Chapter Nine
LUKE
The rink was already at capacity when we stepped out for warm-ups.
Crestwood had traveled in force. Their student section filled the far bleachers in coordinated navy and white, loud and unified. Ours answered in silver and black. The air carried the layered noise of rivalry—cowbells, shouted names, the scrape of skates during warm-ups.
I circled the blue line, shifting weight through my edges to feel the glide. The first cut was controlled. The second forced more speed through the turn. I snapped a puck top corner and heard it catch mesh.
Across center ice, Crestwood’s captain, Mason, moved differently than the rest of his team.
He didn’t wait for lanes to open. He created them.
His hands stayed tight to his body, pulling the puck across defenders with almost no windup.
He cut inside at the last second instead of following a typical pattern like Coach would’ve drawn on a board.
He met my gaze once across the neutral zone. This would not be a calm game.
I glanced toward our side of the stands out of habit. Mila sat in her usual spot behind the plexiglass just off the left side of our bench. Avery sat beside her, Jasmine and Margie flanking them, Tori on the end with her hands wrapped around a coffee cup.
When my eyes found Mila’s, she held the look for a second then smiled. My shoulders eased a fraction. I faced forward again.
Coach called us in for final instructions. His voice cut clean over the noise.
“Crestwood feeds off broken coverage. Mason Stone will try to isolate one defender and force collapse. Do not overcommit. King, you anchor the first line. Set the pace.”
I pushed off the boards, blades carving clean arcs as I took my position at center.
The ref skated in, puck poised. The whistle cut loudly through the air, and the puck dropped.
Mason exploded through the neutral zone, shoulder dropping, stick handling tight enough to make a defenseman bite. Theo held his gap and forced him wide at the boards, but Mason made him earn every inch.
The crowd reacted to every near breakaway.
Jax skated beside me during a reset. “He’s fast.”
“He’s impatient,” I replied. “Don’t chase him. Make him chase us.”
We adjusted coverage, tightened our lanes, and forced Crestwood into perimeter shots. Mason tried to split two defenders midway through the first period and clipped my hip instead. I absorbed the contact and drove him into the boards cleanly.
He bounced back up with a grin that wasn’t friendly. Good.
Midway through the second quarter, the game opened up. Mason slipped a pass through traffic, and Crestwood buried it.
One–zero.
Their section erupted.
I circled back to center ice and blocked out the noise. On the next shift, I called the play before Coach could signal it. Theo cut high instead of cycling low. Chase drove net. I drew two defenders then sent the puck backdoor.
Goal. One–one.
The sound behind the plexiglass resonated differently. I allowed myself one glance toward the stands. Mila was on her feet.
Third period picked up. Bodies hit harder. Sticks came up faster. Mason tried to bait me into chasing him high near the blue line. I didn’t bite. I forced him outside, stole the puck clean, and transitioned immediately.
Two shifts later, I took a shot from just inside the circle. It deflected off a defender’s stick and lifted over the goalie’s shoulder.
Two–one.
We held it.
The final minute stretched longer than it should have. Mason made one last push, cutting across the slot with a desperation play that would have been beautiful if it had landed.
Theo stepped into the lane and finished the check, shoulder driving through Mason’s chest. The puck slid harmlessly into the corner. The buzzer ended it.
The release in my chest was physical. We lined up for handshakes. Mason’s grip locked around mine—firm, deliberate. His eyes held mine a second too long. I didn’t blink. He let go first.
As we cleared the ice, I glanced toward the stands again.
The arena was still loud. Mila didn’t glance at the ice. She was watching me like I was the only thing that mattered.
The locker room after a win usually carried an edge of chaos. Tonight it felt tighter. Controlled.
Jax dropped onto the bench and shoved my shoulder. “You looked like you wanted to kill someone in the first period.”
“I wanted to win,” I replied.
Coach clapped once, reminded us about film Monday, and told us not to do anything stupid.
The door barely shut before Chase announced, “Bonfire at Jax’s.”
“You bringing your whole personality or just the ego?” Theo muttered.
Jax flipped him off.
The arena parking lot was mostly ours by the time we stepped outside. Parents and a few Crestwood buses had already pulled out. The air had turned colder.
I spotted Mila near the railing by the exit, Avery and the others clustered around her. When she saw me, she separated from the group without hesitation.
The hug was immediate and real. Her hands wrapped around my waist and held there, grounding me in a way the win never could.
“You were unreal out there,” she murmured against my chest.
I shrugged her praise off, brushing a kiss over her cheek. She leaned into me.
From somewhere behind her, Avery’s voice cut through the noise.
“Bonfire at Jax’s! And Mila better not pretend she’s going home!”
Jax whooped. “You’re coming. No excuses.”
Chase added, “King, bring her. We earned it.”
Mila rolled her eyes but didn’t step away from me. “Peer pressure at its finest.”
I leaned closer. “You want to go?”
She studied me for half a second. “Do you?”
“We can go for a while,” I said. “Before I steal you away.”
Heat flickered across her expression. “Confident.”
“Accurate.”
Avery appeared at her shoulder. “If you ditch me for him, I’m stealing your car.”
“You don’t even have keys,” Mila shot back.
Avery grinned then rolled her eyes, unable to hide her excitement. “Details.”
The fire was already burning when we pulled up.
The field behind Jax’s house sloped toward the grove of trees that hid a lake.
Smoke lifted into the cold night air where the guys were gathered, slightly secluded with the rest of the people that had showed for tonight’s celebration after beating Crestview.
Folding chairs circled the flames. Theo had claimed the cooler. Chase was arguing about the music volume like it mattered.
Mila’s fingers slipped into mine as we crossed the grass.
I scanned automatically to see who was in attendance other than our core group.
Teammates. A bunch of seniors. No Logan.
No Elise. Jax caught my glance and tipped his chin once.
He must have put a ban on them showing, something I appreciated.
I didn’t want to deal with their bullshit tonight. I just wanted Mila.
She sat on a fallen log near the fire. I sat next to her and pulled her onto my lap without thinking. She fit there too easily. Her hands rested at my waist as she half-turned into me so we could talk.
“You looked calm out on the ice,” she said softly.
“I wasn’t.” Too much circling in my head before puck drop. Not the game. Everything else.
“You didn’t look rattled.”
“I don’t get to.” My thumb traced the inside of her wrist. “That’s the job.”
Her mouth curved. “That what you call it?”
“Staying upright? Yeah.”
She went quiet for a second, watching the fire. “I saw you talking to Michigan’s assistant coach.”
“It was nothing.” I shifted slightly so I could see her face. “Quick congrats. He’s been around before.”
“They already know you’re going.”
“Exactly.”
Her fingers fisted in my hoodie. “I also saw him talking to Crestview’s star player.”
That made me look at her. “Mason?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Right after you went into the locker room.”
I leaned back, letting that settle. Mason was good. Fast. Aggressive. The kind of raw talent player coaches convince themselves they could refine into something dangerous.
Sharing ice with him here on opposing teams was one thing. Sharing ice with him in Ann Arbor? That was different. The thought flickered through before I pushed it aside. Not tonight. “Michigan recruits talent,” I said evenly. “It’s not surprising they’re talking to him.”
“And if he ends up there?”
“Then he ends up there.”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“I don’t avoid competition,” I added. “I meet it.”
That eased something in her expression. “I know you do.”
The fire snapped behind us. Someone laughed too loud. Avery yelled at Jax about lighter fluid. The world shrank to the circle of heat and her back against my chest.
“I just don’t want anything catching you off guard,” she said quietly.
“It won’t.” If Mason showed up in my future, he’d be walking into mine, not the other way around.
She leaned her forehead briefly against my chest. I slid my hand from her wrist to her waist.
“You’re insufferable when you’re confident,” she murmured.
“I’m insufferable when I’m right.”
Her laugh was soft and real. It settled something steady in me.
We stayed until the fire burned lower and smoke clung to her sweater. No drama. No tension at the edges. Just the warmth of her against me, and people enjoying the night.
When she shivered once, I stood. “Come on.”
She didn’t argue as I wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her close.
I dropped her off an hour later. I didn’t pull away from the curb until her porch light flicked on.
My house looked the same as always when I pulled into the drive. Massive. Still. Untouched.
Inside, it wasn’t. Dad’s voice carried from the study. Mom’s layered over it, tighter than usual. Drew’s cut between them, steady. I slowed near the corner before I could stop myself.
“You should have anticipated the fallout,” Mom was saying. “The board does not tolerate being blindsided.”
“We moved quickly,” Dad replied. “Exposure was limited.”
“Limited?” Mom’s voice lowered instead of rising. That was worse. “Funds shifted within hours.”
A pause.
“That does not mean instability,” Drew inserted.
“It means perception,” Dad countered. “And perception becomes reality if we do not redirect it.”
“We need something tangible,” Mom pressed. “They want assurance.”
“They will have it,” Dad answered.
Silence hung thick.
Drew’s voice came again, quieter. “And if redirecting perception requires escalation?”
Dad’s reply dropped too low for me to hear.
I stepped back before the floorboard under my shoe could give me away.
Funds shifting. Board unrest. Assurance required. Leverage.
The word from Darren’s notebook pressed into place about not trusting anyone with the King name.
Money had moved. And money never moves without pressure.