Page 72 of Eight Count Heat
"New assignments then," Gray announces. "Strickland and Callahan. Reed and Blake. Wu and Stone. Monroe, you're with me. Hollis gets the rollaway in my room."
I suppress a groan. Rooming with Gray means listening to him obsess over race strategy until the early hours, but if it means Reese is comfortable and safe, I can handle our captain's neuroses.
"Everyone get checked in and settled," Gray continues. "Team meeting in the conference room in thirty minutes, then dinner at seven."
As we move toward the hotel entrance, I fall into step beside Reese and Bo.
"You sure about this arrangement?" I ask quietly. "Because if you change your mind, I can always bunk with someone else."
"I'm sure," she says. "Besides, Bo promised not to snore."
"I make no such promises," Bo replies with a grin. "But I'll do my best."
As we enter the hotel lobby, I catch sight of an elegant couple near the concierge desk. The woman has Reese's dark hair and sharp cheekbones, while the man radiates the kind of authority that comes from expecting the world to rearrange itself around his presence.
Reese sees them at the same moment I do, and every line of her body goes rigid.
"Shit," she breathes.
"Your parents?" I ask unnecessarily.
"My parents," she confirms, straightening her shoulders like she's preparing for battle.
The weekend just got a lot more complicated.
But as I look around at our team—Gray already moving to position himself strategically, Bo staying close to Reese's side, even Beckett abandoning his usual casual demeanor for something more protective—I realize we're ready for whatever comes next.
We're a team. And teams take care of their own.
Even when facing down disapproving parents in a hotel lobby at the most inconvenient possible moment.
chapter NINETEEN
Reese
The sight of myparents in the hotel lobby stops me cold. Mother stands with perfect posture beside the concierge desk, every inch the polished socialite in her tailored navy suit and pearls. Father checks his Rolex with the impatience of a man accustomed to having his schedule respected. They look exactly like what they are: wealthy, powerful, and completely out of place in a mid-tier hotel filled with college athletes.
"Breathe," Bo murmurs beside me, his presence solid and reassuring.
I force air into my lungs, straightening my spine. Three years of deportment lessons and cotillion training might actually prove useful for once.
"Reese Catherine." Mother's voice carries across the lobby with crystal clarity. She doesn't raise it. Callahan women never raisetheir voices. But somehow everyone within twenty feet turns to look.
I walk toward them, acutely aware of my teammates flanking me like a protective detail. Gray positions himself slightly ahead and to my right, while Bo stays close to my left shoulder. The others spread out in a loose formation that probably looks casual to observers but feels distinctly military to me.
"Mother. Father." I stop just outside their personal space, maintaining the careful distance that years of family dynamics have taught me. "I didn't expect you until this evening."
"Your father was concerned about the security incident," Mother says, her blue-green eyes so like my own scanning my face for signs of damage. "We decided to come early to ensure you were safe."
Father steps forward, his presence commanding even in a hotel lobby. "Reese. You look well."
"Thank you, sir."
The formal exchange feels surreal with my teammates watching. I can practically feel their confusion at the stiff politeness, the careful choreography of a family that communicates through subtext and social protocol.
"Perhaps we could speak privately?" Father suggests, his gaze shifting to encompass the eight large men surrounding his daughter.
"Of course," I say, then turn to Gray. "Can you handle check-in? I'll catch up with you later."
