Milton nods once, solid and sure. “Always.”
He climbs into the passenger seat without another word. The drive home is tense; my jaw works the whole way, hands tight on the wheel. Milton stares out the window. I can feel the energy coming off us like static.
She’s waiting for us when we get home. Sitting on the couch, off-shoulder sweater, copper hair spills around her face in soft waves, eyes bright even in the low light. The second she sees us, she stands and goes straight to Milton.
Doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look at either of us first. Just walks right up to him.
His whole body softens like someone flipped a switch. She reaches up, touches his face, thumbs brushing gently along his jaw like she’s memorizing him. He leans into her touch without thinking, eyes closing.
“I missed you,” she signs and mouths it too.
Milton swallows hard. Bayleigh looks between us, those sharp green eyes narrowing, reading everything we’re not saying.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, once again signing and speaking at the same time. “Something happened.”
Milton hesitates. Lincoln’s jaw tightens immediately, his shoulders squaring like he’s bracing for a hit. I can see the anger simmering just under his skin, the kind that wants to break something.
“It’s nothing,” I say too fast. “Just hockey shit.”
She doesn’t buy it. “Tell me.”
He exhales hard through his nose. “Some of the guys ran their mouths after practice,” he admits. “Locker room bullshit.”
Her brows draw together. “About me?”
I answer before he can soften it too much. “Yeah. About you. About us.”
Milton nods once, quiet. “They said things they shouldn’t have. Nothing worth repeating.”
She studies our faces, searching for the parts we’re not saying out loud.
Lincoln’s hands clench at his sides as he walks up. “They crossed a line,” he adds, voice tight. “They don’t get to talk about you like that. I’ll go to practice with you from now on if I need to.”
She steps to Milton then, climbing right up his body like she knows exactly how to stop a spiral. Her hands slide up his neck, thumbs brushing his jaw, forcing his eyes down to hers.
She kisses him slowly. His hands come up to her waist automatically, breath easing out of him. She comes to me next, moving into my space without hesitation, forehead resting briefly against mine. Her scent stays calm, steady.
Then Milton scoops her up and carries her to the couch, settling her into his lap with his arms wrapped around her middle. She curls into him easily, her back to his chest, like that’s where she belongs.
She pulls back to look at him, thoughtful.
“Why does it upset you so much?” she asks. “You don’t even like half of those guys. They’re kind of known for being the biggest dicks in the league.”
Milton huffs a weak laugh. “That’s true.”
“So let them talk,” she says simply. “Why does it matter?”
I swallow, stepping closer.
“Because I’m scared,” he says. “Not of them. Of losing you. I don’t want their bullshit getting into your head. I don’t want you thinking you don’t belong here—with us.”
Her hand comes up, cupping his face without hesitation.
“I know,” she says. “But I’m stronger than they think.”
I lift my hand into her line of sight first, waiting until her eyes find mine. Only then do I speak. “And we know that,” I answer for him. “I just… love you. And I don’t want anything touching that.”
Her eyes soften instantly.
