Page 98 of Breakaway Daddies

Then there’s Rowan.

Still in half his pads, his hair a damp mess, his mouth soft and unsure like he still doesn’t believe this is real. He pushes through the crowd and cups my face in those massive hands of his like I’m fragile and fierce all at once.

“You came back,” he whispers.

I blink up at him, grinning. “I was never really gone. Just… confused. And stubborn.”

“God, I missed you,” he breathes, and when he kisses me, everything else falls away.

The cheers fade. The steam from the showers. The slamming lockers. Even Bruno and Thomas are somewhere behind us, arguing about who gets the last protein bar.

It’s just him. Just me. Just this.

And then Thomas dives in from the side and hugs me like a golden retriever missile.

“My turn,” he announces. “You glorious, brilliant, punk-ass miracle of a woman. You came back! Also, please help fix my ankle. It’s doing that weird clicky thing again.”

I wheeze-laugh, completely squashed between them both now, as Bruno just folds his arms behind them and raises one eyebrow.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. His eyes are burning with warmth and something a little shy. A little raw.

He steps forward, slower, steadier, and touches my shoulder. “Welcome home,” he says.

And just like that, I am.

This locker room smells like hell and victory and wet dog, but it feels like heaven. Like home. Like the three best mistakes I ever made, and the rightest choice I’ve ever followed all at once.

I lean into them. Into the chaos. Into the boys.

“I missed you idiots so much,” I murmur.

And Thomas grins. “We missed you more.”

I hug them all like I’m never letting go.

Rowan’s arms wrap tight around my waist, Bruno’s hand settles on the back of my neck like he’s grounding me, and Thomas hooks his chin over my shoulder and sways us gently like we’re slow dancing at the weirdest afterparty ever.

We’re a tangle of sweaty gear and half-dried hair and mismatched hearts that somehow beat in sync now.

“So,” Thomas murmurs, his voice low and hopeful, “did you really mean it? The sign? You actually want to go on a date with us?”

Rowan’s eyes flick to mine, searching. Bruno’s thumb brushes against the curve of my jaw like he’s memorizing it.

I snort, blinking fast because Iwill notcry again. “I mean, considering I got knocked up before we ever went on one? I think it’s long overdue.”

Thomas barks out a laugh. Rowan chuckles under his breath. Bruno just smiles that rare, small smile that feels like a sunbeam slicing through storm clouds.

“We’ll make it good,” Rowan promises. “The date. We’ll plan something epic. Maybe?—”

“No horses,” I interrupt, pointing at him.

“Or chickens,” Thomas adds, mock somber.

“Agreed,” I say, pretending to write it into a contract in the air.

There’s a pause, and then Rowan asks the question I know has been sitting behind all their eyes since I walked in.

“You gonna stay?”

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