Chapter Fifteen
MILA
Avery didn’t need much convincing after the hockey game. I barely got out, “Let’s just wait for them to come out”—before she was already nodding, eyes bright, chewing her lip as if she was trying to keep a smile contained.
“It’s not like I’m dragging you into anything,” I teased, bumping her shoulder as we loitered near the side exit.
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Dragging me? I’d climb the glass if I had to.”
I grinned. That much was true. It wasn’t the game she was watching—it was him. Her voice dropped, conspiratorial. “I just need five minutes alone with Jax. Not, like, alone-alone. But away from Chase’s death glare.”
“That’s a challenge.”
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “You think?”
I laughed, softer this time. “You’ll figure it out. Just… talk to him. Quit overthinking it. He’s a guy. Lower the bar.”
She opened her mouth to answer, but the doors swung wide, and the guys spilled out—damp hair, duffel bags slung over shoulders, still buzzing with the leftover energy of a win.
Theo’s laugh carried first, easy and careless. Jax trailed a step behind, head bent, quiet in a way that pulled more eyes than Theo’s noise ever could. Avery saw him, and her whole face gave her away.
A brunette intercepted Chase before he hit the parking lot. She touched his arm, leaned in too close, and he actually smiled—then let her steer him toward her car. He never even glanced in our direction. The timing couldn’t have been better.
Avery snorted. “Hypocrite. He’s ready to lock me in a tower, but that? Totally fine.” She shook her head then tugged at my sleeve. “Come on. This is my shot.”
Jax barely had time to react before Avery was in front of him, suggesting food with an airy confidence I hadn’t seen on her in a long time. He hesitated—half a second, maybe less—then nodded. Theo threw his hands up.
“Count me out. I’m allergic to watching people flirt.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Because you’d never.”
He smirked. “Depends who’s asking.”
I took the opening. “Speaking of which—something weird happened at that committee meeting. Tori actually spoke to me. But not to back up Elise’s usual crap. She asked if I’d talked to you.”
That wiped the smirk for a heartbeat. “She asked?”
“Yeah. Caught me off guard.”
Theo shrugged, casual on the outside, but his eyes flicked down as his phone buzzed. One glance, then he pocketed the phone with a crooked grin. “Guess I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your night, Callahan.”
Theo peeled off, no explanation needed. Probably Tori. Which left Luke.
Luke hung back while the others drifted away, until it was only me lingering in the lot. He didn’t say anything, just met my eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knew I’d been waiting.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Of course.”
We headed toward our vehicles. I’d parked near him and paused by mine. He caught my eye before heading for his SUV. “Where do you want to eat?”
I shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal, even though my pulse jumped. “My place.” Besides, I didn’t want to trail Avery and Jax. They deserved some time alone.
His mouth curved—half-smile, half-dare—but he didn’t argue. “I’ll grab the food. Meet you there.”
By the time I unlocked the door, the house was dark—too quiet, the kind that pressed in until you noticed every creak. I dumped my bag by the couch and paced once, twice.
It didn’t take long until headlights cut across the front window, and my stomach tightened. He was here.
A knock, then the shuffle of his shoes in the entry as I let him in. Takeout bags dangled from his hands, the smell of soy sauce and fried rice filling the room before he even set them down.
“My mom’s not home,” I told him. “She’s got a date and probably won’t be back until tomorrow.”
His expression flickered—relief threaded with something unreadable I couldn’t pin down—but he didn’t say anything until we were sprawled on the couch, cartons open, legs tangled in the mess we used to make.
The quiet between us stretched in that warm, familiar way it used to feel when we didn’t need words to fill the space. I let myself sink into it, chopsticks clicking against the carton, the low drone of the TV filling the room.
Curiosity itched. “So… college coaches. Did they talk to you?”
He glanced up mid-bite, chewing slow, then swallowed. “Yeah. A couple. Nothing long. Just the usual—good game, they’ll be in touch. Follow-ups later.”
I caught the way he said it—flat, too casual. As though the conversations didn’t matter, like he hadn’t just put on a show for half the arena. His eyes gave him away, though. The focus there. The weight he didn’t want me to see. Colleges had been courting him.
“And Michigan? Is it still your first choice?”
“Yeah, it is.” He leaned back, arm draped along the couch so I could lean into him. “Best program in the country. Hockey. Business. Everything lines up there.”
“Even with your dad?”
His jaw ticked. “Not Michigan. He hates the idea of me going there. Calls it a waste. He’s already handed me the list of ‘approved’ schools—the ones that keep me under his thumb. That’s the point. He doesn’t want me making choices he can’t control.”
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I pressed closer, and his arm tightened around me in answer.
“What about you?” he asked finally. “Still planning on Michigan too? That art professor you used to talk about still pulling you there?”
I hesitated. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
But I watched him—how easy he was in that moment, guard down, letting me lean into him.
It felt the way it used to. Like us. And I loved it.
Which is why I told him. “Earlier today, Mom and I went to the beach.” He already knew from my text, but there was more to it.
“On the way out, we ran into Colleen, the woman who owns the boardwalk studio. She had me take my paintings and supplies home—which I also want to talk to you about. But…” My throat tightened, and I pushed through.
“She said I should think about showing my work. And my mom’s reaction—God, Luke, she was impressed.
It was… surreal.” I tried to play it casual, but the heat in my cheeks gave me away. It mattered. Maybe too much.
His eyes shifted down to me.
“She suggested I show my work in a gallery and said she would make the introduction. I’m going to reach out to the owner after she sets it up.”
He grinned, slow and real. “Good. You should. You’ll kill it.”
Heat climbed my neck, but I forced it down with a smile. “It was weird, though—being seen like that. As if maybe it’s not just a pipe dream.”
“Not weird,” he said. “It’s about time.”
We ate in silence for a while before the conversation drifted again, heavier this time.
“The boardwalk studio…” My voice caught on the words. “It’s closing.”
His arm stiffened around me. “Yeah.”
“Do you know why the lease wasn’t renewed?”
“Lorne’s the one who pushed it. They’re putting in a restaurant. Smart move, I guess. But that place…” He exhaled in a rough rush of air. “It was meant for you. Dad promised it would stay when I suggested the studio to go in that building. And now, I can’t get a straight answer out of him.”
I turned, watched the storm in his eyes, and for once, he didn’t hide it. I covered his hand with mine. “I know you can’t stop him. But the studio being gone—it doesn’t erase what it meant. Not to me.”
He looked at me, eyes burning, and the distance between us vanished.
His mouth caught mine, a collision that felt years in the making—weeks, maybe a lifetime, waiting to happen. The carton slipped from my fingers, forgotten, noodles sliding onto the coffee table. None of it mattered.
Luke’s hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me steady while he deepened the kiss, not rushed, just sure. The way he always kissed—knowing exactly where to push and where to hold back. My chest arched into his, hungry for more.
The couch wasn’t big enough for how badly I needed him closer. I broke the kiss and swung a leg over, straddling his lap. His hands locked at my hips, firm, grounding. His eyes bored into mine, storm-dark, promising damage I didn’t care if I drowned in.
His breath brushed my lips. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Heat curled low in my stomach.
“The house is really ours tonight?”
“All night. She won’t be back until tomorrow.”
His gaze flicked over my face, memorizing every line, searching for doubt. I gave him none.
His thumb swept under the hem of my shirt, brushing skin, sending heat racing up my spine. I tugged his hoodie over his head, hair mussed, jaw set, fighting for the control he was about to lose. My fingers trailed down the chiseled lines of his chest, over ridges I’d never forgotten.
I kissed down his throat, nipping the spot that made his pulse jump. He hissed, hands clamping my waist, dragging me closer—no mistaking what he wanted. No denial left.
“Mila,” he groaned into my hair, the sound guttural, wrecked.
“We said no lies. No games.” I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “This is real.”
His answer was his mouth on mine again, fierce this time. A clash. A claim. My shirt was gone before I realized he’d tugged it over my head. His palms splayed across my back, hot, certain, pulling me flush against his bare skin.
The taste of him filled me—salt, heat, hunger. My body answered without thought, rocking into him, catching friction that had me gasping against his lips. His hand slid lower, fingers curling into the waistband of my leggings, hesitating just long enough for me to nod. Yes.
Clothes became obstacles. His jeans hit the floor. My leggings followed. He fumbled for his wallet, tore open a foil packet with shaking hands. The sight—careful, certain—made something in my chest twist. Then his mouth was on mine again, all heat and hunger, as he rolled the condom on.
Skin to skin now, nothing between us but air and a year of wanting.
When he pushed inside me, I bit down on his shoulder to muffle the sound tearing out of me. He stilled, forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged.
“Okay?” he whispered, voice breaking.
“More than okay,” I breathed, rolling my hips to prove it.
The pace built—slow at first, then faster, harder—burning through the silence and anger we’d carried too long. His hand tangled in my hair, his other gripping my thigh, anchoring me while we moved together, as if we’d never been apart.
Every sound, every breath, every scrape of skin felt like a promise—this wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about us.
The couch creaked under us. My nails raked down his back, his name caught in my throat as heat coiled low and fast. He kissed me through it, swallowing my cries as I came undone against him.
He followed with a shudder, a groan deep in his chest as he buried his face in my neck. For a long moment, we stayed entwined, breathing each other in, refusing the distance that waited beyond the room.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them—storms eased, walls wide open.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice was raw, scraped clean of anything but truth.
I smiled, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “Me too.”
This time wasn’t about fire or fury. It was easy because choosing him wasn’t just a want but trust. And that was the part I hadn’t been sure I could give back until now.
It felt like we were exactly where we were meant to be—like the stars had finally lined up.
We were safe in our bubble for now, but how long would that last?