I swear under my breath and force my focus back onto the ice. But every time I hear Petrov’s voice, it’s a sharp reminder of who’s waiting for me at home.
After practice, the guys shower, joke, file out. I do my usual cooldown, then head to my truck with my phone already in my hand.
A text from Daniel sits there from earlier, short and ominous.
Daniel:
Call me when you can.
My jaw tightens.
I text back.
Me:
I’ll drop by in the afternoon.
Then I drive home.
The closer I get, the more tense I feel.
I’m tense because I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see her again.
I pull into my driveway and shut off the engine. For a moment I just sit, staring at the front door.
I walk in and immediately smell something faintly sweet.
Baking? No. That can’t be right.
Painting supplies are spread across my coffee table. Tubes of acrylic. Brushes. A small canvas propped against the edge like it owns the place.
So she paints.
I can’t see what she’s working on from where I’m standing, but I catch myself wanting to.
She looks up when I walk in, her eyes flicking over my face like she’s gauging the weather.
“Hey,” she says carefully.
“You ready?” I ask, clipped.
Her gaze drops briefly to the canvas, then back to me. “Yeah.”
She moves fast, packing up her supplies with practiced efficiency.
In the car, she’s quiet.
Her hands rest folded in her lap. She’s wearing jeans and a coat, her hair down now, glossy and soft around her face. She stares out the window, avoiding my eyes.
Daniel’s office is in a sleek building that smells like money and power. We ride the elevator up in tense silence.
The receptionist greets me warmly, then looks surprised when she sees Talia.
I ignore it.
Daniel appears a minute later, tall, sharp-eyed, already wearing the kind of expression that says he’s about to ruin my day.
His gaze flicks to Talia, then back to me. “Jake.”
