Page 122 of Racking Up Penalties
“Here,” Ethan says, patting the spot beside him as they push the last mattress into place. “This is perfect.”
“More than perfect,” I correct, crawling into the center of our makeshift bed, pulling them close.
Liam lies on one side, his presence a comforting weight. Tristan tucks in behind me, his body a solid line of warmth. Ethan stretches out across from us, his brown eyes reflecting a mix of affection and contentment.
“Group snuggle,” Tristan announces, and we all chuckle, shifting closer until there’s no space between us.
It’s an odd sensation, this tangle of limbs and shared warmth. But nestled here, surrounded by these men who’ve come to mean so much to me, I feel a sense of belonging that’s both exhilarating and calming.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the quiet, not needing to specify what for. They understand. They always do.
“Always, baby,” Liam responds, his voice low and steady.
“Family isn’t just blood,” Ethan adds, his hand finding mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Right,” Tristan agrees, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.
We lie there in comfortable silence, the rise and fall of our chests in sync. And as sleep begins to claim us, cocooned by love and the soft murmur of night, I realize that no matter how confusing life gets, this right here—this moment—is all the clarity I need.
Chapter 52
“Good morning, Ms. Jones,” I greet, my voice steady, tinged with a newfound edge, a blade sharpened by critique and ready to carve my place in this world. The outfit I wear is my armor; bright, bold, undeniably me. It’s more than clothing, it’s a declaration that I belong here.
“Let’s see what you’ve got today, Tessa,” Ms. Jones responds, her tone appraising but not unkind. Her words are a challenge, one I’m eager to accept.
I nod, feeling every pair of eyes on me as I make my way to the front. Today, there’s no trembling hands or wavering voice. I stand poised, sketchbook open, ready to unveil my latest design, a fusion of classic elegance and modern flair.
“Here’s my design,” I begin, confidence threading through every word. “It’s inspired by the renewal of the season, a blend of growth and strength.”
The room hushes, all attention riveted on the vision I lay bare on paper. This is where I shine.
“Interesting,” Ms. Jones murmurs, peering closer, and I recognize the flicker of intrigue in her gaze.
I share my creation with the class, as I bask in the glow of renewed purpose, I believe in myself too.
I pivot slowly, my presentation complete, the last whispers of my concept hanging in the air like the final notes of a symphony. Ms. Jones’s eyes are calculators, dissecting every line and curve of my designs. The silence is thick, punctuated only by the soft scratch of her pen against the notepad.
“Thank you, Tessa,” she says finally, and I can’t quite read the verdict in her voice. But it doesn’t matter. Not really. Not when I’ve got this fire kindling inside me, stoked by Ethan, Liam, and Tristan’s belief in my talent.
I return to my seat, threading through the maze of tables, feeling the weight of my classmates’ stares. Some are curious, some envious, but they’re all seeing me. A girl on the precipice of something great.
“Good job, Tessa,” a voice whispers, and I glance up to catch a supportive smile from across the room. My heart swells with gratitude, a silent thank you lingering on my lips as I nod in response.
Settling into my chair, I let a smile break free. The tension in my shoulders releases, and I allow myself a moment to just be, to feel the pride in what I’ve accomplished today.
“Class dismissed,” Ms. Jones announces, snapping me back to reality. Chairs scrape against the floor, and the room fills with the din of students packing up their supplies.
“Hey, Tessa,” someone calls out as I gather my things. “You going to work on your design tonight?”
“Absolutely,” I reply without hesitation, a smile playing on my lips. “I’m too excited not to.”
“Can’t wait to see it.” They offer an encouraging thumbs-up before disappearing into the throng of students filing out of the classroom.
After my success with the teacher who is always the hardest on me, I rush to the coffee shop to meet my guys.
They’re all waiting at the table so I nestle in the corner booth of the coffee shop, the scent of espresso beans and sweet pastries wafting around me like a comforting hug.
“My presentation went well!”
