“Fuck you.”
I sigh and reach for his pocket myself. He’s one annoying prick isn’t he.
Matthew tries to squirm away, but it’s like a child resisting an adult. I find the keys easily and extract them.
“This is Jenna’s apartment,” I tell him, holding up the keys. “Not yours anymore.”
“We split the rent!”
“Then she will pay you back.” I step forward, forcing him backward over the threshold and into the hallway. “But you don’t live here now.”
His face flushes deep red. “You’re making a huge mistake. She’ll never represent you after this. Your custody case is fucked.”
I feel a tightness in my chest at the mention of the case, but I don’t let it show.
Before he can say anything else, I close the door firmly and engage both locks. Through the wood, I can hear him swearing,threatening to call the police, to sue, to ruin me. Let him try. I’ve faced worse opponents on and off the ice.
I lean my forehead against the door for a moment, collecting myself. My hand goes to my jaw where his punch landed—it doesn’t even qualify as a bruise by hockey standards. I take a deep breath, then turn toward the bedroom door where Jenna hides.
This isn’t how I imagined being invited into her home again.
Not that I did expect it. Maybe foolishly dreamed about it… once.
But life rarely passes the puck exactly where you expect it.
SEVENTEEN
Colton
Istand outside Jenna’s bedroom door, my knuckles poised to knock but not quite making contact. Behind this door is my attorney. But also, just Jenna, who sounded so small on the phone that I drove across town breaking every speed limit. I take a breath, trying to find the right English words. With Livy, I always know what to say. With grown women who’ve been hurt? I’m in foreign territory without a map.
I knock softly. “Jenna? It’s Colton.”
A shuffling sound, then silence.
“Matthew is gone,” I add. “I made him leave.”
The door cracks open, revealing Jenna’s face—red-rimmed eyes, hair wild in a way I’ve never seen before. The composed lawyer who strides through courtrooms like she owns them is nowhere to be found. My heart sinks.
“You what?” Her voice is hoarse.
“He is gone. With his things.” I step back to give her space. “I changed the locks.” This isn’t true, but it feels like something I should have done.
She blinks, processing. “You can’t just change locks.”
“Fine. I took his keys.” I hold them up as evidence. “Same thing.”
She pushes the door open wider. She’s wearing sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, both rumpled like she’s been lying down in them for hours. There’s a vulnerability to her that makes my chest tighten.
“He hit you?” she asks.
After all this, that’s what she cares about first?
She brushes her fingers over the spot on my chin, and I cover her hand with mine, holding it there against my skin.
“Don’t worry, I’m a big guy. I let him live. But what’s more important—how are you?”
“Better now. Thank you,” she says. She doesn’t pull her hand away. Neither do I.
