And if I had to tear down whatever wall she’d built between us brick by goddamn brick, I would.
The drive home was a blur of red lights and blurry city lights. My hands gripped the wheel so tight my knuckles ached, but the only thing I saw was her face this morning—tight smile, tired eyes, voice carefully measured like she was afraid the truth might slip out by accident.
Gary’s smug face flashed across my mind, and my jaw clenched hard enough to pop. That son of a bitch was in her head again. I could feel it. She might’ve said it was just “press pressure,” but I knew her better than that. This was deeper. Sharper. And if he or anyone else had put that look on her face…
I’d burn the whole damn world down before I let them do it again.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, the sudden silence like a gunshot in the still night. I sat there for a beat, forcing myself to breathe through the fire in my chest. I needed to be calm—steady—for her. But beneath it all, a storm was building.
She might think she could keep this from me.
But I’ve never walked away from a fight that mattered.
And Kennedy Maddox was the only thing that ever mattered.
Chapter 27
Kennedy
I curled deeper into the couch, eyes locked on the TV like it held the answer to something—anything—other than the dread swirling in my stomach. The second the front door opened, my pulse stuttered.
Nick walked in without knocking, hoodie damp with sweat, jaw tight, eyes sharper than I’d ever seen them. He didn’t say a word, but the air shifted, heavy with everything we hadn’t said. I could smell the ice on him, the rink still clinging to his skin like frost.
He stood there for a beat too long.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice low. Controlled. But I heard the storm underneath it.
I blinked up at him, trying to keep my face neutral, like I hadn’t been waiting for this exact moment since the second he left. “Tell you what?”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”
The way he looked at me—like he could see everything I was trying to hide—made it hard to breathe.
“I’m fine, Nick.” My voice sounded too light, too rehearsed.
He moved closer, slow and deliberate, like he didn’t trust himself not to explode. “You’re not okay.”
I looked back at the screen. The sitcom laugh track felt cruel. “It’s just noise. The press being the press.”
He crossed his arms, blocking my view completely. “This isn’t just noise. They’re coming after you.”
I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I’d seen the headlines. The comments. The photos. The whispers.
“Gary’s name shouldn’t even be in our mouths anymore,” I said quietly.
“Then why is he in your nightmares?” Nick’s voice cracked, not with volume—but with something worse. Hurt.
I stood, heart pounding. “Because I didn’t want you to get dragged into this. You have enough to deal with. Your game against him is everything, and I wasn’t going to screw that up because I couldn’t get my shit together.”
“You think I care about the damn game more than I care about you?”
My breath caught. “No—I think you deserve something normal. Something safe. Not… this.”
He stepped closer, and I saw it in his eyes—rage, fear, something that looked a hell of a lot like love dressed up as frustration. “You are not something I survive, Kennedy. You’re the whole reason I fight.”
I looked away, throat burning. “You weren’t supposed to have to protect me.”
His voice dropped. “Too late for that. You’re mine.”
