I grin, absurdly pleased to have broken through, even momentarily. "I can shit-talk all day if it helps. It's like my one superpower."
"So I've noticed."
My phone chimes with a text from the pizza place offering me a coupon like they think the reason I haven't ordered yet is because I was on the fence. "Guess I'd better place that order."
"Please, I'm fucking starving," Darren grumbles. "You know how much it sucks to survive on cheese crackers and protein bars because you're avoiding Zayn?"
I laugh. “You could've texted me and I would have at least slid a PopTart under your door.”
"I'll keep that in mind for next time," he says, smirking.
My phone dings with a successful order alert. "Food's on the way. Twenty minutes."
Darren nods, then falls silent, his gaze drifting to the window again. I let the quiet stretch, afraid to break whatever fragile peace we've established.
After a while, he speaks again, his voice so low I have to strain to hear. "I don't know who I am anymore."
The vulnerability in those words hits me. Darren "The Brick" Malloy, the toughest guy on our team, soundslost. Scared, even.
"You're still you," I say simply. "Still Darren. Still The Brick. Still the guy who makes sure rookies know which clubs toavoid and which restaurants won't give us food poisoning before games."
He looks at me, really looks at me, like he's trying to see if I actually believe what I'm saying. "It's not that simple."
“Maybe it is.” I shrug. “Maybe we're all making it more complicated than it needs to be.”
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's going to—" He stops abruptly, jaw clenching.
Go into heat. That's what he can't bring himself to say.
My mouth goes dry. The blanket nest flashes in my mind. The doctors must have been wrong about the timeline.
"Is it... starting already?" I ask carefully.
His face hardens immediately. "No."
But the flare of his nostrils, the way his scent spikes, make it clear he's lying. Or at least, he's not telling the whole truth.
"Because if it is, we should probably?—"
"It's not," he says firmly. "Just nesting instincts. The doctors said it might happen. Doesn't mean anything."
Except it does. It means his body is preparing for something it's never done before. Something that will make him vulnerable in ways he's never experienced.
"Okay," I say, backing off. "But if you—if anything changes, you know you can talk to me, right? Or Jax, or?—"
"I'm not discussing my biological functions with any of you," he cuts in, color rising in his face. "Ever. Got it?"
I nod quickly. "Got it."
The doorbell rings, saving us from the awkward turn in conversation. I jump up to answer it, grateful for the interruption.
When I return with the pizza, Darren has composed himself again, all traces of vulnerability locked away behind his usual gruff exterior. He takes the box from me and flips it open, the smell of cheese and pepperoni filling the air.
"Plates?" I offer.
He shakes his head, already grabbing a slice. "Napkins. I'm not eating off china with a fork and knife like Zayn."
I fetch a stack of napkins from the kitchen and grab two beers while I'm at it. When I turn around, Darren's already demolished half a slice, eating like a man who hasn't seen food in days. Which, to be fair, he hasn't.
