Page 64 of Too Safe

Locke groans. “Fuck. What I would give for a whole tray of pretzel sticks and a cold beer.” He puffs out his cheeks, exasperated.

“Do you want one?” I ask through a mouthful of food.

“Nicky follows a strict diet during football season,” Kylian cuts in before Locke can even open his mouth to answer me.

Nicky. I seriously love that.

“It helps temper the pain from my rheumatoid arthritis,” Locke mutters. His expression is far less playful now. Instead, there’s a weariness in his eyes, and his shoulders are hunched.

“Pretzel sticks covered in salt and dripping in spicy mustard don’t quite make the cut in terms of anti-inflammatory foods,” Kylian adds before taking a savage bite from the snack in question and chewing it almost obnoxiously while smirking at Locke.

“How did you two meet?” I ask again.

Both men go quiet for a moment, watching each other. Finally, Kylian inclines his head toward his friend.

“My foster parents lived next door to Kylian’s family. I was in the system by age six, and I bounced around for a while. But I moved in with Gary and Brenda when I was ten, and it stuck.”

Taking in a slow, steady breath, I work to keep myself from reacting outwardly. I know enough about the foster system—mostly because I spent half my childhood trying to avoid it—to respect that he’s shared an exceptionally vulnerable part of his past with me. I refuse to pry or make a big deal about how he grew up. Just like I won’t harp on the mention of Kylian being neurodivergent.

Kylian adds playfully, “It stuck because my mom wouldn’t let you go.”

Locke ducks his head subtly at the callout. “True. Not my fault I was willing to hang out with her kid, who clearly preferred computers to people for the first two years of our friendship.”

“Not just computers,” Kylian defends. “I was obsessed with my iPod, too.”

“Dude. Remember that Christmas you got an iPod? The one with the little screen?”

A grin takes over Kylian’s face. “We hid under the covers and watched four seasons ofLoston that two-inch screen over winter break.”

“It took us the entire break, too, because someone had to keep pausing the show to look up fan theories.”

“Yeah, Okay,” Kylian admits with a grin. “Or maybe it took so long becausesomeonewas scared of the island monster?”

“Low blow!” Locke exclaims, pounding his fist into the picnic table playfully. The second he makes contact, he winces and lets out a curse. With a shaky breath, he closes his eyes and drops his head back.

I spin on the bench, looking to Kylian and noting the concern etched on his face. He’s watching Locke with his brows pulled together.

“Nicky…” he hedges. Whether in warning or in comfort is anyone’s guess.

Eventually, Locke opens his eyes and rights himself. He offers me a hollow smile that’s probably meant to be reassuring, then looks past me to his friend.

“How much time do we have left?”

Kylian pulls out his phone and examines the activity at the front table.

“Forty minutes on the clock, but you know Misty’ll push to extend it if the line’s still out the door.”

“And Decker will gladly comply,” Locke mutters.

“Catch me up to speed,” I insist. “I still don’t know what we’re actually doing here.”

Kylian answers this time. “This is one of Decker and Kendrick’s many, many NIL obligations this season.”

“NIL?”

“Name, image, and likeness,” he clarifies. “Appearances. Sponsorships. Endorsements. Meet and greets. You name it, they do it.” He adjusts his glasses. “Nicky has a few obligations this year, too, but not until later in the season.”

I scoff. Why does none of this surprise me?

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