Chapter
Seven
ROAN
Iwas going to kill Rhett.
Not in the fun, locker-room, “you dumbass” kind of way, either. No, this was more thehow many strings I would have to pull to have his phone banned from league press listskind of murder.
Because even hours later, the fallout from his little stunt hadn’t slowed. My phone continued buzzing with updates—half speculation, half denial, and somehow all fire.
And for what?
Some ego-fueled tantrum over Beckett fucking Rylan walking into our rink?
Get in line.
I stood outside Marchand’s office door, arms crossed, debating whether or not barging in without an appointment would be worth the blowback. The man had a knack for baiting power plays, and I wasn’t in the mood to be tested.
Not when every bone in my body was telling me to do something else entirely.
Go check on her.
I clenched my jaw, forced the thought out of my head. It was pointless. She’d made it clear—again and again—that she didn’twant that kind of attention. That we werenotgoing to cross any of the lines she'd drawn.
But those lines hadn’t accounted for Rylan. Or the headlines. Or thelookin her eyes earlier.
Something was wrong. Deeper than PR, deeper than press.
I didn’t need to scent it to know. Still, I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to disrespect her by pushing. No, I was just… going to make sure. Pivoting, I was already halfway down the hall, striding for her office.
Just a quick check. A knock on her door. A chance to offer?—
"She's gone."
I turned even as I halted, immediately on edge.
Jay stood just down the hall, dark hair mussed from the wind, that same unreadable expression locked across his face.
“What?”
“She left,” he said simply. “Car’s gone. She packed up before she met with Marchand.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago. Maybe fifteen.”
I didn’t move. Not at first. Rhett would’ve exploded—rushed out into the parking lot, scent wild and ready to fight a ghost. I held the reaction under my ribs like something sharp, pressing against bone.
“Did she say anything to you?” I asked.
Jay’s gaze didn’t flinch. “She said she needed to get on the road.”
That was it. Not where. Not why.
No heads-up. No promise to check in.
She just left.
