Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Bryce
“Dex, if this is another intervention disguised as a meeting, I’m leaving.”
That’s the first thing out of my mouth when I walk into the conference room a week after everything detonated.
A week of not hearing Annabelle’s voice. A week of short texts, long silences, and me trying to pretend I’m fine when I feel like someone hollowed me out with a spoon.
I’m functional. I show up. I skate. I lift. I breathe. But every cell in my body knows something is missing. Her.
The guys look way too awake for a morning meeting.
Dex is pacing like he drank three energy drinks and snorted caffeine. Colby is eating oatmeal directly out of the pot. Eli has sunglasses on indoors, which is never a good sign. Gabriel is sitting calmly, which means danger is imminent.
“Sit,” Dex orders.
“No,” I say.
He throws an arm around my shoulders and forces me into a chair. “We’re all going out tonight.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Brother bonding,” Colby says with his mouth full. “Mandatory.”
I look at Gabriel. He nods solemnly, which doesn’t help.
“I’m not in the mood,” I say.
“Exactly why you’re coming,” Eli says.
I lean back and close my eyes. I can’t fight them today. “Fine. But I swear to God, if this is some weird stripper clown situation...”
Gabriel pats my hand. “We don’t repeat mistakes, Bryce.”
The room goes quiet.
Dex clears his throat. “Anyway. We’ll pick you up at five.”
They all exchange the kind of look that says they’ve been plotting something. But I don’t have the energy to argue.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “Dinner sounds fine.”
Except it isn’t dinner. Obviously.
***
At five sharp, Gabriel’s SUV pulls up and the doors fly open before he even stops.
“Get in, loser, we’re helping your love life,” Dex says.
I pause. “Absolutely not.”
He grabs my arm. “Absolutely yes.”
They shove me inside. The SUV smells like cologne, fries, and chaos.
Everyone is vibrating with excitement.
“This feels illegal,” I say.
“Not yet,” Eli answers. “But we’re trending in that direction.”
I look out the window. We’re heading downtown.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Dinner,” Dex says.
***
“Dinner at a TV studio?” I deadpan as we pull up to a massive venue with a huge banner:
LIVE TONIGHT: MARK CUMMINGS PERFORMS HIS HIT HEARTbrEAK SINGLE.
My stomach drops. “We’re not doing this.”
Dex unbuckles. “Correction: YOU’RE not. WE are.”
I stare at him. “What does that even mean?”
Colby grins like a man who loves poor decisions. “Field trip.”
“I hate all of you.”
“Love you too, buddy,” Eli says, slapping my back.
The plaza is packed. Camera crews everywhere. Fans screaming. It feels like a concert merged with a stampede.
I pull my hoodie low over my face and pray no one recognizes me.
Mark is onstage warming up, posing into the lights like a dramatic peacock.
Dex taps my arm. “Brace yourself.”
“For what?”
“For greatness,” he says.
The lights shift. The host announces Mark’s name. The crowd cheers.
Mark steps up to the mic, all tortured-artist energy. He closes his eyes, hands theatric.
He sings the first verse:
“She was my forever, The one I let slip through my hands, Now I'm standing in the wreckage, Begging fate for second chances...”
A whistle blows.
LOUDLY.
Right next to me.
“Dex!” I hiss.
But it’s too late. Cameras swing toward us. I duck.
The music wobbles. Mark’s voice cracks mid-note.
Before I can stop them, my teammates, my grown-ass teammates, climb onto the stage like a flash mob of feral hockey gremlins with a mission.
What the f*?
Chaos erupts immediately.
Colby grabs the mic and belts, in the worst singing voice I have ever heard:
“THIS MAN IS A LY-ER! L! I! A! R!”
The crowd ushes a collective gasp and then goes silent.
Eli jumps in with off-key harmony:
“He cheated first! Then made it worse!”
Dex is reading from a sheet of paper as he sings slam poetry style.
“Text messages. Suspicious DMs. Backup singer named Jenna. Don’t shake your head, Mark, we ALL saw the screenshots.”
Gabriel… dear God. Gabriel is doing an interpretive dance behind them. Slow, floaty arm movements. Hair blowing in the wind like he summoned his own fan.
Mark sputters. “STOP! You can’t! This is LIVE!”
Dex beams. “Great! Saves us uploading it later!”
Security tries to intervene. Gabriel throws up one hand and says in a stern dad voice: “We’re professionals. We're the Nashville Outlaws and we are living up to our name.”
Security hesitates.
They let them continue.
The crowd is screaming. People are filming from every angle.
Mark looks like he’s seconds from fainting.
Colby points dramatically. “Tell them the truth, Songboy or we continue!”
Mark’s face is beet red. Sweat pouring. He just stands there.
Eli continues.
“He claimed heartbreak for the ratings! He faked those sad-boy narrations! Sold the story, played the victim, Left out how she finally kicked him!”
Mark sputters, “I—she—this isn’t—”
Dex blows the whistle again. “TRUTH!”
Mark snaps.
He grabs the mic from Eli and screams:
“FINE! I used it for publicity! Annabelle told me to stop! She doesn’t want me back! She wants your hockey idiot! It was ALL FAKE!”
The crowd loses its mind.
Fans shriek.
The producer collapses onto a folding chair.
Some woman faints in the front row.
I stand perfectly still.
“She… wants me?” I whisper.
Everything inside me shifts. Breaks open. Re-aligns.
The guys freeze, then slowly turn to stare at me.
Gabriel smiles. “Told you, dude.”
Mark flees the stage like he’s escaping a crime scene.
Dex throws both arms up like they just won a championship. “NAILED IT.”
Colby and Eli high-five like deranged cheerleaders, and the place erupts into absolute pandemonium.
The host is shouting into the mic, trying to regain control while clutching her note cards like a life raft.
Stagehands are running in circles. A cameraman yells, “Keep rolling! This is ratings gold!” Someone in the crowd starts chanting “CHEATER! CHEATER!” while another person tries to climb a barricade for a better angle. It’s full, glorious, televised chaos.
The guys jump off the stage, sprinting back toward me like they just wrapped a Grammy-worthy performance and fully expect applause.
I’m still standing in shock.
Relief hits first. Sharp, overwhelming.
Then guilt. Then love so strong it knocks the breath out of my chest.
Annabelle.
Dex claps my shoulder. “Told you she wasn’t picking that clown.”
Colby nods. “We expect tears of joy. Or beer.”
“Preferably both.” Eli throws in like he’s delivering wisdom from Mount Idiot.
I drag a hand down my face. “That was… the worst performance ever inflicted on humanity... and I’ve seen your karaoke, Dex. I honestly thought that was an audition for Glee: Felony Edition.”
They beam like I complimented them.
I shake my head. “But holy shit… thank you. All of you. You’re real brothers. I don’t deserve you idiots.”
They immediately group-hug me.
I hate it.
I also kind of love it.
When they finally let go, I step away from the noise, from the cameras, from the chaos we just unleashed.
The truth settles into my bones.
Annabelle wasn’t lying.
She wasn’t choosing Mark.
She was fighting for me.
And I ghosted her. I hurt her. I did the exact thing I swore I’d never do.
My chest aches.
I whisper, “I’m getting her back.”
Dex hears me and yells louder than the entire audience, “HELL YEAH YOU ARE!”
The cameras catch it. The crowd cheers.
Dex immediately turns to the nearest camera and announces, “You’re welcome, Nashville!” while flexing like he’s filming a fitness ad.
Colby leans into another lens and purrs, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe, babes!”
Eli bows theatrically and shouts, “Tip your truth-tellers!” and Gabriel lifts both arms, proclaiming, “Justice has been served!”
I stare at them. “Where’s the dinner we were supposedly having?”
Dex answers without missing a beat. “This was dinner. Nourishment for the soul.”
Gabriel grabs his keys. "Seriously, all this emotional cardio worked up one hell of an appetite. I'm friggin starving. Let’s go get some real food!”
And for the first time in a week, I feel alive.
Something sparks in me.
A starting gun.
It’s time to win her back.
One way or another.