Chapter 6
TORI
Ididn’t have ‘attend a charity gala at the yacht club with the bad boy hockey player’ on my bingo card.
Yet here we are.
On the drive home from the arena, I hop on a call with my favorite boutique in Manhattan and ask them to overnight several dress options, along with coordinating accessories. Because obviously I didn’t pack formalwear and Driftwood Cove isn’t exactly the shopping hub of the South.
With the wardrobe crisis under control, I spend the rest of the day alternating between my actual work and my side hustle—keeping tabs on Bennett. Knox and Bishop update me hourly, but I prefer to verify his location myself.
Because if he goes rogue, my ass is on the line.
I stare at the small Bennett avatar, blinking over the arena. He’s at practice and Bishop’s with him. Knowing he’s supervised by multiple adults — Coach Keller, the assistant coaches, Bishop — I breathe a quick sigh of relief.
Now I can focus on what matters — my actual job. The hedge fund. The investors.
A notification pops up on my laptop screen.
Incoming message from Max Prince.
Clicking into my email, I scan the text quickly.
Tori –
Info on the Yacht Club gala attached. Familiarize yourself with the guest list and seating arrangements. Maximize connections. Keep a tight rein on Steele. Do not let him go off script.
Dad
Wonderful.
Tomorrow night’s turning into another project and I already have way too many going.
I’m only here because he’s my father and he’s been through enough. After the whole cheating scandal with his second wife — technically my stepmom, although that title’s ridiculous considering she’s barely older than me — I’m afraid he’s going to work himself into a heart attack with all the stress.
So here I am, double-clicking the attachment and pulling up the guest list. Names are in alphabetical order, and I recognize a few of the team’s major donors from New York.
The Caldwell Family
The Davidson Family
The Field Family
The Prince Family
The MacDonald Family
That name stops the scroll. Heart pounding, I open the seating arrangement document and hover the cursor over the Coastal Crushers table.
The Prince Family - +2
The Rayburns - +2
They’re the couple from the meet-and-greet, Bennett’s biggest fans. Fine.
Driftwood Cove Humane Society - +2
One of the charity recipients. No problem, should be all good there.
The MacDonald Family - +2
No.
No, no, no.
This can’t be happening.
My palm slicks and a wave of nausea rolls through me, my stomach turning sour.
Maybe it’s a different MacDonald family.
That’s a super common name, probably in the top twenty-five in the United States.
To be on the safe side, I text my father with trembling hands.
Tori: Going over the guest list. The MacDonald family at our table? From Long Island?
I stare at the screen, letters scrambling together. Finally, the familiar dots appear and I hold my breath.
Daddy: Yes. Eleanor wanted to see the new facilities
Shit.
Why? Of all the people in the world, the last family I want to see is the MacDonalds.
Daddy: Didn’t think it’d be a problem. It’s been so long
Dark spots dance in my vision and bile rises in my throat. I swallow the acid down and rest my head on my forearms, the marble of the kitchen island cool on my heated skin.
Of course he wouldn’t think it’s a big deal.
Maybe I can still bail.
Surely there’s someone else who can babysit Bennett for one freaking night. Knox and Bishop will be there — the job’s not that tough.
Yeah right.
There’s no one in the organization my father would trust with this assignment. Not Coach Keller, not an assistant coach, not even Harbor Hayes, our PR director.
No, the gala’s a critical event and a Prince must be in attendance.
Rubbing my bare ring finger, I take another deep breath and text my father back.
Tori: Not a problem. Surprised to see them on the list
Daddy: They’re still big donors
With another shaky breath, I tap out the question I’m almost too afraid to ask. But I need to know, to be prepared.
Tori: Only +2?
Then I wait, praying for the answer that won’t lead to my total crash out.
Daddy: Yes. Eleanor and Trent
I toss my phone onto the counter, the metal clattering loudly on the smooth surface, echoing through the quiet kitchen.
I can do this.
Only Eleanor and Trent are in town. Not Preston. The man who made ‘hedging your bets’ feel personal.
Granted, still far from ideal. Especially with Puck Boy in tow.
But I can manage his parents. Always have.
I’m sure nothing much has changed in the last year.
I’m up half the night working on a proposal deck. But I’m so hopped up on caffeine and adrenaline, I don’t mind.
Plus, the work keeps me distracted from the upcoming gala and the various potential disaster scenarios.
Honestly, there are too many to count. I lost track around ten or twelve, and the catastrophizing did nothing to help me prepare or calm my nerves.
Finally, I take melatonin around three AM. In a rare fuck-you to the universe, I silence my phone, turn on my white noise machine, cover my eyes with the satin sleep mask, and fall dead asleep.
Which is how I miss my alarm.
I wake up to silence and warmth on my face. Ripping off the sleep mask, I’m horrified to see bright slashes of sunlight pouring through the blinds.
Shit.
Entirely too bright for seven AM.
Flinging the covers off, I jump out of bed and grab for my phone with such force that the charger rips from the wall.
I have sixty-two emails, the morning check-in text from Bennett, and an SOS from Knox:
Target missing
Followed by another message, then another, in rapid succession.
Phone offline. Last location: arena
Report back with instructions
WTF.
This is the last thing I need today. We’re supposed to attend the gala in less than eight hours and the jackass is nowhere to be found.
If he disappears today, my father’s not blaming Bennett — he’s blaming me.
I dial Knox, heart racing, while hopping around trying to get dressed.
“Knox, it’s Tori. Have you found Bennett?” I try to control my voice, but panic still creeps in.
“No, ma’am.”
“How the fuck did this happen?”
“Bishop got boxed out by arena staff at the tunnel. Bennett must have slipped out a side exit. We tried tracking him, but his location’s stale. His dot’s been frozen the last two hours.”
Dammit.
A dead phone may as well be a disappearing act.
Also, a loophole in rule number ten, location sharing at all times.
My gut swirls, and I’m not sure if it’s from anger — or a small part of me that doesn’t want Bennett to screw up.
Probably the former.
“Where have you checked so far?” I bound out of bed, tossing the sleep mask on my nightstand and pulling up the duvet.
“The usual places. Arena, the rink, locker room, gym. We didn’t ask around — we’re trying to stay discreet.”
“Agreed. Keep looking. Have Bishop drive around town, and you man the apartment. I’ll make some calls and see if I can find him.”
Disconnecting, I hurry to change out of my pjs. Throwing on a pair of leggings, a T-shirt, and sneakers, I grab my purse and jog out of the condo. Knox nods as I run past, my heart racing and I haven’t even had coffee.
In the parking lot, I unlock the car and slide behind the steering wheel of my Rover.
If I were Bennett, where would I go?
Glancing around, I clock his Bronco still parked in his spot. He may be on foot — or he could have hitched a ride from one of his brothers or another teammate.
I press the ignition button and the engine roars to life at the same time I dial his cell.
“You’ve reached Bennett. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I’m off the ice.”
The line beeps and I choke out a terse reply: “Bennett, it’s Tori. Call me ASAP. I’m not fucking around here.”
I disconnect and dial Weston. He answers on the second ring.
“Weston here.”
“Hey, Weston. It’s Tori Prince. Have you seen your brother? Bennett?” I clarify, my words tumbling out.
“Not recently, no. We had early ice time, then he left the rink.”
“Oh.” My mind whirs as I take a quick right onto Main Street, passing the coffee shop and several boutiques.
Losing track of Bennett right now is not fantastic.
“Everything okay?”
“Well, I need to find him. We’re going to a charity gala tonight for the team and I need to check in with him. If he gets in touch with you, please let me know.”
“Will do.”
Weston disconnects and I dial Callum.
“Hey, it’s Tori Prince. I’m looking for Bennett. Is he with you?”
“No. Coach Keller gave us the afternoon off after practice. I figured he’d be home napping.” Callum chuckles at his joke, but I don’t join in. Nothing about this situation is funny.
“Any ideas where he might go? He’s not at the condo, but his car’s still in the lot.”
“Huh.” There’s a long pause and Callum breathes down the line. “Maybe the smoothie place on 3rd Street? He mentioned checking it out.”
Smoothie place on 3rd.
I hang a quick left, zipping in front of oncoming traffic. Miraculously, no one honks. In NYC, that move would have elicited an orchestra of angry horns.
Speeding down the street, I spot the bright green awning of the smoothie place, a happy frog smiling at future customers. I pull into a spot right in front of the window and peer in. A mom and her two young children sit at a white metal table, but no Bennett.
“Shit.” I curse under my breath.
“Not there, huh?” Callum’s voice surprises me—I forgot he’s still on the line.
“No. Not here.”
“This is a long shot but maybe try the beach. He’s been talking about spending more time in nature.”
I roll my eyes but steer the Rover east toward the ocean. The weather’s perfect, a crisp sixty-five degrees with a light breeze and full sunshine. A great beach day.
Parking at the public beach access, I grab my phone and lock the car behind me.
I jog down the wooden boardwalk, pausing at the stairs and glancing down the long stretch of white sand.
The salt air hits my nostrils—sharp and clean, cutting through the panic buzzing in my chest. The turquoise water glitters in the bright sunlight, waves lapping at the sand in a steady rhythm.
Would be relaxing if I weren’t about to murder Bennett.
Only a few people are in sight. A young family with toddlers building sandcastles near the water’s edge. A couple walking a playful yellow lab. A few joggers logging their miles for the day.
Jogger.
One particular jogger’s heading my direction, about six-foot-five, broad and muscular, with sandy waves blowing in the wind.
Bennett.
Panic leaks from my body, tension dissipating quickly. Relief floods my system for a quick second, then anger takes over. Worry turns to fury in a single heartbeat.
Fists balled, I march down the steps toward Bennett, doing my best to stomp across the soft sand.
I’m almost caught up to him, chest heaving from exertion and rage.
“Hey, Sunshine.” Bennett’s voice is calm and easy, his face cracking into a broad smile. Unworried, tiny beads of sweat dotting his smooth, stress-free brow.
Jackass.
“Rule number ten, Bennett. GPS location remains on at all times.”
“What?” A crease forms between his brows as he fishes his phone from his pocket. “Shit. Cell’s dead. Kinda feels like I should get a pass this time.”
“A pass? A pass?” I hiss the words, anger bubbling in my chest. “I spent the last forty-five minutes searching all over town for your ass. All because you couldn’t be bothered to charge your damn phone?”
“Chill out. No big deal. I went for a run on the beach — didn’t even talk to anyone. Let alone throw hands.”
“Not the point, Bennett.” I grind my molars, fuming.
He doesn’t read the room, stepping closer to me. Close enough I catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with the salt air. My heart pounds harder. His gaze flicks over my face, taking in the wild hair, the dark circles beneath my eyes. Something shifts in his expression, just for a brief second.
“What is the point, Sunshine? Were you worried about me?” His voice drops low, and a flash of something shoots through me.
Irritation? Anger? Or something else I’d rather not name, his deep blue eyes boring into me?
“No. Yes. But only because I need you to stay on the grid. Follow the playbook. If you don’t screw up, we’ll both be free.”
The words come out sharper than I intend. Bennett blinks, and I swear there’s a flicker of disappointment in his baby blues.
“Whatever you say, Sunshine. Won’t happen again. Rule number ten, addendum A: charge cell phone fully every night.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” I smooth my hair back, finally regaining a semblance of composure.
He shoves a hand in his pocket and walks toward the stairs, not bothering to give me a second glance. The waves crash behind me as I stare after his retreating backside.
Why do I get the feeling I said something wrong?
I’m the one who’s supposed to be calling the shots here, not him.
I jog to catch up to him, finally succeeding at the end of the boardwalk. Reaching out, I grab his elbow. His skin’s warm and smooth, his muscles hard. He spins around to face me, that insufferable grin spreading across his face.
“Want a ride?” I peer up at him.
“No, thanks. I’ll run. Try not to miss me too much, Sunshine.”
Then he jogs away toward the condo, leaving me standing there alone and confused.