Chapter 25
Kennedy
The sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows, golden and soft, catching the edges of the countertop like a promise.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee curled around me, warm and familiar, anchoring me to the moment.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t wake up bracing for the worst. I felt…
calm. Steady. Like maybe Nick and I had finally carved out something untouched—something ours.
I poured myself a mug, cradling it between my hands, and smiled without meaning to. Last night lingered in my chest—the way Nick’s fingers intertwined with mine while we swayed in the quiet, no music playing, just his breath and my heartbeat in sync. It felt like peace. It felt like home.
Then my phone buzzed on the counter.
I didn’t think much of it—probably some dumb notification or an update from Evelyn. I reached for it absently… and froze.
The lock screen was flooded. Mentions. News alerts. Texts from numbers I didn’t recognize. I opened one.
And then another.
And then everything fell apart.
There it was—me and Gary. Months ago. Someone had recorded it, low quality but unmistakable. I was shouting. He was grabbing my arm. We were outside his apartment.
The video cut off before it showed anything else, but it didn’t matter. The captions did the rest of the damage:
She never left him.
Nick’s just a rebound.
She played them both.
My stomach dropped. My breath caught. I gripped the phone tighter, heart hammering so loudly it drowned out the soft gurgle of the coffee pot behind me.
It wasn’t just a video—it was a weapon. One Gary had clearly waited to use. I knew it in my gut. He wanted to ruin me. Or maybe just ruin Nick.
Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not when the man I loved was just down the hall, humming to himself like everything was fine. Like the outside world wasn’t sharpening its knives again.
My phone chimed.
I glanced down—and froze. Gary’s name lit up the screen like a warning flare. For a heartbeat, I just stared, dread creeping in slow and sharp.
Then I opened the message.
You really thought you’d win? Let’s see how loyal your new boy is when the whole world thinks you were cheating.
My breath caught. My fingers hovered over the screen, trembling as another message came in.
I told you no one would believe you.
Enjoy the spotlight.
Each word was a blow. Smug. Calculated. He knew exactly what he was doing—slipping the knife in and twisting it just enough to let me bleed without making a sound.
I could picture him now—leaning back with that crooked grin, watching the chaos he’d ignited with a drink in hand and no remorse. He’d waited for this moment. Saved that video. Timed the release. And now he was enjoying every second of it.
My pulse thundered in my ears. The walls—Nick’s penthouse that had felt like a safe haven—suddenly felt smaller. Thinner. Like they couldn’t hold back what was coming.
I paced the kitchen, gripping the phone like it might explode. The messages glared up at me, taunting. I wanted to scream. To cry. To vanish. I wanted to smash the screen and pretend none of this was happening.
But it was. And worse—Nick wasn’t just a bystander. He was part of the story now.
I glanced toward the hallway where I could still hear the faint hum of his voice as he moved around the bedroom. He had no idea what Gary had done. Not yet.
The sunlight streaming in through the window felt hollow, like a stage light catching me mid-collapse.
I caught my reflection in the glass: tousled hair, Nick’s shirt hanging loose on my frame, eyes rimmed red.
I looked like someone in the aftermath—like a girl who’d just stepped on a landmine and hadn’t realized the pieces were already flying.
I opened Instagram, hoping maybe—just maybe—this hadn’t blown up yet. But of course, it had. My explore page was a minefield of headlines and clips, a carousel of speculation and smug commentary.
“Kennedy Hathaway: NHL’s Latest Distraction?”
“Rebound or Real Deal?”
Every scroll was a punch to the gut.
I leaned against the counter, pressing my palm to the cool marble and forcing a breath into my lungs. I needed to think. I needed to calm down.
But all I could hear were Gary’s words, looping like poison.
There had to be a way to stop this. To end it without dragging Nick into the fire. I just didn’t know what that was yet—or if I even had that kind of control anymore.
Nick padded into the kitchen, barefoot and shirtless, dressed in nothing but low-slung grey sweatpants that hung just right on his hips—taunting gravity with every step.
His muscles flexed as he raked a hand through his messy blond hair, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes.
The deep scar along his side peeked out with every breath, a brutal reminder of the game that built him and nearly broke him.
He was a living warning sign—broad chest, sharp jaw, and that ever-present scowl like the world had already pissed him off and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. A bomb in real life. Explosive. Intense. Raw power in human form, barely leashed beneath golden skin and clenched fists.
And he was mine.
He paused in the doorway, arms crossed, silently taking in the sight of me at the stove. I flipped the eggs just in time, not a single burned edge in sight. A miracle. I placed his plate on the counter with a small, proud smile.
“Look at that,” I said, aiming for lighthearted. “No smoke alarms this time.”
He grunted in approval, walking over and brushing his knuckles against my hip as he passed—barely a touch, but enough to send a ripple down my spine. He snagged a fork and started eating, still watching me.
But I could feel it—the way his gaze lingered a second too long, how his jaw tightened between bites. He was reading me, like always.
“What’s wrong?” he asked finally, voice rough from sleep and laced with concern.
I shook my head, reaching for the pan so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just tired.”
His silence said he didn’t believe me for a second. But he didn’t push—just set down the fork and came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Bullshit,” he said gruffly.
And God, it would’ve been so easy to fall into that comfort—to turn around and let the truth spill out. But not yet. Not when I was still figuring out how to protect him from it.
I leaned back into Nick’s chest, letting his arms settle around me like armor.
He smelled like sleep and skin and something faintly smoky—home, in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
But even in his hold, I could sense the shift—the slight tension in his muscles, the unspoken questions behind his silence.
I turned around slowly, slipping out of his embrace just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m going to run out and grab some croissants,” I said, keeping my tone easy.
His brow ticked. “I’ll come with you.”
Of course he would. Always ready to be by my side, to guard me even when I didn’t ask for it. I smiled and smoothed my hand down the length of his forearm. “You’ve got an away game tomorrow. You should rest.”
He huffed—a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Rest? Practice is in two hours.”
“I’ll be back long before then,” I said, reaching for my jacket. “It’s just a quick trip.”
His jaw tightened. He didn’t like it. I could see the argument forming in his eyes even if he didn’t voice it. But instead of pushing, he gave me a slow nod, jaw still flexed. “Straight there and back?”
“Promise,” I said softly, brushing a kiss against his cheek. The way his eyes lingered on me, like he could anchor me in place with a single look, nearly broke me.
He followed me to the door, barefoot and still shirtless. “Text me if anything feels off.”
“It won’t,” I said gently.
He didn’t answer right away—just stood in the doorway, watching like the world might try to rip me from him the moment I stepped outside. “Just be careful.”
I gave him one last smile and pulled the door closed behind me. The morning air bit at my cheeks, sharp and cold. But inside, I carried the heat of his worry, his touch, his presence.
It felt like armor.
And I was going to need it.
The instant I stepped outside, the cold morning air slapped me across the face like a wake-up call I hadn’t asked for.
I sucked in a breath, trying to shake the lingering weight of everything I hadn’t told Nick.
My jacket wasn’t enough to fight off the chill, but I pulled it tighter anyway and set off down the street toward the café.
Croissants. Normalcy. Something to ground me.
But halfway down the block, the air shifted. It wasn’t just cold—it was charged. My skin prickled like static warning me something was off. I slowed, glancing casually over my shoulder.
And there was a black SUV, low and sleek, creeping down the street behind me. Not close enough to scream danger, but not far enough to ignore. The windows were tinted so dark they reflected nothing but sky, and yet I could feel eyes on me. Watching. Calculating.
I swallowed hard and picked up my pace. So did the SUV.
The knot in my stomach tightened, twisting with a sick familiarity.
Gary. It had to be. Either him—or someone acting on his behalf.
The idea made my blood run colder than the wind slicing through my coat.
I turned the corner sharply and ducked into the café, my pulse thudding in my ears.
I slid into a back booth, praying the scent of espresso and the clatter of cups would drown out my anxiety.
But it didn’t.
I stared out the window. And there it was again—the SUV—pulling up across the street, parking like it belonged there. My stomach lurched.
“Excuse me, can I—?” I turned to flag down a server, but the words caught in my throat.
Because someone was already sliding into the booth beside me.
Not Nick. Not a barista. A stranger.