Chapter Nineteen
MILA
By Wednesday night, the quiet had started to feel dangerous. Even under the hockey arena lights, it felt as though something was hiding in the dark.
Elise had been suspiciously silent. No more hovering near the guys’ row of lockers or draping herself across the cafeteria tables as if she owned them. Apparently, the freeze-out had mostly worked. I suspected it was more her biding her time for the perfect open than anything else.
But the rest of the school hadn’t gone that far. No one shunned her the way they had initially. No whispers when she passed. No pointed looks. Instead, people gave her space. Conversations hushed when she passed, eyes sliding away too fast. Not loyalty. Just fear.
Because her dad wasn’t the Kings, not even close. But he had money, influence, and connections. And in Blackwood, that counted. Enough to keep Elise relevant. Enough to make her untouchable to anyone who wasn’t already brave—or stupid—enough to cross her.
She and her minions had been too quiet. Even Logan had gone still. Too still.
I knew Luke was keeping watch. But so was I. The silence didn’t mean surrender. It meant planning. Waiting. They would try something else, soon. We had to be ready, several steps ahead.
That wasn’t all that circled my thoughts on loop: Darren.
Mr. Langley—or whatever version of him had crawled back from the dead.
Why Mom had been called back. Why he’d been slotted into Dunn’s side of the chessboard, working for the Kings’ rivals after Lorne’s betrayal in the form of a gunshot wound.
But knowing that didn’t make it clearer.
It just made me more certain of one thing: we were pawns in someone else’s game—and pawns got sacrificed.
For now, though, I held on to the reprieve. I held on to Luke. The time we stole outside of school. The moments when the weight slid off my shoulders just enough to breathe again.
I’d never stopped loving him. Not when I left.
Not when I came back. Not even through the worst of it.
Luke was larger than life—yes—but more than that, he was mine.
He was the one who steadied me when everything else tilted.
And even though we’d gone through hell the second I set foot in Blackwood again, things were shifting. Smoothing out.
He’d let me back in. And I’d chosen to do the same. To tell him the truth I had, even if it wasn’t everything. What I’d learned about Dunn buying up King Enterprises stock on the sly. Why we’d left. Why we’d come back. At least the pieces I knew.
I leaned against the side of Luke’s SUV in the arena’s lot. The arena lights burned overhead, a harsh white glow flattening everything into shadow and glare. Each time the doors opened, bright rink light cut across the lot before snapping shut again, shadows elongating once more.
They came in groups, sticks slung over shoulders, hockey bags banging against their legs. Jax tossed me a mock salute on his way past. Theo gave me one of his lazy grins. A couple of the younger guys lifted their chins in recognition. No one lingered. And then Luke.
His hair was still damp from the shower, shirt pulled tight across shoulders worn down by two hours of drills. He clapped a teammate on the back, muttered something that made the guy laugh, then glanced over. His eyes locked on me, and the rest of the lot fell away.
I’d texted him before practice ended—Meet me outside. I want to show you something.
So when he spotted me leaning against his SUV, he wasn’t surprised. Just focused.
“Hey,” he said, voice low when he reached me, as if it was just ours.
“Hey.” My pulse stuttered. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” His eyes searched mine. “Where to?”
He said bye to the guys, a few of them waving toward me before peeling off to their cars. Luke unlocked the SUV with a beep, but I shook my head.
“Not here,” I murmured. “Come back to my house, just for a few minutes. I want to show you something.”
We parked a few blocks over, where no one would notice his SUV in front of my house. My mom’s car was already in the drive. The glow of the TV flickered blue across the front windows.
Luke raised a brow. “Your mom’s home.”
“I know.” My voice was steady. “Back way.”
He followed without question, hands tucked in his hoodie pocket, boots silent on the damp grass.
I led him to the side yard, fingers brushing against cold siding as I climbed the trellis.
My bedroom window slid open on the second try.
I slipped inside first, heart pounding, then turned and reached for him.
Luke grinned—half challenge, half thrill—and hauled himself up with an easy grace that was so him it didn’t surprise me at all. He landed inside my room with a muffled thud, scanning the space before locking eyes with me again.
The TV hummed faintly downstairs. A laugh track floated up, cover noise. We didn’t speak. Not until I crossed to the easel in the corner and tugged the drop cloth away.
Oil paint—thick strokes, layers built slow until the image came alive.
A night sky, star-salted and endless. A rooftop cutting black against it. Two silhouettes lying side by side.
Luke’s breath shifted behind me, heavier. He stepped closer, the heat of him reaching me before his hands did.
His voice was thick when it finally came. “Is that us?”
I nodded. “Painting’s just… part of me. I can’t turn it off. And lately, all that comes out is this. You. Us.”
What I didn’t say was that it had been that way ever since he entered my life. When I drew him, it felt like opening a window into his every thought and emotion. I saw things in my art he never let anyone else see.
He was there in an instant, arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me back against him. His chest was solid, his breath hot against the curve of my neck.
“Then don’t fight it. Don’t fight us.”
The words hit something deep. My throat caught. I turned in his arms, searching his eyes.
“Luke…”
“Mila.” His hand slid up my spine then cupped the back of my neck.
“I love you.” The words broke loose, quiet but sure.
His breath punched out of him. For a heartbeat, I thought maybe I’d broken him.
“You don’t have to say it back,” I rushed, pulse racing.
“Too late.” His mouth curved then crashed against mine, and he kissed me with the kind of intent that left no doubt. We were already home.
Heat sparked low in my chest, spreading fast. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that stole my breath, but it wasn’t just urgent—it was steady, claiming, sure. My hands slid up his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie until I fisted it tight.
Luke groaned softly, the sound vibrating against my mouth. His arms tightened around me, pulling me flush against him. His palms at my back, the press of his thighs against mine. His breath caught when I tilted my head and deepened the kiss.
I’d kissed him before. I’d missed him before. But this was different. This was years of want and anger and forgiveness burning down to one undeniable truth: he was mine.
The star charm pressed between us, cool metal tapping against my skin with every shift. Luke noticed. I felt the moment his chest rose harder, the kiss roughening as his thumb brushed the chain where it dipped along my collarbone.
My knees went weak. He caught me, steady and unrelenting. His mouth gentled for half a heartbeat—sweet, coaxing—before it turned fierce again.
I broke away only when air became impossible, my forehead resting against his. His lashes were dark, his eyes blazing in the dim light of my room.
“Say it again,” he rasped.
My lips curved, trembling, but sure. “I love you.”
His jaw clenched. His grip flexed on my waist, as if he was holding the words inside himself until they broke out. “I love you too.”
Then his mouth found mine again, fiercer, deeper, a promise inked into every movement. His hands slid beneath the hem of my sweater, palms hot against my skin, anchoring me in place. My own hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer until there was no space left between us.
We tipped backward onto the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping beneath our weight. He braced himself on one arm, careful, but the heat between us pulsed wild. His teeth grazed my bottom lip; I gasped.
The murmur of the TV downstairs drifted up, laughter too bright, too out of place. Reality pressed in.
Luke tore his mouth from mine with a groan, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. His chest heaved against me, every breath ragged.
“Not tonight,” he muttered, voice rough with want.
My heart pounded erratically. “I know.”
His lips brushed the side of my neck, lingering there like a brand, before he pushed himself upright, dragging me with him so I was sitting in his lap. His hands cupped my face, thumbs stroking once across my cheekbones.
“But soon,” he said, eyes locking on mine. “Soon, Mila.”
I nodded, throat too tight for words. I kissed him again, softer this time—a promise we couldn’t keep yet but both wanted more than anything.