“Well, would you look at that? Come to admire your handiwork?”

  I won’t rise to it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He lets out a low, dry chuckle. “Sure you don’t.”

  Silence stretches.

  “It must’ve been satisfying. Hearing the snap and watching me go down.”

  I stay quiet, letting him fill the space. I’m not giving him anything he can twist.

  Tyson narrows his eyes. “Jesus. You believe I’m recording this?”

  I arch a brow. “With you, I wouldn’t rule anything out.”

  He smirks. “Relax. No cameras. No lawyers. Just two former teammates.”

  I shift my weight but stay near the door. Not close. Not friendly. But present.

  “Talk. You asked me here. Say what you want to say.”

  He stares at the ceiling, expression unreadable. “How did it feel when my bone snapped? What went through your head, Sebring? Did it give you the closure you wanted?”

  I clench my jaw. “I didn’t come here to relive this.”

  His gaze flicks to mine. “When I took you out, I didn’t get the luxury of hearing a crack. Only the look on your face when you realized you couldn’t stand.”

  It was a fabulous feeling, McRae, watching you fall.

  But I’ll never admit that. Instead, I say nothing.

  He studies me, perhaps trying to find the edge of my control.

  “I’ll cut the bullshit.”

  He shifts, winces, and gestures down at his leg. “Spiral fracture of the hip. Bone twisted clean out of the socket. Took hours of surgery to pin it back together.”

  I cross my arms, unenthused.

  “They ran multiple full-body scans before surgery. Said they had to check for vascular trauma or something like that. And that’s when they found it. Cancer.”

  I go still.

  Tyson nods. “Moderately advanced. Very aggressive. One of those bastard types that doesn’t show symptoms until it’s too late, but they believe they caught it in time.”

  A beat passes.

  “They never would’ve found it if you hadn’t busted me up. So congrats, Sebring.” His voice turns bittersweet. “You broke my hip and saved my life.”

  I’m speechless.

  He gives a humorless smile. “Bet you regret it now, huh?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” He closes his eyes. “I’ve got a long road ahead of me. Surgeries. Treatments. Therapies. But here’s what you need to hear, Alex.”

  He opens his eyes. They’re bloodshot but clear. “Whatever score I thought I was settling is done. You win. I’m out. And where Magnolia is concerned… she chose you. And I love her enough to let her go.”

  I search his face, trying to find the lie. The trap.

  “I want to believe you, but you don’t have a great track record of being trustworthy.”

  He doesn’t flinch. “True. But cancer has a way of burning the bullshit out of a man. You either clean up or you go down with it.”

  I study him for a long beat. “Are you going to leave Celeste alone too? Whatever you’ve been holding over her—are you done with that shit?”

  His eyes lock on mine, steady. “Done with all of it.”

  “Hope that’s true.”

  “It is,” he says. And for the first time since I walked in, there’s a flicker of something real. Something I might believe.

  I take the long way home, windows down, no sound but the wind. The streets blur past in streaks of amber and brake lights, but I barely register them––just enough to stay between the lines and keep from rear-ending someone.

  He said I saved his life with a break. A fracture. A twist of his body under mine in a moment I’ve replayed––and enjoyed––more times than I’ll ever admit out loud.

  He’s still Tyson McRae. Still a bastard. But today, he looked human. Worn down. Burned out.

  And for a second—for the briefest damn second—I saw a man in a hospital bed, not a rival on the pitch.

  I still don’t trust him. I don’t think I ever truly will. But if he meant what he said––if he’s really finished coming for me, coming for Magnolia––I might be able to let the weight of the last few years go.

  Maybe.

  My tension melts away when the driveway comes into view because of who’s waiting for me inside the house. And I’m grateful I get to come home to her.

  The door clicks shut behind me, and the smell of something delicious drifts in from the kitchen.

  She’s barefoot, swaying to one of her weird songs humming through the speakers, a tea towel slung over one shoulder. Her hair’s clipped up in that way that always looks unintentional, even though I know better.

  She looks up when I enter. “Hey, you. Practice ran late?”

  I go to her without answering and pull her into my arms. She melts into my embrace, and I rest my chin on the top of her head, closing my eyes.

  “Has something happened?”

  “David called me into his office after practice.”

  She pulls back enough to see my face. “Why?”

  I take a breath. “Tyson called him and asked to see me. At the hospital.”

  Her eyes flash. “You didn’t go, did you?”

  “I did.”

  Her brows lift, and she stiffens in my arms. “Let me guess. He’s going to use his injury as an opportunity to cause trouble for you?”

  “He’s in worse shape than I guessed. Spiral fracture. Surgery, traction, the works.”

  Magnolia goes still. She opens her mouth, closes it, and finally says, “Oh.”

  “They did scans—standard pre-op stuff––and found cancer.”

  Magnolia’s breath catches. “Cancer? Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. It’s aggressive, advanced, but caught early enough to treat. He’s got a solid shot at remission.”

  She leans back against the counter, stunned. “Damn, Alex.”

  “He told me if I hadn’t taken him down, they’d never have caught it. That hit saved his life.”

  Magnolia exhales. “Guardian angel—bet you never saw that coming.”

  I shake my head, half smiling. “Guardian angel’s a stretch. But he told me we don’t have to worry about him anymore—and somehow, I believe him.”

  Magnolia comes to me, arms sliding around my waist as I fold her into a hug. We stay that way, grounded in each other, while the music hums low in the background. Just the two of us and a silence that doesn’t have to be filled.

  Then she leans back, brushing her lips over my jaw. “Go sit down, babe. I’ll make us a drink.”

  I nod, giving her one last squeeze before heading to the living room.

  A moment later, she comes to the couch with drinks in hand. She slides close as she passes me my glass. We sip in silence at first. No rush, no pressure. Just the warmth of the whisky and her thigh pressed against mine.

  “Life’s weird. Dominoes are always falling, and we never see them,” she says after a moment, eyes on the amber swirl in her glass.

  She leans her head against my shoulder, and the weight of her there settles something in me. For a while, we don’t speak. We just finish our drinks and sit.

  Eventually, the glasses are empty, her body curled into mine, with my arm around her. I study her, the way the light touches her cheekbones, the curve of her mouth, and all I can think is I don’t deserve this beautiful woman.

  But somehow, she’s mine.

  And for the first time in a long time, the future isn’t a storm I have to brace against.

  It feels like peace.

  Chapter 23

  Magnolia Steel

  The presidential suite at the Harbourview Grand is cluttered by the aftermath of eight women getting glam at once. Hair tools, lipstick tubes, and setting sprays are scattered across the counter. It’s a mess that says a good night is about to happen.

  Violet twirls in front of the full-length mirror, her black sequin jumpsuit catching every flicker of light like a disco ball with legs. “Do I look like a bride’s responsible maid of honor who won’t let her drink too much and embarrass herself?”

  “Hell no,” Leilani calls out from the sofa, sipping Prosecco. “You look more like the maid of honor who’s going to get shit-faced with her friends and future sisters-in-law.”

  Violet lifts her glass with a playful smile. “Aww, sisters-in-law. We’re not even engaged, but I love y’all already.” Violet blinks rapidly. “First drink in and I’m already getting mushy. Someone cut me off right now.”

  Leilani tips her glass in Violet’s direction, eyes twinkling. “No way in hell I’m letting a potential sister-in-law like you get away from Elias. I’ll put him in a chokehold and drag him to the jeweler myself if I have to.”

  Violet laughs, shaking her head. “Did you hear that, Magnolia? A chokehold. Leilani, you’re the sweetest little psychopath I’ve ever met.”

  Leilani’s a vision in black satin—tight, short, and unapologetic—with a strapless neckline and a flourish of feathers crowning the top of her bodice. They flutter every time she moves, which is often.

  “You’re both psychopaths, if we’re being honest—but at least you’re hot ones.”

  Leilani winks. “Takes one to know one, bridezilla. And to be clear—I meant hottie, not psychopath.”

  “She’s a psychopath too,” Violet adds, lifting her glass with a grin. “Hot and a handful. It’s a package deal.”

  Their laughter dances around me as I glance toward the mirror. Tonight, I look every inch the bride. The white dress is sexy yet elegant, hugging in all the right places—made for celebration, not subtlety. A sash that reads “BRIDE” rests diagonally across my chest in bold, glittering gold, proudly declaring my status, while a headband veil crowns my hair, its delicate tulle trailing down my back.

  Chloe’s already a drink or two in, standing at the mirror in a black bodycon that hugs her curves like she was melted and poured into it. She swipes on a fresh coat of lip gloss, lips pursed in concentration. “I’m not sure what kind of night you lot are planning to have,” she says, smacking her lips, “but I’m out for a real good time. And I’m not about to get picky about what that includes.”

  “Brace yourself, everyone,” Julia says, smoothing the black sheath dress that hugs her curves with classy restraint. “I’ve got a babysitter, a breast pump in my purse, and zero intentions of going home early.”

  “I’m ready to celebrate the end of single life with the best girls ever. Let’s make this a night to remember,” I say, adjusting the strap of my white silk slip dress.

  My reflection stares back at me—white dress, glittering sash, veil cascading down. There’s no mistaking it. I’m a bride.

  Laurelyn leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. She looks perfect in black satin, not a hair out of place. “You’re a dream, babe.”

  Krishna is at my side with a flute of something bubbly for me and a sparkling water for herself. “To the bride,” she says, voice warm, eyes shimmering.

  “May your night be wild and your hangover mild,” Violet says, clinking her glass against mine.

  “To questionable decisions and unforgettable memories,” Chloe says.

  Leilani raises her glass, her grin downright wicked. “To my new sister—may tonight be legendary, and tomorrow’s hangover absolutely worth it.”

  I take a moment, just a breath, to soak it in. These women. This moment. The chaos, the love, the unapologetic glitter.

  I’m getting married in a week. But tonight, I’m letting them drag me wherever they want. Within reason.

  Probably.

  The moment we step onto the party bus, it’s clear Leilani and Violet have no intentions of easing me into the night.

  The interior is a riot of neon lights, chrome rails, velvet bench seats, and a bar already stocked with everything under the sun, glitter shot glasses, and what resembles a portable karaoke mic.

  And there’s a pole in the center.

  Leilani leaps onto the pole. Because of course she does. “If nobody’s making it rain with bills, I’m charging a cover at the door.”

  Violet sinks into the seat beside me, legs crossed, drink in hand. “Alex said he couldn’t trust Leilani, so I promised him I’d be in charge of keeping it classy tonight.” She takes a slow sip and bursts into laughter. “But he knows that’s a lie.”

  Krishna connects her phone to the speakers and queues up a playlist she curated for tonight. I’ll admit—she’s surprised me. Her wild side and explicit music taste is not what I expected from the woman who color-codes her pantry and sends thank-you notes for thank-you notes. Clearly, she was familiar with disorderly conduct before she married Kye and became pregnant.

  Chloe squeals when the bass drops and throws back the rest of her drink with practiced ease. She sings along—every word on beat—which catches me off guard. I didn’t peg her as someone who could recite lyrics about sex on yachts and blowjobs in back seats with that much confidence, but she’s in her element tonight.

  Sefina watches Leilani spinning on the pole, arching a brow. “It’s going to take at least three more drinks before I can think about doing that.”

  Julia picks up the bottle, pours, and hands a glass to Sefina. “Here’s the first of three.”

  Sefina laughs and slams it back in one smooth tilt. “Woo, damn, that lit me up on the way down. Give me another.”

  As the city lights blur past the tinted windows, I settle back into my seat, smiling at the madness unfolding around me. I may not have asked for a party bus with a pole, and a playlist filled with songs about wild sex, expensive liquor, and making poor decisions while wearing designer shoes—but I have to admit that these women know how to throw a damn good night.

  The Velvet Vine lives up to its name—twinkling garden lights strung across the rooftop, low-slung velvet booths in jewel tones, and a skyline view that makes the entire city feel like it’s ours for the night. There’s a low hum of music, the clink of crystal, and laughter.

  We claim the largest table near the balcony. A server brings food menus, but most of us are too busy admiring the cocktail list—fruity, flirty, and far too dangerous.

  Chloe props her chin in her hand, eyes tracking the bartender with blatant interest. “I wonder if he does after-party room service,” she says aloud as he pours a drink with one smooth motion.

  Laurelyn chokes on her water, and coughs violently.

  Leilani leans in, her smile wicked. “Chloe! I love you unfiltered.”

  Sefina arches a brow, amused. “You’re a whole vibe by yourself tonight.”

  Chloe shrugs, not even pretending to be innocent. “I’m out for a good time. That’s the assignment, right?”

  Violet grins. “And here I thought Leilani was going to be the scandal tonight.”

  “Hey,” Leilani says. “I’m still going to be the scandal.”

  Food arrives—small plates of figs and prosciutto, sliders with truffle aioli, little skewers of something I have to try. But it’s the next server who catches my attention. She carries a tray with a precision that says something magical is about to happen.

  One by one, she places a wooden board in front of each of us. On it sits a flight of four miniature cocktails in delicate coupe glasses, each with a cheeky card nestled beneath.

  “The Wedding Flight,” she says with a wink. “One for each stage of surrender.”

  Blushing Bride. The First Kiss. Something Blue. Married AF.

  Every woman at the table lights up.

  “Look at that. A tasting menu for questionable decisions,” Leilani says, vibrating with excitement.

  Violet lifts her Blushing Bride first—rosé champagne, elderflower liqueur, and something floral I can’t pronounce. “This one’s going to my head in the best way.”

  Julia picks up Something Blue, gives it a slow swirl, then raises her glass. “To Magnolia. May your wedding be gorgeous, your marriage happy, and your husband forever adoring.”

  “To Magnolia!” they all echo.

  I blush and smile, the affection in their words almost too much. The drink in my hand is sweet and heady—but nothing compared to this moment.

  Leilani leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “By the way, I booked something special for us after this.”

  “That sentence worries me,” I say.

  “As it should.” She clinks her glass against mine. “But trust me—you’ll never forget it.”

  And I already know––whatever it is––I didn’t approve it, and Alex wouldn’t either.

  The club is called Thunder Down Underneath, which already tells me everything I need to know—and nothing I was prepared for. The neon sign outside pulses like it’s daring us to be on our best behavior.

  Spoiler alert: we are not.

  Inside, the music is loud, the lighting moody, and it smells of cologne, alcohol, and coconut-scented body oil. There’s a stage with velvet curtains, chrome poles, and a mirrored ceiling I pretend not to notice.

  I stop dead as soon as we walk in.

  “No,” I say flatly. “Absolutely not. I’m marrying someone hotter than any of these men.”

  “Ewww.” Leilani struts past me, ready for a night of fun. “Relax, Magnolia. As a bride, it is your God-given right to have a good time before you’re hitched to my brother for the rest of your life.”

  A server ushers us to a VIP table close to the stage. The room is alive—music thumping, women screaming, drinks flowing.

  The lights go down, and the curtain goes up.

  Cue the music, the muscles, and the oiled-up, shirtless chaos.

  Alex won’t be happy about this at all.

  Leilani, Chloe, and Sefina go wild when they see all that skin.

  The men are ridiculous—like something out of a calendar your mom would pretend not to own. Cowboy hats, firefighters’ pants, low-slung jeans holding on for dear life. They’re dancing with a confidence that suggests they’ve never heard the word no a day in their lives.

  One of them peels off the stage, heading straight for our table. I stiffen as he approaches. Tall. Shirtless. Grinning. Zero shame.