Breaking the Grid

Unreal

By the time Alessia and I reach the restaurant where the team night is held, the chatter is spilling out onto the street. Laughter, voices raised, someone already singing off key—typical. Alessia bumps my shoulder as we walk in, whispering, "Stick with me. You'll survive."

The moment the door swings open, it's like stepping into a wave of warmth and noise. Katie's voice rises above the others, "Kyraaa! She's here!" and suddenly all heads turn.

I'm pulled in before I can even react. Arms looping around me, pats on the back, the kind of chaotic affection only teammates can manage.

I laugh despite myself, trying not to trip as Laia hooks her arm through mine and drags me toward the long table. "We saved you a seat. Right here, next to us. No excuses."

I slide into the chair, Alessia on my other side. The table is already cluttered with shared plates—nachos half-eaten, drinks scattered, menus forgotten.

Almost immediately, Steph leans across with narrowed eyes. "So. You okay? Really?"

I roll mine, reaching for a glass of water. "Yes, Steph. I'm fine."

Katie, of course, isn't buying it. She rests her chin on her hand, dramatic. "You don't look fine. You look like someone whose girlfriend made her cry."

The table hums with little nods and murmurs. Laia even gives a sympathetic little frown.

For a second, I just stare at them. My teammates, professional athletes—and here they are, building conspiracy theories about me and Blair like high schoolers gossiping at lunch.

I let out a small laugh and shake my head. "You're all dumb, you know that?"

"Excuse me?" Katie raises her brows.

"Dumb," I repeat, grinning this time,"—it's sweet that you care this much." I glance around at their expectant faces.

That gets them. A round of groans and playful pushes, someone throwing a napkin at me. Alessia smirks, "See? We're cute, Ky."

I sip from my glass, watching them argue over who's cuter, and there's a warmth in my chest I didn't expect. They might drive me insane, but they're here. They're here for me, whether I want them to be or not.

I lean back in my chair, letting the noise wash over me, and for the first time today, I let myself just... relax.

-----

I step out of the car, smooth down my trousers, and immediately hand the valet the keys. "Take care of her, yeah?" I say, slipping a note into his hand. His smile widens as he nods and drives off with my car. I fix the collar of my suit jacket, pull it across my shoulders properly, then head toward the restaurant.

Inside, it smells of warm wood, rich food, expensive whiskey. The lighting is soft, golden, the kind of place where conversations don't leave the table.

"Good evening, Miss Beck," the receptionist says with a polished smile. She leads me across the room to a corner table. Zak is already there, a glass of what I'm pretty sure is whiskey balanced in front of him.

The moment he sees me, he pushes himself up to his feet. He waits until I've thanked the waitress before he leans in for a hug—not stiff, not formal, but warm. Family-like. And that's exactly why I value my relationship with Zak. He never makes me feel like an employee.

"Blair," he says with a grin as we sit, "you're glowing."

I laugh softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.