"Stay," he whispers, his fingers trailing up and down my spine. "Tonight. Tomorrow. As long as you'll have me."
My chest tightens with emotion so fierce it steals my breath.
"Okay."
He tilts my chin, his green eyes searching mine. "Say it again."
"Okay. I'll stay."
The smile that breaks across his face is pure sunshine.
“I love you.”
Overwhelming warmth fills my chest. “I love you, too.”
He pulls the blanket over us, cocooning us in warmth. I trace the lines of his tattoo; the puck breaking through ice, the hidden initials of his parents.
"What happens now?" I ask quietly.
"Now we fight together." His arms tighten around me. "The hearing, the media, whatever comes next, we face it side by side."
"I'm scared."
"We’ll win this." He presses a kiss to my hair. "And I'm not losing you again, whatever it takes."
I tilt my head back to look at him. The fierce determination in his eyes makes my breath catch.
"Whatever it takes," I echo.
He kisses me then, slow and deep and full of promise. When we finally break apart, I settle against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my palm.
Tomorrow, we face the world. We’ll stand together before the hearing committee and fight for our future.
But tonight is ours.
And for the first time in weeks, I believe we might actually survive this.
30
DECLAN
Vindication
The NHL Player Conduct Review Board hearing room smells like old wood and stale coffee.
I sit at a long oak table beside Patricia Ammon, my lawyer, whose silver hair and steel-gray suit make her look like she was born to destroy men like Gregory. Across the aisle, Gregory lounges in his chair in his perfectly tailored suit, expression calm.
Too calm. Like he's already won.
We're in a conference room at the league's regional office. It has high ceilings, wood paneling, the NHL logo mounted behind the three-person review board. It's not a courtroom, but it’s just as high-stakes.
Behind us, the gallery is packed. Riley and Rowan sit in the front row, matching green eyes fixed on me with fierce loyalty. Marcus sits beside them, arms crossed, jaw tight. Jake, Tyler, Connor, and Misha fill the row behind them—my brothers, blood or not.
And Ivy.
She's tucked between Sloane and Dr. O'Connell, her petite frame drowning in a navy blazer that's too formal for her. Her straight black hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, making her warm brown eyes look enormous in her pale face. She catches my gaze and offers the smallest smile.
It steadies me.
