Chapter Thirteen #2
Mila leaned back into me again, her weight settling without hesitation. Whatever waited beyond graduation, she was not stepping into it alone. Neither was I.
“I can’t wait,” she said, the words warm against my throat.
I pressed my mouth to her hair, breathing her in. “You won’t have to for long.”
For the first time in weeks, the future didn’t feel like something we had to survive. It felt like something we were running toward.
Jax’s voice cut through the circle. “All right. Graduation.”
Chase groaned. “Do not start.”
Jax ignored him. “We’re out of here in a few months. No more Blackwood rules. No more parents hovering.”
Theo took a slow drink. “No more safety net either.”
Chase leaned back in his chair. “You mean no more being the biggest fish in a very small pond.”
Jax grinned. “Speak for yourself.”
Chase leaned back in his chair. “My plan is for the NHL and to not end up as my father’s minion.”
Avery snorted. “Please, he’ll push you out the door for hockey.”
Chase placed a hand over his chest. “That’s emotional violence.”
Tori’s laugh slipped out, small and surprised, as if she forgot she was allowed to find anything funny.
Theo’s gaze flicked toward her, softening. The look alone carried something real between them.
Mila watched it and snuggled closer against me. I felt her mind moving, connecting pieces, imagining futures.
Avery nudged Tori with her shoulder. “You’re staying in this circle.”
Tori blinked. “I am?”
“You are,” Avery repeated, voice firm. “You don’t get to float back toward Elise because you feel guilty, or she’s pressuring you.”
Tori’s face tensed. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” Avery cut in. “And you’re allowed to feel guilty, but you’re not allowed to let it decide your choices.”
Mila’s fingers squeezed mine. I knew she heard the same thing I did. Lines. People choosing where they stood. And Elise had to be putting pressure on Tori when we weren’t around.
Mila turned slightly in my arms, her eyes searching my face. She lowered her voice enough that only I could hear.
She leaned into me, watching the fire for a second before speaking. “We’re not talking about any of it tonight. The stuff with your family’s company.”
I let out a quiet breath against her hair. “That was the plan.”
“Good.” Her fingers fisted in my hoodie. “I’m tired of being careful.”
That made me look at her. “Tired how?”
“Tired of worrying.”
The honesty in her voice hit harder than any headline could have. I brushed my thumb along her wrist. “Then we stop for a minute.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. “You can do that?”
“For you?” I held her gaze. “Yes.”
From across the fire, Theo’s voice cut in.
“My parents are out of town until Thanksgiving.”
Jax perked up immediately. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Theo continued calmly, “the house in the mountains is empty.”
Chase straightened. “How empty?”
“Fully stocked. No supervision. No neighbors close enough to care.”
Silence fell over the group for half a second.
Then Jax grinned. “We have school tomorrow.”
“Barely,” Theo replied. “Half the teachers are at conferences. Wednesday is already off.”
Chase leaned forward. “Two days.”
Avery’s eyes widened. “You’re suggesting we disappear.”
Theo took another drink. “I’m suggesting we get a break and party.”
The idea moved through the group fast. I looked down at Mila. Her eyes were brighter than they had been all day. “Do you want to?” I asked quietly.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Besides, I’m sure Mom and Edwardo would love some privacy too.”
And just like that, the world narrowed back down to something simple.
No family pressure. No Elise. Just a house and two days where no one decided anything for us.
Her expression softened in a way that made my chest tighten. I leaned forward and kissed her again, slower this time, needing her to feel everything I wasn’t ready to put into words.
Her mouth answered mine without hesitation, her fingers tightening in my hoodie as she pulled herself closer. I forced myself to pull back before I forgot where we were.
Avery’s voice came again, louder this time. “Please do not make me witness foreplay.”
Mila rolled her eyes, cheeks warming. “Eat your food.”
Chase lifted his burger. “I’m eating.”
Theo’s mouth curved. “He’s always eating.”
Jax pointed toward the copse of trees. “If you two need privacy, go that way.”
Chase waggled his brows. “The beach is romantic. Sand in places you don’t want sand is also romantic.”
Theo shoved him again. “Do not speak.”
Mila laughed, and the sound hit me in the chest. It did not come often enough anymore. When it did, it always felt earned.
I lowered my mouth to her ear. “Walk with me.”
She didn’t ask where. She stood and reached for my hand immediately.
I stood and laced our hands together, then guided her away from the circle toward the edge of the trees, where the firelight faded into darker pockets of night.
Behind us, the group’s voices blurred into a warm hum. The ocean grew louder the farther we walked. The sand shifted under our shoes, cool and soft, the air carrying a bite near the shoreline.
Mila’s hand stayed in mine, her thumb rubbing lightly against my knuckle as if she was reminding herself I was still here.
We reached a spot where the beach curved enough to hide us from most angles. The fire’s glow still flickered against the sand, but the space felt private in a way Blackwood rarely allowed.
Mila stopped and turned toward me, her hair lifting in the wind. “You have been too quiet today,” she observed.
“I’ve been careful,” I answered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Careful with me.”
I exhaled slowly. She wasn’t wrong. I lifted my free hand and brushed a strand of hair back from her face, letting my knuckles graze her cheek. The touch was gentle, but my body pulled tight with the need to hold her closer.
“I want you to have days that don’t feel like this,” I admitted.
“You are not responsible for fixing everything,” she said quietly.
“I’m not trying to fix everything,” I replied. “Just trying to make room for better.”
She swallowed then stepped closer, closing the last inch between us.
Her hands traveled up my chest, fingers pressing into the fabric, finding the shape of me under it. “You already do,” she whispered.
I held her gaze then let my palms settle on her hips, thumbs moving slow over the curve beneath her sweater. The motion steadied both of us.
“What do you need tonight?” I asked.
She didn’t answer quickly. She looked at me as if she was working through something heavy. Finally, she lifted her chin. “I need to stop feeling as if everything good comes with a consequence.”
My throat squeezed. “It does not.”
Her mouth curved faintly. “That’s not how Blackwood works.”
“That’s how we work,” I corrected.
The wind gusted off the water, and Mila shivered slightly.
I moved without thinking, tugging her closer, folding her into my chest. Her arms wound around my back, gripping me with quiet force.
I rested my mouth near her temple. “You’re not a consequence,” I murmured. “You’re the only one I want in my arms every night and the best part of my day. We’ll make it through the next few months and have that freedom soon.” College couldn’t come fast enough. We both needed out of Blackwood.
Her breath hitched, and she turned her face into my hoodie, holding there as if she needed the fabric between us to keep her from breaking.
I pulled her closer, fingers spreading across her back, keeping her steady. The world could pull at us all it wanted. It would have to go through me first.
Mila lifted her head, eyes bright in the low light. “You’re going to hate me for this.”
I went still. “Do not.”
She gave me a look that held apology without surrender. “I’m going to say it anyway.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t interrupt. I let her have the space.
Her voice dropped to something soft and raw. “Sometimes I think I’m dragging you deeper. I think I’m the reason people keep coming for you.”
Fuck, I thought she was breaking up with me. Still… My jaw tensed. The instinct to deny came fast, but I forced myself to answer the right way.
“You’re not dragging me,” I replied. “This shit that happens here—it’s normal. It’s how I’m used to living. It has nothing to do with you being with me.”
Mila blinked once.
I kept going. “I chose you. I keep choosing you. You don’t get to protect me by stepping away.”
Her throat moved. “You can’t tell me you don’t have a future on the line.”
“I have a future,” I corrected, holding her gaze. “I also have you. Those are not enemies.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
I lifted her hand and pressed my mouth to her knuckles, slow and deliberate. The kiss was not performative. It was a promise.
When I looked up, her expression had shifted, softer around the edges, as if my words had given her something to hold on to.
“I hate Blackwood,” she whispered.
“I do too,” I admitted.
Her mouth curved faintly. “Then why do I feel safe with you here?”
“Because I’ll always protect you,” I answered.
Mila’s eyes held mine, then she leaned in and kissed me.
This kiss started soft then deepened with the kind of need that had been building all day. Her fingers fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer. My hands moved to her waist then up her back, holding her with care and intensity at the same time.
I kissed her until my lungs demanded air and my body wanted more than a beach bonfire could allow. When I pulled back, my forehead rested against hers.
Mila’s breath came shallow. “If we keep doing this, I feel like Avery is going to throw something at us.”
“Let her try it,” I murmured.
Her laugh slipped out, quiet and relieved.
I kissed her again, brief this time, then guided her back toward the fire. I wasn’t letting the night take everything from us. That conversation reinforced how much we needed a break from the bullshit here. Theo’s suggestion to take off for a few days couldn’t have come at a better time.
When we returned, Avery’s eyes narrowed immediately. “You were gone long enough for me to assume you committed a felony.”
Mila dropped onto the log, cheeks warm. “You’re dramatic.”
Avery leaned closer. “Correct.”
Chase tossed another piece of wood on the fire. “Where are the villains tonight?”
Theo’s gaze flicked to the beach road. “Don’t summon them.”
Jax scanned the field again. “No Logan. No Elise.”
Mila’s posture tensed at Elise’s name.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her close again, an easy motion that told her body what my mouth didn’t need to repeat. You’re not alone.
The hour passed in a peaceful way. Conversation drifted to graduation, to whose parents were going to cry the hardest, to who would pretend they weren’t sentimental and fail.
Theo made a quiet comment about going wherever hockey took him.
Jax talked about the draft with the kind of hunger that made it feel real and resonated deep within me.
Chase joked about escaping his father’s control and then went still for half a second, as if the joke had teeth.
Mila listened more than she spoke. Every so often she looked at me, and every time I met her gaze, I felt the day loosen a little.
The world did not vanish. But for an hour, it stopped swallowing us whole. When Mila shivered again, I stood and offered her my hand. “We should go.”
She didn’t argue. She rose and threaded her fingers through mine.
Avery’s voice followed us. “Text me when you’re headed to the mountain house.”
Mila rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
Avery lifted her middle finger in response.
We walked to the SUV with the ocean crashing against the shore, the fire behind us shrinking into a warm glow.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out of my pocket, answering when I saw it was Marcus. I switched it to speaker. “What did you find?”
“I found a phone registered under Darren’s alias.”
“Can you pull the records?”
“Yeah. I just need time. And a few favors.”
Mila and I exchanged a look. More information—but nothing we could use yet.
I ended the call then opened Mila’s door and waited until she climbed in. I closed it gently and moved around to the driver’s side.
Before I got in, I looked up toward the cliffs above the beach road.
Headlights cut through the darkness. Two points of light, high and still, watching the beach.
My body went tight, instinct snapping into place. I forced myself to look away and climb into the SUV.
Mila turned her head slightly, noticing the shift in me. “What is it?” she asked softly.
I started the engine and kept my voice even. “Nothing.”
Her hand slid across the console and found mine. Her fingers threaded through with quiet pressure.
“You don’t get to protect me by pushing me away,” she reminded me, and the words struck straight through the lie I had just tried to tell.
I swallowed, eyes on the road. “I know.”
The headlights on the cliff stayed in my peripheral vision as I pulled onto the beach road.
I drove Mila home with one hand on the wheel and the other holding hers, because I couldn’t control what was moving around us.
But I could make sure she never stood in it alone.
When I glanced in the rearview mirror at the last turn, the headlights were still there on the cliff, unmoving, as if someone had decided our hour of peace had been borrowed—and they wanted it back.