I reached out. Not to touch her—just to be close enough to feel it. That thrum. That impossible tether between us. “I searched for you. For months.”
“I know.”
“Then why lie?”
She met my gaze, fire clashing with guilt. “Because it was the only way to protect us both.”
She was right. The only way to protect her could very well be to stay far away from her. And I would try, starting now.
So I brushed past her, left her behind, and shoved open the door to exit the locker room. Then I was outside, sweat cooling against my skin, when a black SUV rolled to a stop near the curb. Window down. Tinted glass. Too smooth to be a coincidence.
“Luke,” a familiar voice said.
Lorne.
I stared at the car for a second too long before climbing in. The inside smelled like leather and control. Lorne didn’t look up right away, just tapped something on a sleek tablet, casual as hell. When he finally glanced over, his smile was polished steel. Dark eyes holding promises no one wanted to know, his presence filled the car with power, despite the caramel-colored highlights and custom-tailored suit that pretended to civilize the brutal nature underneath.
“You’re making waves this season.”
We’d had one game. But I knew scouts were watching. What I didn’t know was why Lorne was.
“Coaches are noticing.”
I didn’t answer.
“But it’s not just performance anymore.” He leaned in, resting his elbow on the armrest. “Perception matters. And lately, the whispers… they’re loud. About your father, the business, and a woman who came back to town who never should have.”
I stiffened. Letting Lorne into your head in any capacity wasn’t healthy. I couldn’t even hint that Mila or her mom mattered. Not if I wanted to buy time to see if there was anything I could do. If I even wanted to, I still wasn’t sure. “Let them talk.”
Lorne’s smile thinned. “You sound like your dad used to. Before the pressure chipped away at his judgment.”
I looked at him fully. “Are you saying I’m making a mistake?” This man was my father’s business partner and someone who was a part of my family since I could remember, but there was something dangerous about him we all took note of—even if he was supposedly on our side. None of us wanted to imagine him on the other side.
“I’m saying strong men don’t let emotion cloud their control. Don’t let the past dictate their future.”
He was talking about Mila. Fuck. “I’m not my dad.”
“No.” He paused. “You’re still becoming someone.”
He handed me a folded piece of paper. I recognized the logo even before I unfolded it. One of our silent partners.
“Just keep your head clear. Eyes forward.”
When I stepped out of the car and opened the paper, my stomach dropped. It wasn’t just a development property. It was the boardwalk art studio Dad had sworn we would protect. But it was listed for sale. Lorne’s name was at the bottom. And suddenly, everything I thought I knew was the first crack before the avalanche.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MILA
The hallway was quiet. I’d just come from the office where the secretary informed me that my class schedule had been rearranged. I should’ve known. It was only a matter of time before Luke stepped in and did something. This was his chess move. I knew, without even going to my first class of the day, that I would find him and the rest of the guys in it. Maybe even Avery—I hoped she would be there as a buffer against them.
Morning light filtered through the windows, and my backpack tugged at my shoulder as I paused to count the lockers until mine. That was when I saw Elise.
Across the hallway, her silhouette punched through the stillness. She leaned back against a locker, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Around her, a couple of her minions hovered—smirks on their faces, phones out, waiting.
Logan Mitchel, one of the hockey players, slouched beside her, his smirk slick as oil. That was new. I didn’t know much about him, but they looked chummy, and when he glanced at me—dark eyes gleaming, thin lips curled into a smug smile—my skin crawled. That reaction alone told me everything I needed. He was bad news. And his proximity to Elise made him worse.
Still, I squared my shoulders. I’d been through worse. A graffitied locker, a plate full of spaghetti smashed into me, and a thousand whispers. It was different than my last school. There, I excelled at keeping to the shadows, being invisible. The risk of drawing too much attention, of gaining the notice of the wrong crowd or even person, might mean a switchblade to the leg or a fight in the bathroom. Here, they used words as their weapons. I could easily play that game I wasn’t afraid of what they threw at me. Because nothing they tried could ever hurt me. I would have to care for it to, and I didn’t. They were a tiny blip on my radar.
