Chapter 5 #2
Kai’s eyes narrow. “Don’t break anything.”
Coleson laughs. “No promises.”
His gaze swings to me, and dread crawls up my spine. His eyes seem to hold nothing warm; in fact, the opposite. They’re cold. Calculating.
I’ve seen those types of eyes before, and nothing good ever came from them.
“And you must be—”
Kai shifts just enough to become a wall between us. Not dramatic. Just effective.
Coleson’s brows lift, amused. “Relax, man. I’ve got a girl.”
Kai’s voice stays level. “Doesn’t matter.”
I roll my eyes, because if I don’t, my skin will crawl right off my body.
Coleson catches it and grins like we’re co-conspirators. “She’s got your attitude.”
Kai mutters, “Unfortunately.”
“Rude,” I mutter.
Coleson laughs and disappears toward the patio, already absorbed into the noise.
Weston appears at my side like a golden retriever who learned how to speak.
“So,” he says brightly, “rate this event on a scale of one to ‘I’m going to crawl into the freezer.’”
I glance at him. “Do you always talk in scales?”
Weston nods seriously. “Only when I’m trying to be helpful.”
“And are you helpful?”
He grins. “Depends on what you need. Most often, ladies find me very helpful.”
Despite myself, my mouth twitches.
Weston leans closer. “We can judge everyone.”
“That feels mean.”
“We can judge lovingly,” he offers.
I hesitate.
“Fine,” I say. “Lovingly.”
Weston points toward the living room where someone is stacking Solo cups into a tower. “Cup tower guy? Delusional.”
“Ambitious,” I correct.
Weston points toward the patio. “Coleson Richards? Gives me the ick.”
I snort quietly. “Accurate.”
Weston’s eyes gleam. “Asher? Secretly a robot.”
Asher walks by at that exact moment and says, deadpan, “I heard that.”
Weston doesn’t miss a beat. “Beep boop.”
Asher’s mouth twitches, barely. “Behave.”
Weston salutes. “Never.”
A laugh slips out of me, startling me so much that I cough into my sleeve, like I can hide it.
Weston looks delighted anyway. “There it is.”
I hate that it helps. Having someone ridiculous nearby makes the room feel less sharp.
Weston starts talking to some of his other teammates and heads back toward the food tables.
As he walks away, Grayson drifts closer—careful, not invasive.
Like he’s respecting a boundary I didn’t even have to state.
“Surviving?” he asks, low enough that his voice doesn’t add to the noise.
I turn my head. His eyes are lighter than when I first got here, like the open air and daylight softened them.
“Barely,” I admit.
He snorts. “Same.”
I blink. “Same?”
He gestures subtly toward the chaos. “Well, I do live with your brother.”
That gets another small laugh out of me before I can stop it.
Grayson’s mouth curves a fraction, like he’s pleased?
But he doesn’t make it a thing. We stand there for a second, and I realize something that makes me feel a bit calmer.
Grayson Bennett isn’t trying to win me over.
He isn’t flirting, like Weston, but I don’t think Grayson is the type.
He isn’t looking at me like I’m something to conquer either.
He’s just…talking to me like I’m a normal person.
“Weston is…a lot,” I say.
“Yeah,” Grayson agrees, glancing toward him. “Love the guy, but he’s like the Energizer Bunny.”
“But you’re not,” I say before I can stop myself. My bluntness slips out when I’m overwhelmed. My brain edits less. My filter disappears.
Grayson blinks, then shrugs. “I’m always tired. It helps keep me mellow, I guess.”
Something warm sparks in my chest.
I swallow. “Do you want to be here?”
The question isn’t really about the barbecue.
Grayson’s gaze holds mine like he hears the subtext anyway.
“I don’t mind it,” he says. “But I’m not built for crowds.”
He nods toward where I’ve planted myself near the wall. “I see the exit plan building in your head.”
“It’s not an exit strategy,” I say quickly. “It’s…awareness of my surroundings.”
Grayson’s mouth twitches. “Sure.”
I can feel myself about to smile, so I look away fast, focusing on the cold bottle in my hand.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though it’s not an answer to anything.
Grayson doesn’t push. He just tips his chin toward the patio. “If you need a bailout, I can fake a hockey emergency.”
“A hockey emergency,” I repeat.
“Very serious,” he says. “Catastrophic even.”
“What’s catastrophic in hockey terms?”
He grins quick. “Someone taped their stick wrong.”
“That is a crime,” I say automatically.
Grayson nods, dead serious. “Exactly.”
A small laugh escapes me again. I hate it. I love it. I don’t know what to do with it.
From the patio, Kai calls, “Harlow!”
I flinch, just a little. I hate that Grayson notices. I see it in the way his gaze sharpens for half a second, like he clocked the reaction and filed it away, and then he looks away, giving me dignity.
He only says, “Better go before he sends a search party.”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
Before I move, I catch myself looking back.
“Thanks,” I say.
Grayson looks faintly startled. “For what?”
“For being normal,” I tell him, because it’s the truest compliment I can offer.
His mouth twitches. “Don’t spread rumors.”
I almost smile as I head outside.
The patio is warmer, sunlight soft on my skin. The combination of fresh air and space helps—but it doesn’t fix everything. Kai appears at my side like a shadow, eyes scanning me like I’m a perimeter he has to defend.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “Did someone say something?”
“No.” Then, because honesty is safer than letting Kai invent a conspiracy, I add, “Grayson offered to fake an emergency if I needed to leave.”
Kai’s gaze snaps across the patio until he finds him. Grayson is leaning against the doorframe talking to Asher, looking more relaxed out here. Kai’s jaw works. Then he says, carefully, “Good.”
I blink. “Good?”
“Good that he offered,” Kai says, like it costs him to admit.
I stare at him. “Are you approving of your teammate being helpful?”
Kai’s expression stays blank. “Don’t make it weird.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re the one who makes everything weird.”
Kai’s mouth twitches. “Okay. Food.”
My body tenses on reflex, because that word comes with history and hospital bracelets and my mom’s careful voice and Kai’s furious silence when he found out about Tyler.
I freeze for half a second, and my brother doesn’t miss it.
His tone shifts to something softer, more careful. “Not…as a rule. Just—have you eaten today? I don’t want you getting shaky.”
It’s still Kai. Still vigilant, but it’s not a command. It’s a check-in.
“I’m okay,” I say, and it’s a half-truth.
Kai nods once. “Do what you can.”
That, somehow, makes it easier to work with.
I head toward the food table before avoidance turns into a bigger monster.
Plates. Napkins. Condiments lined up. I pick manageable things.
Familiar things. Some strawberries, a few grapes.
Some of the chicken breast that’s been grilled.
In my mind, I’m doing my best not to try to guess the amount of calories that are sitting on my plate.
My skin pricks slightly, sensing someone’s stare.
When I turn, Weston is watching me.
Great.
He strides over, then visibly reins himself in like he remembers Kai’s earlier warning. He grabs a plate and piles it with enough food to feed a small village, then tilts his head toward a quieter corner.
“Come sit,” he says. Not bossy. Just an offer really, and one that I accept. We claim two chairs just off the patio. Weston takes a massive bite of burger and speaks around it like a feral raccoon. “Now we judge everyone, lovingly, while we eat.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter.
“Thank you,” he says, grinning.
I eat my food slowly. Eating in public still feels like being observed under a microscope even when no one is watching.
Kai is watching, though. Being the good sister I am, I pop another grape into my mouth, earning me a small nod in approval.
I wish he didn’t do that. I know I need to eat.
Truly, I do. But eating in public, especially when there are choices to be made, makes me all but lose my appetite completely.
After beginning my journey through therapy for my depression and anxiety, I started working with a nutritionist to help me find things to fuel my body without causing me to spiral.
First, we started with simply switching out a normal spoon for a child-sized spoon.
Taking the smaller bites seemed to help trick my mind into thinking I was eating less.
From there, we moved on to eating smaller portioned meals and snacks more frequently before settling on my comfort zone of three snacks and two meals a day.
It took two years before I could sit at the dinner table and have a normal meal with my parents.
I never wanted anyone to see me eat. To this day, that’s still one of the hardest things for me.
I always feel like someone is judging the amount of food on my plate, whether it is too little or too much.
Grayson’s eyes flick my way once, quick and then away. I know, because mine keep going back to him on their own accord. For some reason, that feels better than Kai’s constant surveillance.
After another hour of trying to socialize with my brother’s teammates, my body hits the line inside me that says, Enough.
I find Kai near the grill.
“I’m done,” I tell him.
He frowns. “Ten more minutes?”
“No,” I say firmly.
Kai’s eyes narrow. “Harlow.”
“I did it,” I say. “I came. I stayed. I’m leaving before I start resenting everyone.”
Weston overhears and gasps dramatically. “She’s so wise.”
Kai ignores him, jaw tight like he wants to argue. Then he exhales, shoulders easing. “Okay. I’ll walk you to your car.”
We make it down the walkway in silence, the noise fading behind us. Kai keeps his pace matched to mine—no pulling, no herding.
Finally, he says, “You did good.”
“Don’t,” I murmur.
Kai’s mouth twitches. “Too late.”
“You’re unbearable.”
“You love me,” he says, like it’s obvious.
I do.
That’s the problem.