Page 34 of False Catch

Reese

I can't sleep.

It's 1:47 AM according to my phone, and I've been staring at the ceiling of the guest room for the past two hours, replaying everything. Quinton's warning about protection versus possession. Gray's desperate certainty that Quinton will hurt me. Jackson's voice commanding me to his will without even trying.

My body is wound tight with confusion and want and frustration that has nowhere to go.

Finally, I give up on sleep and head downstairs for water. Maybe chamomile tea. Maybe something stronger if I can find where they keep the liquor.

The kitchen light is already on.

Zane stands at the stove, stirring something in a pot, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. The warm light catches the definition in his shoulders and back, muscles moving as he stirs. His chestnut hair is messier than usual, like he's been running his hands through it. Even from behind, he's beautiful in that effortless way that makes my stomach flip.

"Can't sleep either?" I ask softly.

He jumps slightly, then relaxes when he sees it's me, turning to face me fully. God, he's unfairly attractive - all warm brown eyes and easy smile, even at this hour. His chest is broader than you'd expect from his lean build, tapering to narrow hips. There's a dusting of hair across his pecs that trails down past his navel, disappearing beneath his waistband.

"Hey, sunshine. Yeah, my stomach's all fucked up. Happens when I get anxious."

"From today?"

"From everything." He keeps stirring, but I notice his hands are shaking slightly. "The inspection, the probation, Quinton showing up like that. When everyone's tense at dinner, I can't..." He trails off, looking embarrassed. "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid."

He glances at me, something vulnerable flickering across his features. That's when I really look at him - the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders curl in slightly, protective. This isn't just anxiety. This is something deeper. "I had some issues in high school. With food. Eating stuff. Got bad for a while before my parents got me help."

The admission hangs between us. Zane, golden retriever Zane who's always laughing and baking and making sure everyone eats, has his own demons.

"Is that why you bake?" I ask, moving closer to the stove.

"Started as exposure therapy, actually. My therapist thought if I could control making food, I could control eating it. Turns out I'm pretty good at it. And feeding other people makes me feel... useful, I guess."

"You are useful. You hold this team together in ways you don't even realize."

He turns to look at me fully, and there's something different in his eyes. Darker. Hungrier. Not for food.

"Do I?" His voice has dropped lower. "Sometimes I feel like the weak link. Everyone else is so... intense. Gray with his control, Jackson with his brooding, Bo with his protectiveness. I'm just the guy who makes jokes and cookies."

"You're the one who makes us human," I say, stepping closer. "You remind us there's more to life than just rowing and winning. You make us laugh when we want to break things. You feed us when we forget to take care of ourselves."

I'm close enough now to see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, the way his pupils dilate as he looks at me.

"Reese," he says softly. "Why are you really down here at two in the morning?"

"I couldn't stop thinking."

"About?"

"Everything. The team. What we're becoming. What I want versus what I should want."

His hand comes up slowly, giving me time to step back if I want to. When I don't, his fingers brush my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear before sliding to the ends.

"What do you want?"

"Right now?" I lean into his touch. "To stop thinking for five minutes. To just... feel something uncomplicated."

"Nothing about this is uncomplicated," he points out, but his thumb is stroking along the curve of my jaw now.