Slowly, Brittany calmed down.
Not just outwardly—her restless, anxious heart also began to settle.
Lance didn't speak further. Instead, he took a step back, giving her space and time to think, letting the world fall into silence.
Brittany noticed. She lifted her head, carefully studying him.
"You're defending Patrick."
Lance said, "Of course."
She blinked—he admitted it just like that?
Caught off guard, Brittany stared at him.
Lance gave a slight shrug. "I'm his friend, not yours. Speaking up for him, defending him—isn't that normal?"
"God, don't get me wrong. I like Sherlock, and I don't mind him crashing in my guest room. But I still prefer my own space."
Then Brittany understood—and burst out laughing.
She'd always been wary of Mahomes' teammates, convinced they were all the same kind of trouble. But if she had to choose one, she thought, Lance wasn't the worst option.
Her smile lingered briefly.
She took a deep breath. "Patrick… is he doing okay?"
"No. He's not," Lance answered bluntly. "And I'm not lying."
"We lost a crucial game for a lot of reasons—our opponents played brilliantly and deserve full credit. Plus, our team's negative press and missing players brought extra uncertainty.
"But in the end, after a loss, we usually look to ourselves first. That's better than blaming teammates. Sherlock… is the same."
Others might not know, but that didn't mean Mahomes could forgive himself.
Only Kelce knew Mahomes had been staying at Lance's place. No one else had a clue, especially not about the fight with Brittany.
Clearly, Mahomes' mind was unsettled. He wasn't at his best.
If they had won, it would've been different. But losing—no matter the reasons—had left Mahomes blaming himself, unable to let it go.
Even though his performance was far from bad.
Brittany wasn't surprised. "That idiot's always been like that."
This time, the Kansas City Chiefs were right in the middle of the storm. The flood of online criticism was a complete disaster.
Lance understood her concern. "I already told everyone in the locker room—delete all social media apps. All of them."
Brittany almost choked. "All of them?"
He shrugged again. "You know how ugly and ridiculous those online comments can get. There's no reason or logic—so the best move is to block it all out and shut them up."
She thought about it and had to admit—he was right.
"Anyway," Lance continued, "in the internet age, everything comes and goes fast. Headlines last minutes. In two or three days, it'll be old news. By then, people will be focused on something else.
"If we win the next game, the crisis is over."
In sports, nothing fixes problems like a win. And if one win isn't enough—
Especially since this mess started with a loss.
"Maybe you should delete your social media too," he added.
Brittany blinked. "What?"
He repeated himself, then added, "You stopped me earlier because of the trash you saw online, didn't you?"
Right on target. She felt oddly exposed.
Her cheeks warmed. "Let's go back."
"Oh," Lance said lightly—just enough to tease her for changing the subject so abruptly.
She lifted her chin. "I was actually planning to tell Patrick to come home…"
Lance instantly put on a polite smile. "After you, Miss Brittany."
What had started as a jog ended up as a stroll. They walked only a few hundred meters before looping back.
Lance opened the door and gestured her inside.
Brittany didn't hesitate, striding in.
Her clear voice rang out like an angel's call from hell, piercing straight into the heart.
Even Lance felt a chill. Innocent or not, he found himself wanting to hide.
It was like being a kid again—watching cartoons after school, hearing your parents come home, scrambling to hide the TV was still warm, and rushing back to your desk to pretend you were doing homework.
He followed her inside.
Left. Right. No sign of Mahomes. The guest room door was wide open—empty.
Brittany moved quickly, gliding through the house with steps as nimble as a martial artist.
"What the hell, God, what are you doing?" she exclaimed.
Mahomes was hiding in the gym? Wide open space, nowhere to hide—and yet, there he was, crouched behind a punching bag, hugging it like he wanted to merge with it.
It didn't work. And it looked ridiculous.
He knew it, too. Peeking out from behind the bag, he gave an awkward smile. "I don't even know what I'm doing."
"I just want to come home. Can I come home?"
Brittany took a deep breath. "I swear, I don't even know who you are anymore."
Mahomes nodded. "Me neither."
Letting go of the bag, he stood up, looking at her with puppy eyes. "I'm sorry. For everything. I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I really want to come home. Can I?"
She glanced at Lance.
He spread his hands—your call.
Brittany looked back at Mahomes. "Fine. Let's go home."
Mahomes' face lit up. He wrapped her in a huge hug. "I love you, Brittany. Really."
Then he flashed Lance a triumphant smile—see, the pity act worked.
Brittany had one last move. While Mahomes wasn't paying attention, she kicked him in the shin.
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