Chapter 28
FINN
I DON’T SHARE
Massive Brawl After Dirty Hit: One huge hit or dirty play triggers a full line brawl—benches nearly clear, gloves and helmets everywhere: pure mayhem, old-school hockey chaos. I hate being boxed in. If I’m not in the brawl, I want to be, because the guys are my family, and I will defend them.
I hate places like this—
They’re too loud, too crowded, and too many people are pretending they aren’t watching every damn move I make. But I’m here anyway—a mixer of VIPs, for Kate. She can get me to do about anything short of breaking the law, just by asking.
The bar’s packed—industry people, local sponsors, half the town trying to act like they belong in the VIP section just because they bought a ticket close to the stage.
Kate’s still glowing from the show, laughing with her band members as they unwind, and her face is still flushed from the heat of the spotlight.
I should be watching from the corner, staying in the background like a supportive husband, playing it cool, just like I know I should—But then he shows up.
Wade fucking Mitchell.
The hometown football hero, washed-up quarterback, and the same asshole who sold her out to the press not that long ago. He struts into the VIP section like he owns it, sliding in beside her like they’re still something. As if he still has the right to breathe her air.
I see red. I don’t even think, and unfortunately, I move.
By the time I reach them, Wade’s already got his hand on the back of her chair, leaning in, talking too close.
Kate stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away fast enough to satisfy me.
“Am I interrupting something?” My voice cuts through the noise, low and sharp.
Wade glances up, smug as ever. “Hey, man. Didn’t see you there.”
I don’t look at him. My eyes are on her.
Kate’s wide-eyed, caught somewhere between surprised and annoyed—but there’s something else there too—a flicker of something darker.
Possession twists in my chest.
She opens her mouth, probably to tell me to back off—but I don’t give her the chance.
Instead, I lean down, close enough for her to feel it, and press a slow kiss to her cheek, lingering, deliberate.
I swear Kate is holding her breath.
Wade watches, jaw ticking, wondering how this is gonna go, and how much he can push my buttons before I flatten him and we end up in a brawl worthy of a contentious hockey game.
“Just wanted to say good show, sweetheart,” I murmur, right against her skin. “Didn’t want to leave without congratulating you.”
Kate blinks up at me, lips parted, totally thrown.
I let my hand slide along her jaw, just enough to make Wade watch every second of it.
I know I should walk away. But I don’t because I can’t, I’m mesmerized by her, and there’s no goddamn chance I’m leaving Wade Mitchell alone with my wife. Not tonight. Not ever.
He’s leaning in too close, talking like they’ve still got something to share. His hand lingers at the back of her chair, fingers inching toward her shoulder like he has the right to touch her.
Wade leans back slightly, sizing me up like this is some casual reunion.
“Didn’t know you were coming out tonight, Callahan,” he says, all fake charm.
“Didn’t know they let trash in the VIP section,” I shoot back, voice flat, steady.
Kate stiffens, her eyes are as large as dinner plates—but I don’t wait for her approval to act. My gaze is locked on Wade, and then the air hangs thick, like the humidity before a summer storm. I don’t bother pretending that it’s okay for him to be here.
I reach down and take Kate’s hand, threading my fingers through hers, and squeezing hers tight enough so that she feels it—and so does he.
She tries to pull back, instinctively, probably because she doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing—but I hold firm.
Wade laughs, all smug like. “Easy, man. No need to get territorial.”
“Oh, I’m plenty territorial,” I say, leaning in and dropping my voice so it cuts like a knife. “Especially when it comes to my wife.”
Kate lets out a gasp, but I can’t stop. I pull her into my chest, wrapping an arm around her waist like it’s second nature. And it is, because there’s no one else I want in my arms. She’s mine. Mine to hold, mine to defend, and mine to protect.
Wade hurt her twice; he doesn’t get a third strike.
Kate settles into my chest as if she were made for it, and relaxes, knowing I have the situation under control.
“You’re done here,” I say to Wade, my voice threatening enough to leave no room for argument.
He stares, but even the cocky bastard knows when he’s lost. There’s a brief flicker of resentment in his eyes, and then, the quiet acceptance that he’s already lost.
Because I’ve already won.
I turn to Kate, ignoring everything and everyone around us, and tilt her chin up until she’s looking at me, her lips parted in stunned silence.
Then I kiss her. It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. It’s hard. It’s a kiss that says mine—a kiss meant to burn. I’m branding her. She gasps, her body tensing at first—but then her hands fist in my shirt, and she’s clinging to me like a woman lost at sea, and I’m her life raft.
The whole room watches, but I don’t care.
When I finally pull back, her eyes are glazed over, and her breath is shaky.
And then I walk her out—she’s still in shock, but I’m as steady as stone. It’s time he realized he doesn’t have a hold on Kate.
Back in the room. She’s pacing again. I shouldn’t be jealous of her past with Wade, but she’s mine, and I want the world to know it.
She’s curled up on the couch in her faded blue jeans with holes that aren’t there because it’s the brand, they’re there because they’re old and worn.
I lean back on the couch, watching her. She has her favorite journal in her hands.
The quietness of the room is broken only when she mutters under her breath, incoherent things to me, and then she scribbles on the crisp white pages.
The dim lighting gives her an angelic glow, and the look on her face is of a woman who’s driven, or is trying to outrun something she’s too damn stubborn to name.
I know she has to get her thoughts out when they hit, so I let her work.
She’s got no idea how easy she is to read when she’s like this—barefoot, wild-eyed, chasing lyrics like they’re gonna slip through her fingers if she stops moving. Her pen flies across the paper, and then she flips the page and writes some more.
I take a slow sip of my iced tea, letting the silence stretch so she can work, before I decide I need to speak my mind. It’s been wearing on me for some time. We made a deal. We have a contract, but I’m not happy. I want to break the agreement. I’ve waited as long as a man in love can wait.
“You always twiddle with your pen like that when you’re trying to outrun your feelings?”
She freezes mid-step, shooting me a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
“Don’t start with me tonight, Finn,” she says, in a tone that means she’s teasing.
I grin because I can’t help myself. She’s too easy to bait, and I love every second of it.
“Too late, honey,” I say, cocking my head. “You married a troublemaker, remember?”
She pauses, and her shoulders tense, because her guard is slipping just enough to let that word sink in. She straightens on the couch.
Married. Fake or not, it’s still our status. I set my glass down and stood, crossing the room slowly and steadily, watching her watch me like she’s waiting for the punchline. But it never comes.
She crosses her arms, and clutches her journal to her chest like a shield.
“You know what I’ve been thinking?” I ask in a playful tone..
She raises a brow, pretending she’s not curious. “I’m afraid to ask,” she deadpans.
I stop right in front of her, close enough that I can see the gloss on her cherry red lips and the way she’s fidgeting with her pen again, as if it will calm her.
I don’t blink and blurt out, “I don’t want to fake this anymore.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. She laughs instead—a short, sharp sound, all defense.
“Oh, that’s rich,” she says, shaking her head. “Now you’re catching feelings?”
I pull her to me, so there’s no space left between us, nothing but the familiar ache in my heart and the need to take her here and now.
“Don’t act like I’m the only one feeling this,” I say, challenging her to admit she feels something.
“What are you saying, Finn?” Her large brown eyes meet mine, and I’m lost. So I do the only thing I can do.
“I’m saying I want this marriage to be real. I want you—no media, no exes, just us. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
I can tell by the way she looks away that she’s scared. But I see something else this time. I saw a glint in her eye, and I know she’s tempted to say yes.
But, in my feisty wife’s true fashion, she asks, “And what happens when it all goes to hell?”
I can’t help but chuckle. There she goes, deflecting again. “Then we go down together, sweetheart.”
She lets out a nervous laugh, but the sound is sweet, and I hope it means she’s in a good mood.
“You’re a dangerous man, Finn Callahan.”
“So what’s it gonna be, Mrs. Callahan?” I ask, my voice steady but my heart pounding like hell. “Are you gonna take a chance on us?”
There’s a pregnant pause between us, then she gives me that cute Southern smile of hers that always turns my heart inside out.
“Sure,” she says, voice soft but sure. “But if we crash and burn, I’m writing a whole damn album about it.”
I grin, pulling her in and covering her pert little mouth with mine.
“I’ll take that risk.”
She has no idea I caught feelings for her the moment we met.
I think we’re going to be just fine.