Page 33 of Until Forever Falls

Colt and Miles trade glances, and whatever passes between them sets my nerves on edge. They’re seeing something I haven’t caught up to yet.

Brooks stretches, his jersey clinging to his skin as he swipes a damp curl from his forehead. “I’m hitting the showers. I’m soaked, and I’m about five seconds from setting this uniform on fire.” Then, he cuts his eyes toward me. “Seems you’re stuck with me, Dylan. I’ll meet you at my truck when I’m done.”

My hands tighten into fists, then relax, as if my body can’t decide what to do with itself. I should say something else—ask a question, make a joke—but all that comes out is, “Sounds good.”

Beckett rubs his knuckles against his jaw, glancing between me and Brooks before settling his focus on me. “He’s fine, Dill,” he says, eyes narrowing like he’s cataloging every micro-expression. “Just pushed himself too hard. Now you’ve got the perfect excuse to spend more time with him.” His smirk is infuriating, but there’s an undercurrent of reassurance in his tone.

I huff out a breath, aiming for exasperation, but the blush creeping up my neck betrays me. “Shut up, KitKat.”

He chuckles, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before jogging off after the team.

The guys disappear into the locker room, leaving me on the field, my thoughts spiraling. I rub my arms, suddenly aware of the chill pressing in around me. I force my feet to move, slowly crossing the empty stretch of turf.

Brooks’ truck sits where it always does, and I make my way over to it, pressing my hip against the cool metal of the passenger door. The medic’s warning loops in my head—a song stuck on repeat. With a measured breath, I tip my head back, eyes tracing the stars for any sign that everything really is okay.

It doesn’t take long for him to come out of the locker room, and the moment he steps into view, I can’t stop myself from staring. He flashes a half-smile—the kind that makes the butterflies swarm a little faster. His damp hair falls across his forehead, a bit unruly but gracefully composed. The cotton of his shirt hugs his frame, highlighting the lean power beneath, each movement exuding control without effort. As he steps closer, my anxiety dissolves, pressing down on the nerves that had been thrumming moments before.

“How’s my good luck charm doing?” Brooks asks, mimicking my stance and leaning casually against his truck.

I chew the edge of my bottom lip before replying, “Worried about you.”

He shrugs, his laid-back demeanor unshaken. “Hey, I told you, I’m fine. Promise.” He slings an arm around my neck, a steady certainty in his touch. “Now, let’s go. Colt is throwing a party to celebrate the win, and I’m not about to miss out.”

I eye him skeptically. “Oh. A party? You sure you’re up for that?”

His fingers graze my collarbone as he leans into me just a little more. “Dill, I’m good, but if you’re that worried, you’re welcome to keep a close eye on me all night.” He pats the side of the truck. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go have a good time.”

I hesitate, torn between curiosity and caution. “You know what? Sure. But how about I drive? Give you a break for a bit.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather let you sit there and look pretty while I handle the road.”

“So, you just like being in control, huh?”

He slides a hand behind me, fingers curling around the door handle as he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You can call it control, but she’s a little temperamental. You’re better off letting me wrestle with her.”

The truck’s frame is solid against my back as he swings the door open, the motion erasing the last sliver of space between us. His chest brushes mine, heat radiating from him and seeping through my clothes.

His retreat is slow, measured—like he’s making sure I notice. The truck creaks beneath me as I settle in, the scent of worn leather and engine grease curling around me. Brooks hovers just outside, his grip curled loosely around the top of the door.

I bite the inside of my cheek before glancing his way. “You getting in, or are we just gonna stay here all night?”

“Just enjoying the scenery,” he says with a tilt of his head, pushing the door shut with a soft, purposeful click before rounding the front of the truck.

As he settles into the driver’s seat, the flirty glint in his eye deepens into something more genuine. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The truck rumbles softly as we pull away, one of Brooks’ hands steady on the wheel, the other draped casually over the center console. My attention drifts to his fingers for a moment, a thought sparking in the back of my mind—what would it feel like to touch him, even just for a second? I push it away and settle my head against the window, letting out a long breath as I watch the streetlights zip past.

It’s going to be a long night.

An hour later, we roll up to Colt’s house, the scent of burgers and milkshakes clinging to our clothes. I shoot a glance at Brooks, who—despite his earlier complaints—begrudgingly downed the bottle of water I all but forced on him before we even left Ruby’s.

The party is already in full swing. People are sprawled across the front lawn, red Solo cups in every hand, while music blasts loud enough for the bass to rattle the dash.

Brooks parks the truck with a quick maneuver and jumps out, making his way to my side to open the door.

“After you. Let’s see if that luck holds up, Rivers,” he teases.

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