"Nothing. Just a long day at work."
"Bullshit." Emma's voice sharpens. "I know that look. Something's wrong. Tell me."
I run my hand through my hair, trying to think of a plausible excuse. But my mind is too fuzzy from the scotch and the emotional turmoil to come up with anything convincing.
"It's complicated," I finally say.
"Everything with you is complicated." She moves closer, studying my face. "This is about a woman, isn't it?"
My silence is answer enough.
Emma's expression shifts from concern to something harder. "I heard an interesting rumor at the country club today."
My stomach drops. "What rumor?"
She tilts her head, her eyes never leaving mine. "That my father is sleeping with the new English teacher." She pauses, letting the words sink in. "The same Mia Wilson I absolutely hated in high school."
17
BLAKE
I lie awake staring at my ceiling, replaying Mia's confession on an endless loop. The devastation in her eyes when she admitted she couldn't choose between us haunts me more than the revelation itself. I've competed my entire life. Football taught me what it means to fight for what you want, to push through pain and exhaustion to claim victory. But it also taught me the difference between healthy competition and destructive conflict.
This situation with Mia isn't a game. There's no trophy at the end, no championship ring. Just a woman I'm falling for who's being torn apart by guilt and impossible choices.
I roll onto my side and check my phone. Three a.m.. In a few hours, I'll need to be at school pretending everything is normal while the woman I care about suffers. While Jack and Noah suffer. While we all destroy each other fighting over something that shouldn't be a competition.
The idea hits me around four a.m., so obvious I'm shocked it took this long to surface. Maybe it's insane. Maybe it's the sleepdeprivation talking. But the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.
By the time dawn breaks, I've made my decision.
I text Jack first:Need to talk. My place tonight at 7. Important.
His response comes twenty minutes later:About Mia?
Yeah. Just come.
Noah's text is similar:Can we meet tonight? My place at 7. We need to discuss the situation.
Blake's place at 7,I correct.Jack will be there too.
The three dots appear and disappear several times before Noah finally responds:Okay.
The day drags interminably. I go through the motions of coaching, running drills and reviewing plays, but my mind is elsewhere. I catch glimpses of Mia in the hallways between classes, her face pale and drawn. She avoids eye contact with all of us, and I don't blame her.
Jack looks like hell during the afternoon assembly, his jaw tight and his eyes shadowed. Noah sits three rows behind me, his usual calm demeanor cracked around the edges.
We're all suffering. And for what? Male pride? Territorial instincts? The outdated notion that a woman can only belong to one man?
By the time seven o'clock rolls around, I've rehearsed my pitch a dozen times. I've anticipated every objection, prepared counterarguments, and steeled myself for the possibility that they'll think I've lost my mind.
Jack arrives first, his suit jacket discarded and his tie loosened. He looks around my living room with the assessing gaze of someone preparing for battle.
"What's this about?" he asks without preamble.
"Wait for Noah." I hand him a beer from the fridge. "You're going to need this."
Jack's eyebrows rise but he accepts the bottle, taking a long pull. We stand in awkward silence until Noah knocks on the door five minutes later.