Chapter Three
LUKE
My alarm went off at five, though I’d been awake long before it.
Sleep had come in intervals—Mila’s mouth against mine, Dunn’s eyes beyond the glass, Elise’s smug smile beneath crystal light.
Every time I closed my eyes, I recalculated angles.
I couldn’t let anything go wrong that would hurt Mila—or give them a way to take her from me.
By five-thirty I was already at the rink. The arena lights buzzed overhead, harsh and clinical against the untouched ice. The air held that familiar bite—clean, edged with steel and sweat soaked deep into rubber mats and wooden benches. It centered me. Always had.
My phone vibrated just as I finished lacing my skates.
Mila: Edwardo moves in Monday.
A second bubble appeared before I could respond.
Mila: I like him. Mom’s… lighter. I haven’t seen her this relaxed in a long time.
The tension I’d been carrying between my shoulders eased a fraction.
Me: Good. I’ll talk to Claire about the scholarship board this week. If Dunn tries anything public, we make sure your funding is untouchable.
Her response came fast.
Mila: Using your elitist connections already?
I huffed a quiet breath. Claire—Drew’s fiancée—sat on the scholarship board as the King family representative.
Me: I’d rather you owe me one.
Mila: Dangerous game, King.
My jaw tightened automatically at the name, though warmth threaded through it.
Me: I don’t lose games.
Mila: I know. I wasn’t talking about hockey.
Me: Good. I’m not playing about you.
The words looked simple on the screen. They weren’t. Playing implied options. Exits. A version of this where I stepped back if it got ugly.
There wasn’t one. Not anymore.
I stared at her name at the top of the thread, and something unfamiliar pressed into my ribs. Not anger or strategy, but fear. Not of Dunn. Of losing her because I underestimated how far this could go.
I’d grown up watching men ruin each other over leverage. Over pride. Over power.
I would not let her become leverage. Not again. Not someone I loved. I’d watched enough men in tailored suits trade people like assets.
Mila wasn’t an asset. She was the only thing in my life that didn’t feel negotiated.
Even if that meant I had to step into rooms I’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.
The memory of Friday night on the beach surged through me. Her forehead against mine. The salt on her mouth. My thumb dragged slowly across my bottom lip, chasing the phantom feel of her.
But more than that—she hadn’t run. Not from Dunn. Not from the scale of what this could become. She’d stayed. She’d chosen me.
I exhaled slowly and refocused on the typing bubble pulsing on my screen.
Mila: Last night scared me.
I read it twice. The words hit harder than Elise’s threat. Scared meant she’d felt it too. The possibility that this could spiral past rumor and into something uglier.
My first instinct was to tell her not to be. My second was to lie. Instead, I typed slower than I wanted to.
Me: It scared me too.
The admission sat there before I could delete it.
I didn’t scare easily. But watching her hold that envelope in the hallway—watching her not flinch—knowing it could cost her everything? That did something to me I hadn’t prepared for.
Me: I can’t lose you. I won’t.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Mila: You won’t.
I started to type something else—something that would cross a line neither of us could uncross. The locker room door slammed open, shattering the softness that lingered from our exchange.
Theo strode in first, energy already dialed up to obnoxious.
Six-foot-two of restless momentum with hands built for destruction on the ice.
Jax followed, quiet and observant, eyes clocking everything without appearing to.
Chase trailed behind them, lazy confidence draped over him as naturally as his practice jersey.
They all stopped when they saw me geared up early.
Jax dropped his bag with a thud. “Why do you look ready to commit a felony before sunrise?”
“Because you idiots weren’t where you were supposed to be Friday night.”
Chase snorted, tossing his tape roll onto the bench. “There was no universe where I willingly attended that snoozefest.”
“You were invited.”
“And I declined with enthusiasm.”
Theo leaned against the lockers, arms crossed. “You didn’t specify mandatory.”
I shot him a look. “You shouldn’t need it spelled out.”
Jax laughed, unapologetic. “Avery had zero interest in watching donors congratulate themselves for writing checks. I chose peace.”
“You chose wrong.”
He grinned. “Did I? Because I’m still alive.”
“For now.”
Chase’s smirk widened. “What happened?”
I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I stood, rolled my shoulders once, then faced them fully. “Elise made a move.”
The air shifted.
Theo straightened first. “On Mila?”
“Yes.”
Jax’s expression lost its humor. “Define move.”
“Fabricated corporate documents. Industrial espionage framing her mom. Threat of criminal investigation if Mila and I don’t ‘self-correct.’”
Chase let out a low whistle. “That escalated.”
“They expected her to run,” I continued. “Expected me to distance.”
Theo’s jaw flexed. “And?”
“And we didn’t.”
She stood beside me—trusting me enough to stay. That wasn’t something I took lightly.
Jax’s mouth curved, pride flashing. “Of course you didn’t.”
Silence stretched between us.
Chase dragged a hand through his hair. “Would our presence have stopped it?”
“No,” I admitted. “But it sends a message.”
“That you roll deep?” Jax arched a brow.
“That I’m not isolated.”
Theo pushed off the lockers. “You aren’t.”
“I know.” A beat of silence passed between us, thick with history. Early morning lifts. Road trips crammed into buses. Fights that ended in blood and laughter. They weren’t just teammates; they were the line that held when everything else shifted.
“What’s the countermove?” Chase asked, more focused now.
I leaned back against the locker, arms crossed. “We stop letting her operate in the background. Mila and I walk in together. We don’t dodge. If Elise wants something done, she pushes her father to do it in daylight.”
Jax’s grin kicked to one side. “Public showdown. I like it.”
“You’re not instigating anything,” I replied evenly.
“I never instigate,” he returned. “I respond aggressively.”
Chase snorted. “That’s instigating with better branding.”
Theo didn’t smile. “You really think she convinces him to file charges?”
“If she thinks she’s losing control?” I answered. “Yes.”
The locker room quieted a notch.
Chase leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Those documents aren’t Elise’s handiwork. That’s corporate.”
“I know.”
Theo’s jaw flexed. “Then this isn’t about you. It’s about what her dad thinks Mila’s mom is connected to.”
“Or what he’s afraid she’ll expose,” Chase added.
Jax’s energy shifted, less reckless now. “So Elise isn’t attacking. She’s protecting something.”
“She’s escalating,” I corrected. “Which means either she’s scared… or her father is.”
Theo held my gaze. “And scared men with money don’t fight clean.”
“Neither do I,” I replied.
Chase leaned back against the bench. “And Dunn?”
“He’s waiting for the right moment to move.”
“Your dad?”
“Not yet.”
Jax blinked. “You’re keeping this from Grant King?”
“For now.”
Theo nodded. “Smart.”
Chase tilted his head. “That sentence feels illegal.”
I ignored him. I glanced at the clock as more guys from the team filed in. We were secluded enough, but we needed to wrap things up before taking the ice.
Jax grabbed his helmet. “So, what, we just play hockey and pretend a corporate war isn’t circling?”
“Yes.”
He grinned. “That part I can handle.”
Theo moved closer, lowering his voice. “Upcoming game matters more now.”
I met his gaze. “I’m aware.”
“Coaches and scouts confirmed?” Chase asked.
“Three. But the main one we’re all interested in will be there for sure. He reached out already.”
Jax whistled. “No pressure.”
Pressure didn’t bother me. Distraction did. But this—every risk, every move, every target on my back—was worth it because Mila stood beside me.
“If Dunn tries to smear you publicly,” Chase continued, tone more serious than usual, “teams could hesitate.”
“Maybe.” It was a risk I was willing to take to protect her.
Theo studied me carefully. “You’re certain.”
“Yes.” If Dunn wanted to threaten something I loved, he picked wrong. There was a version of me that would’ve chosen hockey first. That version didn’t exist anymore.
Hockey was oxygen. Mila was blood.
Jax clapped my shoulder hard enough to jolt me forward. “Then we win. Makes everything else background noise.”
It was simple in his mind. Win. Scoreboard over scandal. Part of me appreciated that.
The locker room door creaked open again.
Logan strolled in, phone half-hidden in his palm. Third string, but carrying himself as if the depth chart were temporary.
His dad used to move through King Enterprises offices with quiet authority. Now he didn’t.
Money hadn’t disappeared—but it had grown tense in his house. College wasn’t guaranteed anymore. Neither was anything else.
The smirk remained. It just didn’t sit as easily.
“Well,” he drawled, gaze flicking between us. “Heard the gala was eventful.”
My spine went rigid.
Theo muttered under his breath, barely audible. “Funny how news travels fast.”
Logan’s smirk held. “Word gets around.”
“Didn’t hear you were invited,” Chase replied evenly.
“I had better things to do.”
Jax scoffed. “Sure you did.”
Logan’s gaze fixed on me, assessing and waiting for a reaction.
He wouldn’t get one. “Practice,” I ordered. The word cut clean through the tension. Helmets went on. Gloves pulled tight. Skate guards snapped off and clattered into lockers. We filed toward the tunnel, rubber flooring thudding beneath heavy strides.
The cold hit the second we stepped onto the ice. I pushed off, letting the glide carry me the length of the rink before digging in deeper. The first few laps loosened what had built in my chest. By the third, my breathing evened out. By the fifth, my legs began to feel the work.
Logan circled wide, that faint smirk still hovering as he tracked me. A storm cloud in his expression.
I didn’t break eye contact when we passed. If Elise thought she’d rattle me before college coaches and scouts filled the stands next week, she was wrong. I was already committed to Michigan. The signing was a formality. They wanted me—badly.
She wasn’t taking that from me.
I leaned into the next drill, cutting hard left and snapping a shot high into the top corner past our backup goalie before he finished setting his angle. The puck hit the netting with a violent snap.
Jax whooped from center ice. “There he is.”
Theo’s voice carried across the rink. “Again.”
Good. I wanted the repetition. Advance. Adjust. Strike. Whatever battle brewed off the ice would not bleed into my game. And if Logan carried messages between him and Elise, if that smirk meant something already in motion—let it.
I drove harder into the next play, shoulder checking Logan clean into the boards when he hesitated half a second too long.
He glanced back at me, irritation flashing.
I skated past without acknowledgment. Pressure didn’t slow me down. It made me dangerous.