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Don’t leave me.

“The fucking press. They never know when to stop,” Asher grumbled, his expression darkening. Out of all of us, he’d had the longest, most tumultuous history with the press.

“Yet they love you now.” Samson clapped him on the back. “You’re England’s national hero.”

Asher rolled his eyes, but his expression lightened a bit as the room erupted into fresh cheers and toasts. The sound helped pull me out of my head, and I raised my glass along with everyone else before draining the rest of my drink. It was to celebrate Asher, who’d worked his ass off for a World Cup trophy his entire career, but it also dulled the ache of missing Carina, at least for the moment.

The whiskey slid smoothly down my throat and warmed my stomach. My teammates were sprawled throughout my game room, as comfortable as if it were their own. It was nice to have laughter in the house again after weeks of dreariness, and they didn’t hound me about the headlines. They simply showed up, and we got rip-roaring drunk in the safety of my house. For a team that rarely agreed on anything, we’d all been in silent accord that it was best to avoid the Angry Boar given the headlines about me constantly drinking there.

If the Andersons could see us now, they’d claim our hangout was more evidence of my hard-partying ways, but fuck them. I wasn’t neglecting anyone by having a drink with friends, and the guys’ presence helped take my mind off Carina. As long as I didn’t think about her, or hear her name, or see anything that reminded me of her, I was fine.

Totally fine.

“Wilson.” Gallagher sidled up to me while Asher and Samson left to battle it out over Call of Duty. He ran a hand through his hair, looking awkward. “I, uh, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For sending those DMs on Konnect from your account. I was just messing around. I didn’t think it would, ya know, get out to the press. That was a real shitty thing that girl did, but what I did was pretty shitty too. So yeah.”

I almost choked on my own saliva. Gallagher was a great player, but he was notorious for being a bit of an asshole. He also never apologized, not even for the time he was goofing around and accidentally tossed Stevens’s passport in the lake. So for him to come to me and willingly admit he was wrong…well, that was almost as momentous as England winning the World Cup.

“Also, I reached out to the press and told them I was the one who sent those DMs,” he said. “Just posted about it online too. I don’t know if anyone will believe me, but it can’t hurt, right?”

“That’s…thank you,” I said, still stunned. There was a strange tickle in my throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Gallagher shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Whatever. Not a big deal. Don’t get all fucking sentimental on me, Wilson. You know I can’t stand that shit.”

I snorted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The Konnect DMs were the least of my problems, but Gallagher caring enough to take public responsibility for them meant more than I’d expected.

I poured him a glass, and we drank in silence. This time, the whiskey settled even warmer than before.

“Sorry I’m late!” Stevens burst into the room not a minute later, carrying Truffle in his arms. He made a beeline toward us. “I had to pick up Truffle from the pet spa. They messed up his hoof trim. It was a whole thing. Anyway, I brought him for you. He’s certified as an emotional support animal. Here.” He plunked the miniature pig unceremoniously in my lap.

I stared at Truffle. Truffle stared back. After a short, mutually confused standoff, he oinked once, spun around in a circle, and plopped down in my lap with his butt facing me.

Emotional support animal, my ass. Still, I patted the top of his head gingerly, keeping my palm flat like I was dribbling a basketball. I had no idea what to do with a pig.

“Uh, thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” Stevens beamed.

“Did you bring the copy of The Dilophosaurus Dildo that I lent you?” Gallagher demanded.

Stevens’s smile wavered. “I forgot it at home,” he said, looking guilty.

“Come on. I told you I needed that copy for our next book club,” Gallagher complained. “It’s annotated and shit.”

While the two bickered, Vincent slid into the seat on the other side of me. Truffle perked up, and Vincent cooed over the happy pig for a bit before addressing me. “How’s your shoulder doing?” he asked.

He’d been more reserved than usual the past few days. I knew he was happy for Asher as a friend, but he was bummed about losing the World Cup as a player. However, I spotted a glimmer of his usual confident steadiness as he waited for my answer.

“Fine. Healing on schedule,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in shape for the start of the season.”

“I was asking as your friend, not your captain, but as your captain, that’s good to know.” Vincent arched an eyebrow. “On another note, you want to tell me what’s going on with you and Carina? Brooklyn has been cursing your name since we got back. Apparently, Carina’s now staying at Asher and Scarlett’s place?”

My fingers tightened around my glass. So much for not thinking about Carina. “I told you. It’s easier for her to stay elsewhere while all this shit is going on.”

“Uh-huh.” Vincent didn’t look convinced. “And the reason my girlfriend is pissed at you is…”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

“Noah.”