I climbed into bed with a book and read for twenty of the longest minutes of my life. The house settled around me, every familiar creak and hum easing into silence. When I finally turned off the light and clicked on our white noise machine, I lay there in the dark, listening to my own breathing until even my nerves seemed to grow tired.
Only then did I move.
Tonight wasn’t about my permanent escape, although everything in my being wished that were the case. It was about solidifying a plan. It was about being patient and careful, about not making any wrong moves too soon.
But I would get to see Shane.
That was enough for me.
I slipped from the bed and crossed the house barefoot, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it would give me away. The hallway was unlit. I tiptoed along the wall with the burner phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline. The door we never used that connected to the side of our house was just beyond the nearest camera’s line of sight, something Shane had somehow clocked during the exec dinner, long before either of us had known how badly I would need that knowledge.
From the burner phone, I tapped into our security app, quickly disarming the system. I unlocked the door as quietly as I could, opened it carefully, stepped into the cool night air, and quickly armed the house again. I’d disabled the notifications toNathan’s phone discreetly before he left, but he still had the app on his phone. One look and he’d see whether the system was armed or not. I prayed he didn’t pick that exact moment to look, that he wouldn’t dig too deep into the logs.
It was all a risk — this whole thing.
But it was a risk worth taking.
Maven waited down the road with her engine idling, the car dark and unobtrusive. I didn’t look back at the house as I walked toward her. I didn’t let myself hesitate. The door closed behind me, and with it, something tight and painful inside my chest finally loosened.
The drive to Shane’s passed in near silence, save for Maven asking if I was okay. I simply nodded, and she grabbed my hand and squeezed, a silent promise that it would all be okay somehow.
Shane was already waiting when we pulled into his driveway.
He stood there with his hands in his pockets, his posture rigid as if he were holding himself in place through sheer restraint. The moment I stepped out of the car, that restraint gave way. He crossed the distance in a few long strides and pulled me into his arms, solid and warm and unmistakably real. I sank into him, my face pressed to his chest, breathing him in as he held me.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, though it sounded as much like reassurance to himself as it did to me. “Okay? Trust me. I’ve got you. I’ve thought this all through.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him no matter how he’d thought it through, none of us were safe from Nathan Black.
He kissed my hair before releasing me enough to thank Maven with a hug. Then he guided me inside, the door closing behind us with a soft, final click.
And I allowed myself to believe him.
Just the Way It Is
Shane
Present
I watched Ariana take in every inch of my home as I walked her through it, guiding her toward the living area. She paused more than once along the way, her eyes tracking the framed team photos lining the hallway, the plaques and trophies mounted with understated restraint. She lingered longest in front of the photograph of me with the Stanley Cup lifted over my head, the Ospreys packed tight around me, all of us frozen mid-roar. Her lips quirked upward, something like pride softening her expression, before she finally moved on.
Though I’d never claim to be an interior designer, I did consider myself a man of taste. The space reflected that in a way that felt instinctive rather than curated — clean lines, dark woods, leather softened with wear. The furniture was substantial and meant to be lived on, not admired from a distance. An old-school record player sat against one wall, its walnut casing polished from years of use, stacks of vinyl neatly organized beside it. Across from that, a wide bookshelf stretched nearly from floor to ceiling, packed tight with hardcovers and dog-eared paperbacks, some hockey-related, others completely unrelated, all of them well-loved. The house had always felt grown to me; grounded and masculine without being cold.
I’d lived here since accepting the coaching job in Tampa. It was farther from the stadium than most people might expect, a newer build perched along the water in Indian Rocks Beach, but the distance had been intentional. I needed a place that created space between me and the rink, somewhere I couldn’t see the stadium lights from the driveway or hear the echo of the crowd in my head the second I walked through the door. Not that it always worked. I’d lost count of the nights I’d slept at the stadium anyway, especially during playoff races, but this place had always been my attempt at balance. It was my reminder that there was a world beyond the ice.
Ariana hummed in amusement as she traced my record player, tapping her nails on the CD player perched right next to it. Her blue eyes sparkled when she cocked a brow at me. “Care to join us in the age of Bluetooth speakers?”
“Not when I have these at my disposal,” I said, bending to retrieve a thick album of CDs. Ariana’s jaw dropped before she stole the thing from my hands. Then, she was giggling and shaking her head as she thumbed through it.
“Wow,” she said, pulling one from its protective case and holding it up to show me. “Warm Up Mix 2005.”
“And it’s a banger, too.”
“I justknow50 Cent is on here.”
“The Game, too. But don’t get it twisted,” I said, holding up one finger firmly. “Fall Out Boy and Foo Fighters take up just as much space.”
“What’s the first song?”
