Page 164 of Scrum Heat

“I’m bonded. I’m happy. I’msettled. And she still thinks I’m embarrassing. She still thinks I’m less than—she still—god, when is it ever going to beenough?!”

“You don’t have to be enough for anyone,” he says, his arms tightening around me. “You alreadyare. For you. That’s what matters.”

I press my face harder against his chest, and I feel him shift slightly so we sway—barely, but enough that it anchors me. His heartbeat, strong and steady. His warmth. The hand that strokes slow and sure along my spine.

And I know, even if I can’t say it yet, that he gets it. That part of him—the part he keeps hidden behind jokes and smiles and that flirty, golden bravado—knowsexactlywhat it feels like to be the disappointment. To never be enough for the person who’s supposed to love you most.

He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. I feel it in every touch, every quiet breath.

Eventually, I calm. Eventually, I breathe again.

And eventually, I say it.

“I have to deal with this.”

Theo pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing under my eye.

“Yeah,” he says. “But not tonight.”

I nod.

He’s right. Tomorrow, I’ll burn it down. But for now—I let him hold me.

*

We’re still like that—Theo’s arms tight around my shoulders, my face buried in his chest—when footsteps creak through the living room.

A groggy voice calls, “Frankie?”

Theo looks up, his chin resting lightly on top of my head as the kitchen door swings open, and Rory steps inside. His hair’s a mess, his shirt is rumpled, and his sweatpants sit awkwardly low on his hips. He squints in the half-light, still sleep-drunk, blinking at the scene in front of him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice scratchy.

Theo doesn’t answer. He just reaches across the table and hands him the sheet of paper.

Rory reads it, and I feel it: that sharp spike of shock through the bond. It cuts down the middle of his usually steady presence like a splinter in something solid. His jaw tightens, and his chest rises and falls harshly.

“Shit,” he mutters, low and shaken. “Frankie, I—I’m so sorry.”

I lift my face, cheeks damp, eyes stinging. My smile wobbles. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He crosses the room in two strides and crouches, both hands resting gently on my arms. “You didn’t deserve this. Not one word of it.”

I nod. “I know. It just… hurts.”

The bond with Rory shifts—wraps around me tight, like the steady pressure of a hand at my back. He’s grounding me, holding me there.

“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “I’d be breaking shit if I were you.”

“She still might,” Theo mutters.

I let out a weak laugh, and Rory squeezes my arm gently. His thumb rubs once, and the emotion beneath his bond pulses—quiet, but steady.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says.

The back door creaks open before I can answer, and Finn peeks his head in.

“Hey, uh… why’s everyone in the kitchen?” he asks. “Did someone start baking without me or—”

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