Back on the bench, Jax muttered, “Jesus.”
Theo elbowed him. “He’s in a mood.”
I glanced down the bench and locked eyes with Logan—his gaze laced with silent, bone-deep loathing. What the fuck was that about? For the moment, I dismissed it.
Chase just watched me, brow low.
I sat down and breathed deeply.
Avery slapped her palms against the glass again, grinning wide. But her eyes flicked to the empty seat beside her. Just for a second.
And that was when I knew. Mila would come. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not the next game. But she would show. She always had. And when she did, I would be ready. Because this wasn’t over. Not even close.
My father didn’t call. He summoned.
One text from his assistant, and I was leaving the rink immediately after the game, still smelling like ice and sweat, to stand in the corner office of King Enterprises. Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the Blackwood skyline like a trophy case. Most of those buildings? Ours.
Grant King didn’t look up from the folder in front of him. “You’re late.”
I dropped into the chair across from his desk. “I was at my game.”
His gaze finally lifted—cold, assessing. “Sports are fine, but don’t mistake it for a future. Hockey is a window, Luke. You need to start thinking about what happens when it closes.”
This was nothing new. He’d been grooming me for the summer internship since I could drive. Made it sound as though it were an honor. A rite of passage. The truth? It wasjust another leash. I’d never quite forgiven him for how easily he’d written Drew off when he fell—alcohol, drugs, the spiral everyone witnessed but no one stopped. Dad had been pissed about the stain on the family name, not the fact his oldest son was drowning. That had been left to Claire and me to fix.
“Dunn Industries made an offer on the Bayview property this morning,” he went on. “We can’t let them get their hands on it.”
I frowned. “It’s just a hotel.” He’d been looping me into deals like this for years, shaping me into whatever version of me he wanted sitting in this office one day.
“It’s leverage,” he corrected, leaning back in his chair. “If Dunn controls that block, it pushes us out of the harbor district. And if we lose that, we lose control of a lot more than you understand right now.”
I didn’t miss the way he glanced at the closed side door—Lorne’s. The partner who handled the “messy” parts of the business. I’d learned early that whatever went on in those meetings wasn’t for me to hear.
And that was the thing about my father—business talk was neverjustbusiness. So when he shifted gears, I knew it was a setup.
“You’ll be polite to Elise Dunn,” he added smoothly, as if it were just another line item on a spreadsheet. “Keep her close. If Charles Dunn wants a working relationship, we give him the illusion of one. And another thing—you’ll stay away from distractions,” he said, tone sharp enough to cut. “I hear Mila Callahan is back.”
My pulse jumped, but I kept my voice flat. “And?”
“And you would be smart to remember why she left. Your mother and I warned you about her. That family is trouble. Always has been.”
The flash of the necklace burned in my mind—finding it in my hockey bag like the ultimate fuck you parting gift. I stood, adjusting the strap of my duffel. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Family is what matters. Protecting it comes before everything.”
I met his stare. “Sure. Family first.” What I didn’t say was that family was the only thing that could cut you the deepest. And some wounds never stopped bleeding.
CHAPTER FIVE
MILA
The moment I stepped into the hallway the next day, the air was so thick with tension, I nearly choked on it. Heads turned, whispers rippled past me, curling upward the way cigarette smoke did. I slowed, senses spiraling. Something was wrong.
Clusters of girls—Elise’s crew—lined the lockers ahead. They parted, backs stiffening, allowing her to glide forward first. A black leather jacket, heels clicking against tile, designer bag swinging low. Triumph shadowed her eyes. A smile curved her lips, a fuse freshly lit.
I froze by my locker, stomach twisting as I sawTrashscrawled across the metal in jagged black marker. The ink dripped, bleeding into the surface, part watercolor gone wrong, part open wound. My chest clenched, but I refused to wince.
One thing was for sure, I didn’t dress the same. Jeans, a gray vintage fitted T-shirt, and beat-up sneakers. I liked what I wore, but Mom and I had never wasted cash on designer brands when we could find cool knockoffs or other styles. Did I want to look like Elise? I let my gaze travel the length of her. Nope. Not evena little. If I wanted to wear designer clothes someday, I would for me, but never to fit in. I wasn’t built that way.
