Page 156 of Scrum Heat

“Cool. I’ll pull the files.”

I hang up.

The music’s still playing low through the speakers—something mellow and upbeat from Finn’s playlist that doesn’t match the chill running down my spine. Frankie’s been on a content ban for a few weeks now. She creates the content, edits it, posts it—and then walks away. Harper filterseverything.

And still—somehow—the comments have gotten worse. Nastier. More personal.

It’s Denton Vale. Ithasto be. The timing, the tone, the way it ramped up right before we humiliated them in front of a full crowd and the OSC—it fits. It’s all teeth and cowardice, just like Marcus. And when I get the confirmation? When I finally have the proof?

I'm going tobury them.Not just on the pitch—permanently. I’m going to make sure every sponsor, every scout, every committee and league official sees them for what they are: petty, insecure, and fuckingdangerous.

And I won’t stop until that entire club’s reputation is circling the drain.

They came afterher, and they don’t get to walk away from that.

Not on my watch.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jax

The garden’s quiet in a way the gym never is. No shouting, no metal clanks, and no one asking for a spot. Here, it’s just the hum of bees, the sharp scent of earth, and the weight of the sun on my skin.

I’d meant to come out here just to water the herbs and clear my head, to do something with my hands that didn’t involve tackling people or punching bags.

That was an hour and a half ago.

Now I’m shirtless, covered in sweat and dirt, and halfway through re-edging the lawn with a rusted spade thatdefinitelywasn’t designed for precision work.

Whatever. It works. You push hard enough, and even nature shapes up.

Eventually, I stretch out on the grass, arms behind my head, spine relaxing against the cool soil. I close my eyes and breathe, and for a second, everything inside me stops buzzing.

Then there’s a shadow overhead.

“Have you been working out or planning to die dramatically in the sun?”

I squint up at Frankie. She’s holding a glass filled with an amber-colored liquid, with her legs bare, her hair pulled back from her face, and her freckles out in full show. She looks soft and bright, like always.

“I made you iced tea,” she says, like it’s a peace offering.

I push up onto one elbow and take it from her hand before taking a large gulp.

Andoh.

It’sbad.

It’s too… bitter. Way too much lemon and not nearly enough sugar. Something about it tastes... herbal? And not in a good way.

Still, I drink it down. Every last drop.

Because she made it, and heaven knows I’ve swallowed worse.

I don’t say anything as she sits herself down next to me without waiting for an invitation; cross-legged and casual, like she’s always belonged here. We stay like that for a while, side by side in the sun as she picks at a thread on the hem of her shorts.

Her arm brushes mine when she shifts. I reach for her hand, and she gives it.

Then she sighs.

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