But as soon as I crossed the threshold into the party again, my heart sank. Across the crowded room, I spotted my brother, Jake, leaning against the bar with Gary. They laughed like they shared a secret only they understood—heads thrown back, eyes sparkling.
Both men embodied the NHL’s golden boys: Jake’s tousled hair and laid-back charm balanced Gary’s polished image and sharp wit. They appeared to fit together seamlessly, two pieces of a puzzle made for success. My brother's laughter echoed through the clinking glasses and murmurs of conversation, creating an aura around them that drew others in.
They were unstoppable—best friends turned darlings of the league, reputations untarnished by anything or anyone. And then there was me, standing at the edge of their world like an outsider peering through glass.
A voice inside me screamed, This is not your life.
I felt invisible in their glow, and all I wanted was to shatter that pristine image just once. Just tonight.
As I watched them exchange jokes and pats on the back, I realized how deeply they both expected me to behave. Their smiles radiated confidence—confidence that my compliance was a given. But inside me stirred something wild and reckless, clawing to escape from beneath layers of propriety.
“Hey! Kennedy!” Jake called out suddenly, catching sight of me. He waved as if we hadn’t just shared a lifetime apart in mere moments. “Come over here!”
The laughter faded into a hum around me as I hesitated. Part of me wanted to sprint toward them; another part rooted me in place—a tug-of-war between loyalty and desire for freedom.
“Join us!” Gary chimed in, flashing that charming grin that usually melted my resolve but felt like ice tonight instead.
My heart raced at the thought of stepping into their world fully, being swept up in their banter while silently screaming for liberation from expectations that wrapped around me like vines choking out life itself.
Just for once… I wanted to be reckless.
I forced my feet to move, inching toward Jake and Gary as they exchanged playful jabs. Apparently, it was perfectly fine to tease him in public, but God forbid, I did. Their laughter boomed over the music, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I plastered on my best smile, the kind I knew they expected—the perfect fiancée.
“Hey!” I called out, feigning excitement as I joined them.
Gary turned, his eyes sparkling with that predatory gleam he wore when he was on display. He swept an arm around my waist, pulling me close enough that his warmth seeped into my skin.
“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he teased, nudging me with his shoulder.
I kept my mouth shut and smiled, even as a chill slithered down my spine at the warning look he shot me. His expression shifted just enough to make my stomach churn. The weight of expectations settled heavily on my shoulders; all I had to do was play along and look pretty.
I felt like a marionette—string pulled tight, movements rehearsed and predictable. As they bantered back and forth, I glanced around the room, feeling more like a ghost than part of the festivities.
When Gary’s attention drifted toward another player—a tall guy with an easy laugh—I seized the moment to slip away from him unnoticed. My heart raced as I navigated through the crowd, past clusters of people caught up in their own conversations and laughter.
The dimly lit corner of the party beckoned me with its promise of anonymity. A sleek bar stood against the wall, inviting me to escape into its shadows. My pulse quickened as I approached, each step fueling a growing sense of rebellion.
“Whiskey,” I said when the bartender caught my eye, a boldness igniting within me.
He raised an eyebrow but nodded as he poured a generous measure into a glass. The amber liquid swirled temptingly before me—a symbol of everything I had suppressed for too long.
I lifted it to my lips and downed it in one swift gulp. The burn exploded across my throat—sharp and exhilarating—as it coursed through me like fire igniting every nerve ending.
The bartender smirked as he set down the glass for another round. “Didn’t peg you as a whiskey girl.”
“Guess you don’t know me at all,” I shot back, daring myself to believe it. For that brief moment under the dim lights, I felt unseen yet alive—a spark of defiance against the chains that had bound me so tightly for far too long.
I savoured the burn of the whiskey, relishing how it washed over me like a tide of rebellion. Each sip sent warmth spiraling through my chest. Just for tonight, I could pretend to be someone else—someone free.
Lost in my thoughts, I leaned against the bar, feeling invisible and powerful all at once. A soft laugh bubbled up inside me as I considered what that would mean—what it would feel like to truly break away from the confines of being his fiancée. The world blurred into a haze around me.
Then, a deep, arrogant voice sliced through my reverie.
“Since when does a princess drink like that?”
I turned slowly, curiosity mingling with irritation. My gaze landed on him—Nick Maddox. He lounged at the bar like he owned the place, a cocky smirk plastered across his face that radiated confidence. His loose tie hung slightly askew, and his shirt buttons were undone enough to hint at casual disinterest. Muscles flexed beneath his fitted attire, an unrestrained energy rolling off him in waves.
Recognition flickered in his eyes as they locked onto mine, and suddenly the air felt electric between us.
