I flick the bottle cap at him. It pings off his shoulder. “I’m not obsessed. I just hate the guy.”
Lincoln finally looks up, jaw tight. “You hate a ghost. Not him. Let it go, Korbin.”
“Let it go? You want me to forget that Gina mess? The black eyes, the locker room fights, the suspensions because Benton couldn’t keep his dick—or his elbows—to himself? She was with me first, remember?”
Lincoln’s patience cracks.
He leans forward, eyes hard. “You wanna talk about forgetting? Fine. But let’s get it straight—you’re not still mad about Benton throwing elbows. You’re mad about Gina. You’re mad she left you.”
My jaw locks, but he doesn’t stop.
“Then she slid her way right into his bed, just to end up with that bastard Jensen on the Devils. She wasn’t in love with either of you. She was climbing. Using every alpha dumb enough to believe she gave a damn.”
The words hit like a check to the ribs.
Lincoln sits back, calm again, like he didn’t just rip open a scar I’ve spent years stitching closed.
“Maybe it’s time you stopped letting her ruin your damn life, Korbin,” he says quietly. “She’s gone. But you’re still fighting the demons she left behind.”
Milton stays where he is, rolling his beer bottle between his hands, gaze fixed on the label instead of me. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, rough around the edges.
“You realize what this is, right? You’re pissed because she’s Benton’s sister and she’s making you question what side you’re actually on.”
I scoff, but the sound’s empty.
He’s not wrong.
I glance between them—my brother and my best friend—and for the first time, I’m the one out of sync. They’re both going soft lately. Lighter. And it’s not just because of her, though she’s definitely a trigger. It’s like they’ve found something outside of their work; something worth giving a damn about.
And me? I’m still chasing ghosts with my fists.
“You two realize how fucked this looks, right?” I say finally. “A Scorpion and a Lennox. That’s not just bad optics—that’s suicide.”
Milton leans back with that easy grin that pisses me off almost as much as it calms me.
“You mean it’s complicated. Not impossible.”
“Semantics,” I mutter.
Lincoln stretches his arm along the back of the couch, the picture of patience I don’t have. “I’m not asking permission, Korbin. You don’t have to like it. But you do have to live with it.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.”
I shake my head, exhaling through my nose. “Jesus Christ, Linc. You really are gone.”
Milton chuckles. “Guess that makes two of us.”
I look between them again—both of them smiling like idiots—and all I can think is that this is how it starts. How everything goes sideways. A rivalry, a woman, and two men dumb enough to think they can outrun fate.
“Fine,” I say, pushing up from the chair. “When this blows up, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Lincoln’s voice follows me as I head for the door. “Noted.”
The air outside hits cold against my face, biting, sharp. I breathe it in anyway.
Let them chase their little Lennox dream. Me? I’ll stick to what I know—the ice.
