Cole's shoulders sagged slightly, the defensive tension draining away. "It was a long time ago."
"Doesn't mean it stops hurting." I shifted on the stool, trying to find a position that didn't make my ribs ache. "Trust me, I know something about carrying old wounds."
He looked at me then, really looked at me, his green eyes searching my face. "I suppose you do."
An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. I wanted to ask more questions, to understand what kind of hold Edward Armstrong-Wells had over his son, but Cole's expression warned me not to push.
"I should get dressed," I said finally, sliding carefully off the stool. "Figure out my next steps."
"You don't have to leave," Cole said quickly, then looked surprised at his own words.
"Your father clearly has people watching you," I pointed out, even though I knew for the sake of Ricky and his family that I needed to stay. "If he finds out I'm here..."
"He won't." Cole ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in dark spikes. "I'll be more careful."
I raised an eyebrow, wincing as the movement pulled at my still-bruised face. "Why risk it? You heard him—you've got a real chance with the team."
Cole's expression hardened. "I'm tired of letting him control every aspect of my life."
The words hung between us, charged with a defiance I hadn't expected. This wasn't the careful, controlled Cole I'd first met. This was someone fighting back, even in thissmall way. "Besides," he added, his voice softening, "you're still healing. Those bruises need at least another week."
I should have argued. Should have told him I'd been taking care of myself for years and didn't need his protection. But the truth was, I did need it—at least for now. And there was something else, something I couldn't admit even to myself: I didn't want to leave.
"One week," I agreed finally. "But I'll need to figure something out after that."
Cole nodded, relief flickering across his face. "We'll figure it out together."
I wasn't sure what that meant, or why it made my chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with my injuries. I just knew that for the first time in a very long time, I wasn't facing my problems alone.
And that terrified me more than any beating ever could.
Because now I had something to lose.
As I turned to head back to the guest room, my hand unconsciously brushed against the envelope of cash hidden in my borrowed sweatpants. The envelope. The money I'd accepted in exchange for betraying Cole.
The weight of it burned against my leg, a physical reminder of my betrayal. I hadn't texted the number yet, hadn't actually betrayed Cole, but I knew I was going to. I knew I was going to have to.
Like every other person in Cole’s life.
Chapter nine
Major Penalty - A serious infraction resulting in a five-minute penalty.
Cole
The ice in St. Louis felt harder than usual—slicker, meaner. Maybe it was just me. Road games always felt colder, and Father's interference made everything worse, but I wasn’t about to admit that to anyone. We had a game to win.
We’d come off a good run. The boys were confident, hungry. Taranis was sharp in net. Max was already chirping before warm-up even ended. Everything should’ve gone right.
Then the Sentinels started their usual crap.
They didn’t play to win—they played to get under your skin. It was all cheap hits and dirty hooks behind the refs’ backs. Every time I lined up for a face-off, Marchand—their center, built like a bulldog with a smirk to match—leaned close enough that I could smell the damn mint gum he chewed.
“Still trying to play leader, Armstrong?” he sneered. “Heard your rookies do the thinking for you. Guess some boys just need their hands held.”
I kept my mouth shut. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t react. Not again.
But he kept at it.
