Page 165 of Make the Play

And for the first time since the message, I feel warm again.

Chapter thirty-one

I’m thinking I want to kill them

Chase

The city’s still quiet.

Sunlight spills across the apartment in hazy stripes, catching on steel and glass, and I stand at my floor-to-ceiling window, mug of lukewarm coffee in hand, watching the morning bleed in. The T-shirt I threw on still clings to last night’s sweat, and my jaw aches from how tight I’ve been clenching it.

Zoe’s still asleep in the bedroom. I left her curled up on my side of the bed, wearing one of my oldest T-shirts and nothing else, legs tangled in the sheets like they’re grounded here. But I know her too well—she’s not grounded, not really. Last night cracked something open in both of us.

I sip my coffee and think about the message. That fuckingphoto.

The idea that someone was in the arena, watching her, and close enough to snap a picture. Close enough to know what she was wearing and close enough to believe they had the right to say what they said makes me want to punch a wall.

My fingers tighten around the mug. I want to destroy something, to find whoever’s doing this and make them feel even an ounce of what I felt when I saw her face last night—scared and trying not to be.

“You’re doing your serial killer stare again.”

Her voice cuts through the quiet, dry and a little raspy with sleep. I turn, and she’s leaning against the living room doorway, arms crossed, bare legs peeking out from under my T-shirt.

She walks over, takes the mug from my hands, and sips, then grimaces.

“This is cold.”

“So am I.”

She arches a brow. “Nice. Broodyanddramatic. Are we sure you’re not the leading lady in this relationship?”

I want to smile, and I almost do. But then she shifts, nudging her hip into me, and her expression softens.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Didn’t want to.”

She nods once. “You’re thinking about what we do next.”

I meet her gaze. “I’m thinking I want to kill them.”

“I know.”

“But that’s not what we’re doing.”

“No,” she agrees, taking the mug from my hands and setting it down. “We’re going to flag it properly.”

I pause, watching her.

“Not just forward the screenshot and say,‘FYI, another weird one,’” she adds. “This one crossed a line. No more playing it down for optics, no more pretending it’s fine when it’s not”

I step in closer, bracketing my hands on either side of her hips. “You sure?”

She nods. “I’m not interested in being the cool girl who plays it off until shit gets really dangerous. I wanna handle it like I’m not one of those idiots in a movie who goes into the basement after hearing a noise.”

Relief punches through me harder than I expect, and I lean in, pressing my forehead to hers.

“I was gonna call your boss myself.”

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