“She still in Spain?”
A rough exhale blasts out of me.“Don’t think so.”
He studies me, his curiosity finally winning over his tact.“What happened between you two, Mads?I get you can’t tell me everything, but I’ve had a hard time wrapping my head around it.In high school, you were inseparable.Everyone thought?—”
“What are you now, the reporter?”I cut him off, aiming for a light, teasing tone, but a sharp edge cuts through anyway.
His eyes widen, brows lifting in a slow arc.Message received.
Before the silence can get too heavy, footsteps thump down the hall, and Kellen reappears, wiping his hands on his jeans.I clap my palms together, the sound echoing too loudly in the small kitchen.
I nod toward the gear on the table.“Come on.Let’s get these rigs set up before the sun gets too high.We’ve got a lot of roof to cover.”
Kellen dips his chin, unfazed by the tension, and grabs rolls of flashing.Oliver watches me for one more beat, his expression unreadable, then heads out.
I follow them through the door, and the cool morning air hits my face.But even the mountain chill can’t wash away the sour taste Marcos left behind—or the nagging fear that some secrets are too heavy to keep buried forever.
Chapter9
Maddox
The guys are at the base of the ladder, sorting gear, and Oliver stops to study me, gauging my mood.
Kellen points his chin toward the peak with a grin that’s half-challenge, half-mischief.“Hope you stretched, Hartley.This one’s gonna suck.”
“Good.”I haul the extension ladder into place and lock the brackets.“I could use it.”I welcome the distraction from all the thoughts swirling around in my head.
We climb up to the roof, then spread across the pitch.Frost clings to the shingles where the sun hasn’t hit yet, and the air is a sharp mix of pine, damp cedar, and old tar.
Kellen crouches near the ridge and sinks his pry bar under a damaged shingle.“Heard the team played their hearts out last night.”
“They did.”I peel back a layer of felt to check the underlayment.
Oliver anchors a safety rope to the chimney, testing the weight before looping it around his waist.“He handled the bus situation, too.Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”
My jaw locks.I don’t take credit for things I didn’t do.“Wasn’t me.”
Kellen’s hammer stops mid-swing, and Oliver’s gaze cuts toward me, sharp and expectant.
I snap open a fresh bundle of shingles, a gunshot in the quiet morning.“Buchanan stepped in.She handled what I should’ve had covered.”
Kellen’s brows lift.“Buchanan?”
“The reporter doing a profile piece on Coach here,” Oliver says before I can.
Kellen’s grin sparks with immediate trouble.“That right?She hot?”
“Don’t.”My face flushes at the sudden heat in my chest.“She’s here to do a job.”
Kellen throws up a hand, laughing.“Damn, okay.Didn’t know she was sacred ground.”
“It’s not like that.”The words are too clipped, too defensive to be even remotely believable.
I focus on the shingles, aligning edges with a precision they don’t need; meanwhile, Oliver pretends to be busy with a rope tie, but the smirk on his face is telling.
Never one to back off, Kellen pokes again.“Relax, Coach.Nobody said you were in love.”
I shoot him a look that should peel paint, but no surprise, he grins wider.“But you maybe want to tell me why the mention of her makes you look like you swallowed a wrench?”