothing like Oregon, where fall was gray and wet and honest about it.
We moved here when Kai accepted his scholarship to PCU—sunshine and new routines and the promise of a fresh start. My parents agreed with my therapist that a fresh start might help. Once I heard more sunshine and less rain, I was fully on board.
The drive is short—too short. The closer I get to Kai’s apartment, the tighter my ribs feel, like my body has decided it needs extra protection for something that’s probably just burgers and a bunch of loud men.
When we were little, Kai’s protectiveness felt like safety. Now it sometimes feels like a cage built entirely out of good intentions.
His building is an old beige box close to campus.
The kind of place where the hallway always smells faintly like dryer sheets and someone else’s dinner.
I pause outside his door and take one deep breath before knocking gently.
Maybe they won’t hear it. Maybe I can retreat back to my dorm and call this a brave attempt, and no one will ever know.
No such luck.
The door opens, and Kai stands there. Cool air hits first, followed by the faint scent of lemon cleaner, coffee, and smoke from the grill. I take a peek inside. The apartment is brighter than my dorm, sunlight spilling across scuffed hardwood.
And then I see him.
Grayson Bennett.
He’s near the kitchen holding a soda. Tall, broad shoulders, and dark hair that’s a little messy, like he ran his fingers through it and decided “good enough.” His posture is loose but alert—like even standing still, he’s tracking the room.
His eyes meet mine, and for half a second, my whole body goes still.
It’s not an attraction like in movies. It’s…awareness. Like my nervous system clocks him and can’t decide if he’s a threat or shelter. Goosebumps rise over my arms. My breath catches. I’ve seen him on TV. I knew what to expect.
I just didn’t expect this.
“Harlow.”
I blink, and my brother’s voice snaps me out of whatever that was. Kai steps back so I can come in, and I do—carefully, quiet.
“Hey,” Grayson says, clearing his throat. “Welcome. I’m Grayson.” His tone is normal. Not flirty. Not performative. Not the too-cheerful voice people use when they’re trying to prove they’re safe. Just…welcome.
“Hi,” I manage to say.
I kick my shoes off and line them up beside the mat because messy shoes make my brain itch.
Kai opens the fridge and pulls out a water, then holds it up like an option instead of a command.
“Water?” he asks.
My shoulders ease a fraction at the difference.
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”
He presses it into my hand.
Grayson stays where he is, giving me space. He doesn’t fill the silence with useless small talk. He just…lets me exist in the doorway, like I’m not a problem to solve. It’s disorienting.
Before any of us can say anything else, the patio door slides open, and chaos walks in. Weston barrels inside like he pays rent.
“If anyone speaks to me about last night,” he announces, loud enough to rattle my bones, “I will file a lawsuit.”
Kai doesn’t even glance up from the counter he’s wiping. “Weston. Volume.”
Weston spots me and halts mid-stride, grin flashing bright and immediate.
“Oh,” he says, like he found something fun. “Fancy seeing you again, Harlow.”
Kai’s head snaps up. His voice stays calm, but his expression is lethal. “Cooper. Be respectful.”
Weston throws both hands up. “I am the picture of respect.”
Weston steps closer, then visibly checks himself and stops at a polite distance—unexpectedly considerate for someone who speaks like an air horn.
“Hi,” he says, slightly less loud. “Again.”
“Hi,” I reply.
Asher appears behind him.
“Harlow,” he says with a nod. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it.
Asher’s mouth twitches. “Don’t look terrified. Contrary to what you witnessed last night, we’re mostly house-trained.”
Weston gasps, offended. “I am fully house-trained. I even know what a mop is.”
Asher doesn’t blink. “But do you know how to use it?”
Kai pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly, like he’s counting to ten. The laughter dims. Not gone, but quieter. Because they may chirp him, but they respect him. That part is obvious.
Asher’s voice cuts in, calm. “He’s serious. Don’t be idiots.”
Weston salutes. “We will be slightly less idiotic.”
Kai points at him. “No, you won’t.”
Weston beams. “Correct.”
Off-limits. It’s a stupid rule. Overprotective. Suffocating. It’s also the only way Kai knows how to keep me safe, because the last time he trusted a teammate around me, I ended up in a hospital bed with my heart rate so low they talked to my parents in that careful, too-gentle voice.
Tyler.
My stomach tightens. I push the thought away hard. Not today. Today is burgers and sunlight and me proving I can exist in a room without breaking.
More guys filter in, both from the front door and the patio, teammates I don’t know by name, their voices layering. Music starting low, then creeping higher. Someone slides open the patio door again and laughter spills in with the warm air.
My brain starts doing what it always does in loud environments—tries to process everything at once until it can’t process anything at all.
So I do what I’ve trained myself to do: build an exit map in my mind.
Back near the wall. Patio door in sight.
Hallway visible if I need the bathroom or a quiet minute of reprieve in Kai’s room.
I’m not planning to bolt; I just like knowing I could.
Kai catches me scanning and shifts closer—not crowding, just present.
“You want to wait outside?” he asks quietly, like he’s offering a choice instead of issuing orders.
I blink. “I’m okay.”
Kai nods once. “If that changes, tell me.” That lands softer in my chest than I expect. Then Kai claps his hands once, immediately commanding everyone’s attention. The room angles toward him automatically. Hockey players obey structure like religion.
“Quick reminder,” he says, voice even. “This is my place, and my sister, Harlow, is here. Everyone better be on their best behavior, or you’ll be skating until you puke on Monday.”
Weston puts a hand to his chest. “Captain, we are always decent.”
Kai doesn’t look at him. “Cooper, don’t test your luck.”
A couple of guys laugh, but it’s controlled. The line is clear. My face warms anyway, but this version of Kai feels less like ownership and more like protection with dignity. It’s the only way he knows how to keep me safe without making me smaller.
The patio door slides open again, and the energy in the room shifts immediately, but not in a good way.
Coleson.
My brother’s newest teammate—the one I recognize mostly because Kai gets that look in his eyes whenever his name comes up.
“Mercer!” Coleson calls. “I thought you didn’t host social events.”
Kai’s face stays blank. “I don’t.”
Coleson’s grin widens. “Yet here you are. Growth.”