Chapter 15 — The Quoted Phrase （Nora）
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I stole Beck's shirt off the kitchen chair and pulled it over my head before I was fully awake.
The cotton still held his warmth, and my bare feet curled hard against the cold tile.
Morning light cut through the crooked blinds in thin stripes, and I stood there breathing in cinnamon and toast and cold air off the window.
Most mornings, rent and class sent me running on cold coffee. This one felt borrowed from a softer life: Beck at my stove in sweatpants, hair everywhere, pouring hot water over two mugs like time belonged to us.
He looked up and smiled, and my stomach did its little lift.
The navy paracord wristband circled his left wrist, and the green thread I had knotted into it caught the sun and burned bright.
“Morning,” he said. “Come here. You're standing on ice.” I crossed the striped light to him.
“I'm coming. Don't rush me. I've got tea to steal.”
“You make that tea better than I do, and I'm not sharing.” I wrapped both hands around the mug and breathed the steam deep.
“Seriously, this one's mine. Make your own.” He laughed low.
“I did make my own. You're holding mine.” I hugged it tighter.
“Then it's mine now. Finders keepers.” He leaned on the counter. “Thief. Drink it before it cools.”
“Stay close a minute. I don't want this morning to end,” he said it quiet, almost shy, and tugged me against his side.
“I'm parked right here,” I told him. “I'm not going anywhere till that toast pops.” His arm settled around my waist, solid and easy.
“Good,” he said. “Stay. The toast can wait.” I leaned into him. “The toast can't wait. It'll burn.”
I wanted to stay in his arms, but my mind wouldn't stop buzzing.
Last night glowed at the edges of everything.
I pressed my cold feet up under his on the tile.
“Cold,” I warned. “Don't say I didn't warn you.” He barely flinched.
“You're fine. I've had worse. Stay put.” I wiggled my toes. “You're warm. It's unfair. Share.”
“You're freezing, so come here. I've got warm hands for you.” He caught my hand between his and rubbed slow.
“Better?” he asked. “Getting there,” I said.
“Don't stop. I'm fragile.” I snorted, that awful laugh-snort I hated, and ducked toward my mug.
“Ugh. Hear that? Goose with opinions.” He grinned.
“Don't hide. I like that one.” My cheeks burned. “You're lying, but I'll allow it.”
The radiator ticked. Toast popped. A car dragged past with frost white on its windshield.
Beck buttered toast with total focus, lining the slices square.
“You line up toast now?” I asked. “It's cute.
Don't stop.” He bumped my hip. “Eat. You're stalling.” I bit in.
“I'm not stalling. I'm savoring. There's a difference.” He stole a bite off mine.
“Hey,” I said. “Mine.” He chewed. “Ours.”
A knock rattled the door, and Priya's voice came through.
“Decent? I'm coming in fast.” Beck stepped back quick, reaching for a shirt that wasn't there.
“We're decent-ish,” I called. “Come in. Don't judge.” Priya slipped in with her backpack half zipped.
She took one look at us and lit up. “You two are cute, but I've got lab, so don't burn the toast.”
“We won't burn anything,” I said. “Have fun with the microscopes.” Priya snorted.
“Oh, I'm having fun. You're having fun. Everybody's having fun.” She pointed at Beck.
“Hydrate her. She forgets.” Beck nodded solemnly.
“Yes, ma'am. I'm on it.” She grabbed her bag and winked at me.
“Keep him,” she mouthed. “I heard that,” Beck said. “Good,” she said, and slammed out.
The quiet after felt thick and sweet. Beck locked the door and leaned his forehead against it, smiling.
“Alone again,” he said. I held up my mug.
“Alone again, and I've got tea. Best morning ever.” He crossed back.
“Wouldn't trade it. Not for anything.” I touched his wristband.
“Green thread's bright today. Looks good on you.” He covered my hand. “Looks good because of you.”
He had to shower before the bus, and I waved him off.
“Go. You smell like sleep.” He stole half my toast. “Thief,” I called.
“Tutor tax,” he called back. “I want half of yours later,” I shouted.
“No deals,” he shouted, and the door clicked.
The pipes knocked. Water hissed. I rinsed the mugs, humming, and eyed my phone.
The Kennel Podcast sat open from yesterday.
I told myself to leave it. Habit won. I hit play low while Beck showered and leaned on the counter. Kip's voice filled the kitchen, bright and hungry. “Morning, Kennel. Big one today. Stay with me.” My hand went still on the towel. “Here we go,” I muttered. “Make it quick, Kip. I've got toast.”
“We've got direct quotes now, straight from a QB room source.” I hated how smooth he sounded, like a guy holding four aces.
My stomach dropped an inch. “Nope,” I whispered.
“Don't. Don't do this.” Behind the bathroom door the shower ran steady, and Beck hummed tuneless under the water.
Kip stretched the pause. “Say it,” I breathed. “Rip it off. Come on.”
“Listen to this one: Ghost Texas, switch on two.
That's word for word.” The kitchen tilted sideways.
My fingers went numb on the mug. I knew that phrase.
God, I knew exactly where it lived. “No,” I said out loud.
“No. He can't. That's not—” My pulse slammed my throat.
“That's locker-only. That's not real. Oh, hell.”
It lived in the locker notebook. The decoy.
Full of plays he would never call. It had never once appeared in the real pages he had trusted to me.
My phone screen froze on Kip's episode title as the decoy phrase aired, the wheel spinning stuck.
Ice spread from my stomach out. I locked the screen fast. “Think,” I whispered. “Who touches that shelf? Who—”
The bathroom door opened and steam rolled into the kitchen. Beck came out wet-haired, towel over one shoulder, still smiling from the morning.
He saw my face and stopped. “What happened?”
I turned the phone toward him. “Don't ask if I'm okay yet. Listen first.”
I played the clip again. Kip's bright voice filled my kitchen: “Ghost Texas, switch on two. That's word for word.”
Beck went absolutely still. Water slid from his hair to his collarbone. His eyes moved once, toward the nightstand where the real notebook waited, then back to the phone.
“Locker book,” he said.
“Decoy only,” I answered. “It isn't in the real ninety-six pages. I know because I read every one.”
His two fingers found the green thread on his wristband and pressed, not tapping. “Play it again.”
I did. This time he listened with his eyes shut.
When the quote ended, he opened them. “Somebody photographed the bait.”
“And fed it to Kip.” I stepped close and caught both his hands. “I had one stupid second where I wanted to hide this and keep our morning perfect. I'm not doing that to you. No pretty lie. No protecting you with silence.”
His shoulders dropped a fraction. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. We need proof. Priya can pull the episode metadata and upload history. I'm sending it now.”
I forwarded the clip before fear could negotiate. Priya replied with three question marks, then: ON IT.
Beck looked at the real notebook. “It shouldn't stay in the nightstand.”
“Agreed.” I slid it into the padded inner pocket of my tote and zipped it closed. “It stays on me until we decide together where it goes.”
“Together,” he repeated.
“That is the new rule. No solo fixing.”
His mouth tipped at one corner. “No solo protecting.”
“Especially that.”
He covered my cold hands with his, damp palms warming mine. “Trey watches the locker row after lifts. He watches your notes too.”
“Then we watch him back, but we don't accuse without something solid.”
“Cole's been scared,” he said. “At the lake. In the locker room. I don't know why.”
The name landed wrong in my stomach. “We keep him close until we know. He asked me to read an install sheet, remember?”
Beck nodded. “I remember everything that happens near you.”
Even with danger in the room, the line warmed me. “Good. Remember this too: I am in this with you. You don't get to bench me from my own relationship.”
“Wouldn't try,” he said.
“Smart quarterback. Now put on a shirt before my investigation loses focus.”
His laugh came out startled and real. He dressed while I packed the notebook, charger, and the printed episode notes into my tote. The soft morning did not disappear. It changed shape. Tea, toast, and a threat we had named together.
At the bus shelter, he wiped frost from the door-side bench and took the exposed seat facing the lot. I started to argue, then saw the way he had already mapped the road, the bus door, and me.
“You always take the bad seat,” I said.
“I like you where you can see.”
I linked our fingers. “And I like you where you tell me the truth.”
“Same rule,” he said. “Both ways.”
The bus came in a sigh of wet wool and warm vinyl. He held my hand when freshmen stared, and I leaned into his shoulder without hiding the phone open in my lap between us.
Priya texted: File created before publication. Shared link accessed twice. Need the original audio page.
I showed him immediately.
“A trail,” he said.
“A start.”
Whitmore rose brick-red through the fogged glass. We crossed the quad hand in hand, and Trey Satterfield came around the corner with earbuds in and a smile that arrived too slowly.
Beck felt me stiffen. He stepped to the street side without blocking my view. “That's the look.”
“I know. Don't react yet.”
Trey lifted two fingers from his cup in a salute. Beck nodded back, polite enough to make the man keep smiling.
When Trey passed, Beck leaned close. “He smells like mint gum and bad decisions.”
The laugh-snort burst out of me before I could stop it. “You get one joke a semester and that's the one?”
“Worth it.”
At the practice doors, warm air rolled out smelling of turf and sweat. Beck turned with his bag on one shoulder.
“You go win the day,” I said. “I'll work the file trail. We compare notes tonight.”
“No solo fixing,” he said.
“No solo protecting.”
He kissed me in front of the glass doors while somebody wolf-whistled. He never looked away from me.
My phone buzzed as he backed inside. Kip's new episode note glowed on the screen: SAME SOURCE NEXT WEEK. BIGGER QUOTES.
I held it up. Beck read it through the glass, then pointed at me, at himself, and finally at the phone.
Together.
I nodded. The fear stayed, but it no longer belonged to me alone.