Page 9 of The Risk Taker

Austin bursts into the kitchen with a grin. “Morning, boys. Who’s making breakfast?”

Ryan trails in behind him, yawning as he rubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t say Nathan. He’ll try to feed us kale again.”

I shoot him a look. “When have I ever fed you kale?”

He arches a brow. “You don’t remember those kale omelets you made that literally nobody but you ate?”

I sigh. Sue me for trying to keep these motherfuckers at least a little healthy. “Jesus, fine. I’ll make pancakes.”

Austin slides into a chair, cheering. “This is why I love you, Hayes. Don’t be shy with the bacon.”

“Sit down before I make you cook.”

“Can’t,” Austin says with a shake of his head. “I burn water.”

A scoff leaves my lips at Austin’s usual antics as I open the fridge and grab the ingredients. Their voices fade into background noise as I lay the bacon on the grill. The sizzle fills the room, but inside, I’m wound tight.

Dad’s voice is still in my head telling me to be his anchor and keep him focused.

Easier said than done.

Logan makes it impossible. He’s loud, reckless, and always two steps from trouble. Exactly the kind of distraction I don’t need. Not when my own head’s already a mess.

I glance over before I can stop myself, catching him already watching me. He throws a wink my way and something in my chest goes tight. I look away fast and focus on flipping the bacon, pretending the heat hitting my face is from the stove.

My hand presses against the counter, my muscles tensing.

Being around him is the last thing I need.

And yet, somehow, I’m the one who’s supposed to keep him in check. Make sure he cools it on the partying, shows up on time, stays focused.

Which would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't react to him the way I do, if he didn’t get under my skin so damn easily.

3

LOGAN

Ican’t believe I ever thought about skipping college.

Honest to God, there was a moment in senior year, in the middle of a brutal double-header weekend, where I sat on the bench, looked out at the ice, and thought,Why the hell am I wasting time applying to schools when I could just sign with some fourth-tier league and get paid?

I wouldn’t have to deal with exams or early morning lectures. But then my coach convinced me that college would be “fulfilling” and “good for me”—blah, blah, blah—and I let that cranky old bastard get in my head.

And now here I am. Friday night. Half-naked in the middle of my room, surrounded by cleanish laundry, about to hit a frat party.

No regrets.

It’s been a week since Nathan cornered me in the kitchen and gave meThe Talk.You know the one—show up on time, stop partying, keep my shit together, Coach is watching.

I unfortunately listened, and I’ve been good all week. But tonight I need to blow off a little steam.

I run a towel through my damp hair and kick a stray sock out of my path as I cross the room to dig through the pile of laundry. I’m not really in the mood for anything that requires ironing, so I grab the black tee draped over my desk chair.

When I pull it over my head, I catch a hint of glitter near the collar.

Seriously? Still? How the hell did that survive so long even after being washed?

I shake it off, spritz on some cologne, and give myself a once-over in the mirror, ruffling my messy hair for a few seconds. Good enough.