Page 46 of Scrum Heat

I watch her laugh at something Theo says, and the way she leans into Finn’s shoulder when he makes a dramatic retelling of the smoothie bar incident. Jax passes her the syrup without her asking for it, and she accepts it with a small smile in his direction. Their eyes linger for a beat, and her cheeks flush pink.

She belongs here.

And for the first time since this season started, I think maybe—so do we.

*

Sunday morning is quiet.

Not silent—Theo’s already thumping around—but quieter than yesterday. The kind of quiet that settles over a house after a win.

I’m stretched out on the couch, oversized hoodie on, legs half off the end. Today is a rest day, full stop. I’d planned to hit the gym with Theo, but somewhere between opening my eyes and standing up, I decided today I don’t care about hypertrophy. I care about not moving.

“You sure you’re not coming?” Theo asks as he laces up his sneakers by the front door.

“Rest day,” I grunt.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna stiffen up.”

“That’s the point.”

Theo snorts, grabs his headphones, and flexes at himself in the mirror for no reason. “Well, someone’s gotta represent Alderbridge quads. Guess it’s up to me.”

“Your thighs get more attention than our win yesterday.”

“They’ve earned it.”

I wave him off without opening my eyes. “Don’t break the treadmill.”

“Don’t break the couch.”

He’s gone with the slam of the door and the clatter of keys.

I shift, dig my phone out of the blanket heap, and see a new message waiting.

Saw the match score. That was yours, wasn’t it? Proud of you, Rory. Call when you’re free.

I stare at the text for a second, then lock my screen.

My mother means it. Iknowshe does. But there’s a weight to it—there always is.

I shove the phone under the cushion behind my head and close my eyes.

Jax and Finn are still upstairs, totally dead to the world, and I’m not far behind them; half-asleep with one leg hanging off the couch, hoodie now pulled over my head. I’m about to drift off when there’s a soft sound—bare feet on the floorboards. Then movement. Then—

“Oh,” Frankie says. “You’re… horizontal.”

My eyes crack open.

She’s standing in the living room doorway holding a bowl of something and wearing one of the team hoodies that doesn’t belong to her. Possibly mine. I’m not sure. I don’t care.

Except the hem of it hits her mid-thigh.

Fine.I care. A little.

“Rest day,” I grunt.

She smiles. “You said that already.”

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