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“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “It’s just weird.”

I understood that, and I didn’t push. Snow crunched under our shoes, and more than once, I slipped on unseen ice only for Jude to laugh at me. By the time we made it to the GOAT house, my face hurt from the cold, and we were dusted in snow, but our spirits couldn’t be any higher. The house practically vibrated from music and laughter. Lights spilled through every window, and an obnoxiously large banner hung across the porch that read, Road Runner to the Pros. There was even a life-size Road Runner cutout next to the door.

We barely made it through the door before someone shouted Jude’s name—screaming like their life depended on it. He barely had time to turn before Wyatt launched himself at Jude.

“Oh, fuck!” Jude exclaimed, staggering backward with the tackle. I just barely managed to dart out of the way to avoid getting caught in the mayhem. “Holy fucking hell! You’re going to kill me!”

“Oh, bullshit,” Wyatt retorted. He finally released enough of his death grip to sling an arm around Jude’s shoulders instead, but there was no hiding how happy he was. A wide grin split his face, matching Jude’s. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“You saw me last month!” Jude laughed and tried to shove him away, but Wyatt refused to budge.

“Exactly. Forever.” Wyatt had made the trip back and forth to Florida more times than I could count over the last year and a half. My couch practically had a dent from where he slept, and I’d stopped asking how long he planned to stay whenever he showed up with a duffel bag. Eventually, I started bringing him around my work and lined up an internship for him after graduation.

“Rhodes, you’re looking cold.”

“I am,” I said. The rest of the house was already noticing our arrival. Voices carried toward the entryway, and a few familiar faces appeared from the living room. Someone farther inside yelled something about Jude finally deciding to grace Maine with his presence. I had approximately thirty seconds before we were swallowed whole by the party. Quietly, I asked, “Where’s Theo?”

“He ran into the bathroom just before you got here,” Wyatt told me. And that was my cue to get out of there.

While Jude got pulled into the living room by three different people at once, I slipped away before anyone could redirect their attention toward me. I knew the layout well enough to make it down the hallway without asking. The bathroom door was shut with light spilling out from under it.

“Theo?” I called out as I knocked once. The door flew open. I barely had time to register him standing there before his hand caught the front of my coat and yanked me inside. “What the—”

Theo shut the door quickly. He pressed a finger to his lips to shut me up as he offered me an apologetic smile. As he did, he pulled the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker.

“—sure about that? You sound like you might throw up.”

Coach Glen Hendrix of the Tampa Bay Barracudas.

My smile was immediate. Of all the teams that had shown interest in Theo, Tampa Bay had always been the one he wanted most. He’d tried to play it cool whenever anyone asked, insisting he’d be grateful wherever he landed, but I knew better. I’d seen his whole face change after meetings with their staff. The way he dissected every comment Hendrix made afterward like there might be some hidden clue buried inside it.

Apparently, he finally had his clue.

As the conversation carried on, I peeled off my coat and set it on the sink. I listened silently to every word and prepared myself to be whatever Theo needed me to be.

“Honestly?” Theo laughed nervously. “That’s a possibility.”

“Don’t do that yet,” Hendrix replied with a confident chuckle. “We’ve still got paperwork for you to sign.”

“Yes, Sir.” Theo’s gaze stayed locked on mine. After months of speculation, workouts, interviews, and people analyzing every second of his football career, he suddenly looked remarkably young standing there. Not immature. Just like the twenty-something kid underneath all the attention had finally caught up with the enormity of what was happening.

I couldn’t begin to imagine what his nerves felt like. So I held out my hand, and Theo took it immediately. His fingers threaded through mine and squeezed hard enough that I felt the tension running through his entire arm.

“Now, listen, Theo,” he continued, “we’ve spent a lot of time watching you this year. Film, Combine, interviews—the whole thing. And every time we come back to your name, we’re all seeing the same thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“You make people better around you. You run hard, you’re smart with the ball, and you don’t quit on a play just because it stops being pretty. But more importantly, your teammates follow you. That matters to me.”

My chest swelled. Plenty of measurable things made Theo good—speed, strength, instincts. Those were numbers scouts could put into spreadsheets and compare against every other running back in the draft.

But that was Theo. He made people want to follow him.

“Thank you, Coach,” Theo replied. His voice was softer, and his thumb moved restlessly over the back of my hand.

“Do you remember what you told me when we met in Tampa?” Hendrix asked.