Page 104 of Filled

“Don’t ruin it,” I warn.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dakota lifts her head, looks past me to Brady. “Brady. Are you okay?”

He nods. Doesn’t speak. His leg is still bouncing.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Her voice is so gentle. “Just, if you’re not okay, signal. I’ll come over.”

He shakes his head. Then nods. Then shakes his head again. He doesn’t know what he is.

“You’re safe,” Dakota says.

Eli pushes himself up on an elbow. His voice when he speaks is Coach again, but softer than I’ve heard it.

“Williams.”

Brady’s head comes up at his name.

“Watching is participating.” Eli’s voice is steady. “What you did tonight—being here, holding space for us—that’s not less than. That’s just as much. You understand me?”

Brady’s throat works. “Yes, Coach,” he manages, barely.

Cruz pushes off the bed, naked and unbothered, and pads to the kitchen. Comes back with water bottles balanced in his arms. Drops them on the bed and starts handing them out.

“Drink. All of you.”

Dakota sits up to drink. Eli does too. I push myself upright slowly, every muscle pleasantly destroyed, and accept the bottle Cruz pushes into my hand.

When I lift it, Eli’s eyes catch mine over the rim. We hold each other’s gaze a moment too long. His mouth curves. Just slightly. Just for me.

I tip my bottle toward his and we drink.

Brady accepts a water bottle but doesn’t open it. He sits on the edge of the bed with it cradled in both hands like he’s praying to it.

His leg is still bouncing. Fast. The kind of bounce that’s not nervous energy anymore. It’s containment. Pressure looking for a release valve.

I watch him without making it obvious. His breathing hasn’t settled. His chest is moving too fast. His pupils, when he glances up, have swallowed so much of the irises that his blue eyes look black in the lamplight.

He’s looking at Cruz.

And at Eli.

His eyes track between the two of them, dragging from one to the other like he can’t decide who to land on. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping in his cheek.

Cruz notices. I see it the moment he does. His easy posture sharpens. He sets his water bottle down on the nightstand without looking away from Brady. Goes still in a way that’s deliberate.

Dakota’s seen it. Her hand drifts to my forearm and squeezes once, very gently.

Eli’s still riding his own wave, but even he picks it up. His eyes shift to Brady, and he goes quiet.

The room hushes.

Cruz, slow and easy, putting his frat boy demeanor on hold, shifts on the bed. Turns his body to face Brady directly. His hands open at his sides. The invitation is in his shoulders, his throat, the way he just... waits.

Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t push.

Just sits there open for whatever Brady decides he needs.