Andrew lay in a hospital bed, his expression unreadable despite the dull ache of the concussion keeping him tethered to the present. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the room, but he barely noticed. What he did notice was the weight of the team’s collective concern pressing in around him—Neil, Aaron, Nicky, Renee, Dan, Matt, and Allison stood in a semi-circle at his bedside, watching him like he might disappear if they blinked. The tension was thick, unspoken questions hanging in the air.

The game had been brutal, and seeing Andrew like this was unsettling for all of them. But before anyone could say anything, Wymack excused himself, muttering about needing to grab something important. None of them knew what that “something” was—until Wymack returned, a small figure perched on his hip.

The room fell into stunned silence. The child, no older than three or four, clung to Wymack without fear, their tiny fingers gripping his shirt. Their wide eyes scanned the room before locking onto Andrew. Without hesitation, they squirmed, reaching toward him. Andrew’s sharp gaze locked onto the toddler, and he didn’t think—he just acted. Pushing past the dull ache in his skull, he lifted a hand, a silent invitation.

Wymack, familiar with the routine, stepped closer and shifted the child into Andrew’s arms. The moment they settled against his chest, the tension in Andrew’s shoulders eased. Small hands clung to his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, and Andrew let them, his grip steady and secure.

The team stared, exchanging confused glances, trying to piece together a story they hadn’t even known existed. Because as far as they knew, Andrew Minyard didn’t do attachments—let alone to a child. What they didn’t know was that Andrew had met the kid during his last foster placement. And when he left, he hadn’t left alone. The only one who knew? Wymack. Because, when Andrew needed to focus on class, on anything but exy, Wymack was the one who watched over them. And now, the secret was out.