Chapter 21
Korbin
I’m not supposed to be anywhere near downtown today.
I was supposed to meet Milton at the gym near the arena, work the skate machine, sweat the bullshit out before practice—but traffic’s a nightmare, and my patience taps out somewhere around the third stoplight. By the time I cut through the Scorpion business district, I’m two seconds from snapping.
I whip the car into the first open parking space I see, crooked as hell, kill the engine, and shove the door open. Screw it. I’ll walk the rest of the way before I lose my damn mind.
I’m halfway down the block, trying to outrun my own temper, when I see her.
Bayleigh Lennox.
She’s walking alone, hood up, arms full of folders like she’s running late. Head down. No clue where she is. In Scorpion territory.
Of course she doesn’t realize it.
My first thought is to keep walking. She’s not my problem. Hell, she’s the last person who should be anywhere near me. Benton would lose his shit if he saw me looking at her, and I’ve got enough bullshit with him without adding his sister to the list.
But then I see him.
Some alpha steps right in her path—tall, twitchy, pissed.
His body language sets off every alarm in my head.
I slow, watching as his face turns red, barking words too fast for me to catch.
Even from across the street, I can tell it’s not a conversation—it’s a confrontation.
She signs something, probably telling him she can’t hear him, and he only gets louder. Then he touches her.
That’s it.
I don’t think. I move.
My body reacts before my brain does—three strides, shoulder to chest, and the guy hits the pavement. I’m on him before he can blink. Years of hockey fights come back easy. Fist. Crack. Grunt. Repeat. His nose explodes, blood slicking my knuckles, and he still tries to swing.
Wrong move.
I hit him again until the fight drains out of him. I pull back, because whatever this is supposed to prove, it isn’t worth making her watch.
Bayleigh’s pressed against the wall, hands shaking, eyes huge. Papers flutter around her like snow. The sight stops me cold. My fist hovers midair, the guy half-conscious beneath me. She’s terrified—not just of him, but maybe of me, too.
That’s enough. I step back, chest heaving. The guy takes his shot and scrambles up, limping away down the sidewalk, leaving streaks of blood behind him. I let him go.
When I turn back, she’s staring at me. Frozen.
For a second, everything feels too still.
Her pulse jumps at her throat; my heart’s doing the same damn thing in my chest. She crouches too, gathering the rest—shoving them into the folder, even though some are smeared with blood.
I stay still, watching her, the adrenaline bleeding out of me slowly.
Finally, I kneel, grab one of the papers near my boot, and hand it back to her.
She looks up, and her scent hits me—mint and green tea, clean and crisp. It slides through my system like a cold drink on a hot day, softening everything jagged. My alpha hums under my skin; steady, protective instead of wild. She’s safe now. Because I was here.
When she finishes, she stands, clutching the folder tight to her chest. Then, she does something I don’t expect—she lifts her hand, palm toward her, fingers together, touches them to her lips, then moves them toward me.
I have no idea what it means. A wave? A goodbye? Something else? But the look in her eyes tells me enough—it’s gratitude.
“Uh,” I manage, still breathing hard, “yeah.”
I force my hands open, trying not to look like the threat I just was. My voice comes out rough. “You okay?”
She blinks, doesn’t answer. Right—she can’t hear me. I touch my chest, then point to her, slowing my words so she can catch my lips. “You good?”
She nods once, studies me a beat longer, then turns and walks off. I just stand there, hands stinging, watching her disappear into the building across the street.
What the hell was she even doing here? This isn’t her side of town. She doesn’t belong anywhere near Scorpion territory.
I glance down at my knuckles—split, bloody—and shake my head. If I hadn’t turned down this street, if I’d been five minutes later… I don’t even want to think about it.
Out of all the alphas who could’ve crossed her path today, it had to be me.The one her brother hates most.The one who was never supposed to give a damn.
The thought of her alone grates on me until I hate myself for caring. I jog, catch up quickly, and fall into a shadow a few paces behind her. Close enough to see, far enough not to scare her.
I keep my distance, eyes locked on the back of her head, scanning for anyone stupid enough to step in. When she slips through the doors of the league headquarters, I let out a breath. She’s inside. She’s safe.
I should head home. I don’t. I go to the gym.
Milton’s already there when I walk in, sitting on a bench tying his shoes. He looks up, brows shooting up when he sees my hands.
“Jesus, dude.” He stands. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Traffic,” I say, brushing past him.
He snorts. “Traffic doesn’t do that to your knuckles.”
I glance down. The skin’s split, raw, dotted with someone else’s blood and mine. I grab a towel off the rack, wipe half-heartedly, then toss it aside.
“Handled something,” I mutter.
Milton’s gaze sharpens. “Scorpions handled something or Korbin handled something?”
“Just me.”
He waits. I dig out tape from my bag and start wrapping my knee. I don't really need to, but it gives extra support when I skate hard. He doesn’t move, just stares at me until I relent and tell him what happened.
“Some asshole cornered a girl outside the league building,” I finally say. “Didn’t like the look of it.”
Milton exhales. “So you rearranged his face.”
“Seemed fair.”
He almost smiles. “And the girl?”
“She’s fine,” I answer, too fast. His eyes narrow, catching it. I sigh. “It was Bayleigh.”
That gets him. “Lincoln’s Bayleigh?”
I nod once.
“Fuck,” Milton breathes. “She okay?”
“Shaken,” I say. “But yeah. I followed her to the league offices. She went inside. She’s good.”
He nods, jaw working. There’s a beat of silence.
“You gonna tell him?” he asks.
I know who he means. Lincoln.
I grab my water, take a drink to stall. Every part of me wants to say no. But that image of her pinned against the wall won’t leave my head. Neither will Lincoln’s stupid soft look any time her name comes up.
“Yeah,” I say. “He should know.”
“Good,” Milton says. “For once, you’re not being a complete jackass.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He huffs out a laugh and heads for the weights. I hang back, pull out my phone, stare at Lincoln’s name.
This shouldn’t be my job. I hit call anyway. He answers on the second ring. “Yo. You alive? You were supposed to—”
“Ran into your girl,” I cut in.
“What happened?”
“She’s fine.”
“What. Happened.”
I rub a hand over my face. “Some alpha had her cornered downtown, like a block from the league offices. He was in her face yelling. She was signing. He wasn’t backing off. He touched her.”
“Korbin.” My name comes through like a warning.
“I took care of it,” I snap. “Relax. He’s gone.”
There’s a long exhale on his end. I can almost see him pacing.
“Is she hurt?” he asks. “Did he hurt her? Did he—”
“No,” I say. “Scared her. Didn’t get the chance to do more. I put him on his ass. She picked up her papers. Signed something to me and hurried off. I followed her until she was in the building.”
He’s quiet for a second. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Thank you.”
The words hit weird. I shift my grip on the phone.
“Don’t thank me,” I mutter. “If you’re serious about her, you should know what happened. That’s all.”
“I am serious,” he says without missing a beat. “And now I’m pissed I wasn’t there.”
“Yeah, well. Join the club. I’m pissed too, that an alpha, that any man thinks he can just corner a woman like that.”
Milton glances over from the squat rack like he’s trying not to eavesdrop and failing.
“What’d she do when she saw it was you?” Lincoln asks.
I replay it. The trembling hands. The papers. That soft, deliberate sign I didn’t understand.
“Nothing. Just signed something and ran off,” I say. “I don’t know sign language, but I think she might have said thank you.”
There’s a smile in his voice when he answers. “Yeah. That sounds like her.”
I scrub my knuckles with my thumb, suddenly annoyed at how that makes my chest feel.
“Keep an eye out for her,” Lincoln says. “If you see her around there again, call me. I don’t know why Benton would send her down there alone. He knows headquarters are in a shitty part of town.”
“I’m not her fucking security detail,” I growl.
“You just acted like it,” he shoots back. “You didn’t walk past her, Korbin. You stopped. So either hang up and pretend you don’t care, or admit you care enough to help her.”
I clench my jaw. Milton’s still watching. I flip him off to make myself feel better.
“Don’t make this a thing,” I warn Lincoln. “I’m not doing a shared project on your omega.”
There’s a moment of silence before he speaks. “She’s not mine,” he says. “Yet.”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “You’re a lovesick fool.”
He laughs under his breath. “Still. Thanks.”
“Whatever.” I hang up before I say something that sounds too much like you’re welcome.
I slip the phone back in my pocket and head for the skate machine. Milton’s waiting there.
“Well?” he asks.
“He’s freaking out,” I say. “Surprise.”
“You did the right thing.”
I snort. “Don’t start.”
He shrugs and backs off, giving me space.
I step onto the PowerSkater. The belt gives just enough resistance to cause me to work for it. I drop into stance and start moving—push, glide, pull. Over and over. The burn hits fast, calves and thighs screaming. That’s good. Pain means I’m doing something right.
Left stride. Right. Faster. The rhythm helps. The burn helps. But the thoughts don’t shut off.
Bayleigh, small but standing. Lincoln, signing clumsy words meant only for her. Milton, starting to fold toward her too, even if he hasn’t seen it yet. And me, the guy who was ready to marry a woman who played him, still dragging her ghost around like a weight.
I skate harder.
I’m not jealous. That’s not it. It’s the way everyone else seems to be moving forward, finding something—or someone—worth giving a shit about, while I’m stuck shadowboxing history.
By the time my legs give out, sweat soaks through my shirt, and my feet throb in my shoes. I rest my forehead against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
I don’t care about Bayleigh Lennox.
I can’t.
I won’t.
But I can’t shake the feel of that moment—the way she looked at me after I stepped in. Scared, but grateful. Like I was someone worth trusting.
And that… that’s the dangerous part.
Because maybe Lincoln’s right. Maybe Gina’s been dead weight on my shoulders this whole damn time.
But dropping it? Letting go? Letting myself be anything other than an angry, fucked-over rival?
I don’t even know who I’d be anymore without the grudge.