The post-game press conference is packed. Reporters fire questions about the hat trick, the assists, the dominant performance that helped us secure a crucial road win.
"Declan, your play has been exceptional lately," one reporter says. "What's different? What's driving this level of performance?"
My eyes find Ivy in the back of the room. She's trying to be inconspicuous, but I see her.
"Sometimes you find the right motivation," I say, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.
The reporters eat it up, speculating about my answer. But I don't elaborate.
Ivy knows who I'm talking about. She's ducking her head, fighting her own smile.
Back at the hotel, I'm riding high on adrenaline, victory, and love I finally admitted out loud. Tonight I'll tell her everything. Show her the texts as King, explain why I lied, make her understand that I fell for her as both versions of myself.
Maybe she'll be angry or she'll hate me for a while.
But we love each other. That has to count for something.
I reach for my phone to review the King messages, plan exactly how to phrase this confession.
My pocket is empty.
I check my other pocket. My bag. The nightstand.
Nothing.
"No!"
I tear through my luggage, dumping everything onto the bed. Check the bathroom, the closet, and under the furniture.
Both phones are gone.
Panic claws at my throat. I had them at the arena. I remember checking messages in the locker room after the game. But somewhere between there and here, they disappeared.
The phones are lost or were stolen.
And with them, all the evidence of my double life has disappeared.
But I've never lost my phone before, meaning that they were most likely stolen.
Who took my phones? And if that person finds out about the King deception, what would they do?
19
IVY
Orgy History
Isit at the family dining table, watching Declan charm my parents with an ease that should be illegal. They’re the ones who invited him—eager to meet Marcus’s famous best friend—despite Marcus’s obvious fury.
Marcus couldn’t stop it. And now Declan is here, effortlessly winning them over, while my brother seethes beside me.
I’m still a little off-balance from last night. From the words we said. From admitting that this isn’t just attraction or convenience anymore.
Declan looks… different tonight. He’s wearing a button-down that makes his shoulders look even broader, his dark hair styled instead of its usual mess. Polished. Controlled. Sophisticated.Nothing like the cocky athlete I met in the therapy room months ago—or even the hockey star who dominated the ice last night.
"So, you raised your siblings alone?" my father asks, gaze fixed on Declan. "That must have been extraordinarily challenging at nineteen."
"It was." Declan's voice is measured. "But they needed stability more than I needed to party my way through my early twenties. Riley and Rowan are the best thing that ever happened to me, even if the circumstances were tragic."
