Page 96 of Broken Blades

I grabbed my bag from the bench, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. I needed to take her home. Put distance between us. Cool the hell off before I did something irreversible.

Before I forgot why she was here in the first place.

"Yo, Garrison!"

I turned.

Two teammates appeared—Rowan and Logan, still in their gear, faces flushed from the ice.

Rowan clapped me on the back hard enough to rattle my ribs.

"We're hitting The Pour House. Come blow off steam."

Logan grinned. "Bring your girl!"

My jaw ticked.

Your girl.

The words hit like a physical blow. Twisted something deep in my chest—possessive, territorial, completely unwanted.

She wasn't mine. Couldn't be. This was temporary. Strategic. A means to an end. Except every time someone called her mine, my body reacted like it was truth instead of fiction.

I should decline. Should take Chastity home and put walls back up before this got messier than it already was. But then I caught sight of her across the lobby. Standing near the concession stand, talking to a family. She was smiling—that genuine, unguarded smile that made her look younger. Softer. Like someone who hadn't learned to be careful yet.

Barbara's accusations hung in the air between us still. Cold. Clinical. True.

You ruin them.

Maybe I did.

Maybe I would.

But watching Chastity laugh at something a kid said, watching her be kind and open and real in a way I'd stopped believing people could be—I wanted more time. Just a little longer before this arrangement ended, and she went back to her perfect life and forgot I existed.

The thought made something dark and ugly curl through my gut.

"Yeah." The word left my mouth before my brain caught up. "We'll come."

Rowan grinned. "Hell yeah. Been too long since you came out with us."

Logan punched my shoulder. "Your girl gonna be cool with a dive bar?"

That phrase again.

Your girl.

I didn't correct them. Didn't say she was borrowed. Temporary. Part of a revenge plot they knew nothing about. Just nodded once and watched them head off, already arguing about who was driving.

I stood there for a beat too long, bag heavy in my hand, heart doing something complicated against my ribs.

This was a mistake. Taking her to The Pour House meant more time together. More proximity. More chances for lines to blur and boundaries to crumble. More opportunities for me to forget she wasn't actually mine. But I crossed the lobby anyway. Found her still smiling, still soft, still dangerously real.

When she turned and saw me, something shifted in her expression. Recognition. Awareness. Heat she tried to hide but couldn't quite manage.

"We're going out," I said. Flat. Controlled. Giving her no room to argue.

Her eyebrows lifted. "Out?"