Page 53 of Worth the Shot

Miles lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I got carried away.”

Everyone goes quiet for once as we dig in, the kind of silence that only happens when the food is actually worth shutting up for. Plates fill, forks move fast, and the only interruptions are the occasional “holy shit” or someone insisting the last bite was somehow better than the one before it.

“Hey,” Wes says suddenly, pointing his fork at Brennan. “Those reps after practice? It’s working.”

Brennan glances up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. That cut to the middle you’ve been on me about? I finally hit it clean yesterday. Didn’t even think about it.”

Brennan nods once, like he expected that. “Told you. You were overthinking it.”

There’s no ego in it. No “I knew I was right.” Just simple, steady. Like this is what he does—shows up, pays attention, helps without making it a whole thing.

Shayne snorts from across the table. “Wait—why am I just now hearing about this? You’re working on your edges with him?”

Wes doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me?” Shayne leans back, offended. “I’ve been doing that since before you could skate straight.”

“Exactly,” Wes shoots back. “You’re old. Your advice comes with stories.”

Emma laughs. “He’s not wrong.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Shayne mutters.

Wes shrugs, gesturing toward Brennan. “Besides, he’s better.”

Shayne points his fork at Brennan. “Don’t let that go to your head.”

Brennan just shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Too late.”

“He stays after all the time,” Wes adds, like it’s obvious. “Doesn’t have to. Just…does.”

That lands a little differently, because he’s right. I’ve seen it. The extra laps, the quiet conversations, the way people naturally end up around him like it’s the easiest place to be. He doesn’t make a show of it. Doesn’t need credit. He just…shows up.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Wes continues, mouth full again. “He acts wike it’s nuffin, but he da weason I didn’t eat shit on dat pway wast game.”

“You’re welcome,” Brennan says dryly.

“Unbelievable,” Shayne mutters, going back to his food.

By the time we’re done, we’re all leaning back in our chairs, full to the point of regret and already mentally committing to looser pants. Miles disappears into the kitchen and comes back a minute later with dessert—a homemade cheesecake that looks just as good as everything else he’s made tonight.

“Of course you made cheesecake,” Emma says, already reaching for plates even though none of us have room.

Miles shrugs, a little sheepish. “Felt like a good idea at the time.”

“Everything felt like a good idea at the time,” Shayne mutters, leaning back in his chair. “Now I can’t move.”

“Same,” Wes adds, hand shoved under his shirt as he rubs his stomach. “If I stand up, it’s over for me.”

“Try it,” Jo says, already leaning forward like she’s about to get front-row seats. “I want to see you struggle.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she says, a slow, devilish grin spreading across her face.

We all take a few obligatory bites, because it would be criminal not to, but it doesn’t take long before we’re waving the rest off.