Page 63 of No Save Point

I exhale, shaking my head as the messages flood in, fast and relentless, my name lighting up in tags from every direction. Of course. Because it doesn’t matter how low-key I thought I was being, my followers notice everything.

I lean forward, hands flying over my keyboard. “Alright, chill,” I say into my mic, my voice cutting through the chaos. “I know I’ve been off-grid, but no, I’m not dead. And no, I’m not giving you details, so you little gossip gremlins can relax.”

A fresh wave of messages floods in.

I roll my eyes. “Listen, you little weirdos, I actually need you to do me a favor. Carter—yes, that Carter is streaming for the first time tonight, so you better go give him the warmest fucking welcome of his life.” I instantly notice a few asking if they’re officially adopting him.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yes, you’re adopting him, now go be nice.” I glance over, and sure enough, Tate is watching me from his own setup, one arm draped lazily over his desk, amusement flickering in his eyes as he listens to me try to wrangle my chat.

“Interesting approach,” he says as he tilts his head.

I quirk a brow. “What, you expected me to just let them lose their minds?”

“No, I expected you to let them keep talking about you being here with me.” I narrow my eyes, but before I can respond, he moves. With one fluid motion, he reaches for a mask, a ghost face. He slips it on, adjusting it until it fits just right, and then he turns back to his camera, his expression unreadable beneath it. And the second his chat sees, they go ballistic.

Tate taps his mic, exhaling like he’s preparing for war. “Alright, assholes, listen up. My brother is finally growing a pair and streaming for the first time, so if you know what’s good for you, you’re gonna go show him some fucking love.”

His chat loses it again, messages flying at a speed I can barely register.

Tate leans back, satisfied, his gaze flicking to me again as he nods toward the screen. “There. Now it’s official.”

I exhale, shaking my head, glancing at my own chat, which is still spamming theories and inside jokes at a speed that makes my head spin. I wrap up my stream, thanking everyone for showing Carter some love, watching as my chat finally starts to settle, well, as much as they ever do.

Tate’s chat, however? Still fucking unhinged. I lean back in the chair, stretching my arms above my head, before reaching for the headset to log off. “Alright, I’m out. Thanks for the assist, Tate.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me at first, still focused on his own stream, fingers idly drumming against the desk, eyes locked on the rolling messages that are flooding his chat. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he mutters, tone almost dismissive.

I roll my eyes, already pushing up from my seat, but the second I move he grabs me. One sharp tug and I’m not standing anymore. I’m in his lap. His hands firm on my waist, his body solid against mine, the heat of him pressing through my clothes like a fucking brand. My breath catches, and for a split second, there’s nothing but silence. And then, chaos. His chat fucking implodes.

My entire body locks up, and I feel Tate’s chest shake slightly beneath me as he exhales a slow, lazy laugh. “Damn,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear it. “I really do own the internet.”

I have no fucking clue what to do next. His arms stay locked around me, the weight of him pressing me down, his grip firm, like he already knows I’d bolt if given the chance. His chat? Still a fucking dumpster fire.

I feel Tate smirk against my shoulder, completely unfazed, soaking up every second of the chaos he’s just created. Then he leans forward, toward his mic, voice dropping just enough to send the chat into another goddamn meltdown. “If I knew this would break the internet,” he muses lazily, fingers toying with the hem of my hoodie, “I would’ve dragged her into my lap a long time ago.”

I shift slightly, trying to untangle myself from his grip, but Tate only tightens his hold, fingers flexing against my hips like he’s making a goddamn statement.

Then, he exhales sharply, his head tipping slightly to glance toward the door, that knowing smirk never leaving his lips. He knows this moment isn’t going to last much longer. Carter’s down the hall. Carter probably saw the clip already. Carter is definitely about to come looking for me. And so, just like that, Tate moves. With one swift motion, he reaches for his keyboard, clicks a single key, and his screen instantly fades to black. Stream: OFFLINE.

I stare at the monitor, then whip my head back toward him. “You just ended it?”

Tate grins, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head like he didn’t just obliterate the internet with a single move. “Yep.”

I blink. “Why?”

His eyes gleam with something wicked, something smug, something entirely too self-satisfied. “Because,” he says smoothly, “I don’t need an audience for what happens next.” And before I can even process that, a sound from the hall.

30

Carter

Tate’s door is cracked, light still glowing from his monitor, but his stream? Off. Which means he knew I was coming. Which means he knew exactly what he was doing. And when I push the door open, I find exactly what I fucking expected. Sitting back in his chair, looking smug as ever. Haven in his lap.

I exhale sharply, crossing my arms, tilting my head. “Man,” I say, shaking my head, letting the tension roll off me, “you really just can’t help yourself, huh?”

Haven’s head whips toward me, her eyes wide like she’s bracing for me to be pissed, however the second she sees my face, she falters. Because I’m not. Not at her, never at her. Tate, though? Yeah, he can catch this smoke. I rub the back of my neck, stepping further inside, lips twitching into a grin.

“I mean, I knew you were a little obsessed with me, but this?” I nod toward Haven, who is still frozen, still trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. “Now you’re just stealing my girl?”

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