40. Epilogue
Seeley
“Final round!”
The announcer’s voice thundered through the sound system, reverberating off the high ceilings and rattling through the floor.
The massive conference room buzzed with energy—dozens of voices layered over each other, laughter and cheers tangling with the clink of glassware from the sponsor tables, the shuffle of moving bodies, the occasional static pop of a security radio.
The scent of arena popcorn and expensive cologne clashed in the air, a strange mix of casual indulgence and corporate polish.
“Tonight, our undefeated duos—Shepherd Landon and Hampus Breining versus Merri Wylie and Coach Trasier—battle for the coveted Golden Paddle Trophy! Who will take home bragging rights and the jackpot for their charity?”
Hampus.
The name reverberated through me, a silent ripple beneath my ribs. A familiar response and yet still unexpected. Even after all this time working security at the arena, the sight of him still did something to me.
Loose strands of dark blonde hair escaped the band at the back of his head, taunting me as they brushed his cheek.
No one had told him man buns were out of fashion and I hoped they never did.
He wore it well. His shoulders bunched beneath the navy Renegades shirt he wore, the fabric straining over heavy muscle.
His fingers curled around the paddle handle, making it look like a child’s toy, small, frivolous. His hands stirred my imagination—
Stop. Focus.
I exhaled, shifting my stance near the perimeter of the room, where the other security team members kept watch.
Too many bodies in one space meant heightened awareness—athletes, VIP sponsors, and fans all swirling in controlled chaos.
It was my job to keep an eye on everything, not to let my attention drift to one man.
At least, not too often.
Across the table, Merri bounced on her toes, her energy effortlessly contagious. The soft fabric of her sunshine-yellow tennis dress swished with each movement, the bright color standing out against the deep blue and gray tones of the Renegades uniforms.
She’d caused a stir this season—rookie status, a woman in a role no one expected to last, fresh gossip for the guys in the control room.
They had running bets on how long she’d stick around.
But she’d proven them wrong. Proven she belonged.
That daisy-covered paddle dancing between her fingers, a gift from the players when she signed on as a permanent member of the organization, said as much.
And that teasing flick of the wrist? That was for her fiancé.
She’d earned him, too.
With her gorgeous red hair, her high-voltage smile, the way she seemed to shine in the crowd—of course, she had.
No one would question it, least of all me.
But it wasn’t just that she had him. It was the way he looked at her.
The way she vibrated under his attention, like she’d been waiting her whole life to be seen by him.
Like they were in their own little world, even in a room full of people.
She belonged here. Center stage, confident, surrounded by people who adored her.
And me?
I stayed where I was supposed to be. At the edges. Out of the way.
Coach Trasier lifted his paddle with a smirk. Across from him, Hampus’s jaw tightened. A muscle jumped, a tell I knew too well. Frustration. That simmering kind that curled beneath his skin, winding tight like a storm on the verge of breaking.
Not that I spent my nights memorizing the sharp angle of his jaw, the flicker of emotion behind those dark blue eyes—
Focus.
“Ready?” Shep’s voice cut through the noise, easy confidence layered over the hum of conversation in the room.
Hampus barely lifted his paddle in response, his gaze locked ahead. That intensity, that razor-sharp focus—it was part of him, stitched into his very being. Competition wasn’t just in his blood; it was in his bones, his breath.
I loved seeing him like this.
Dialed in. Driven. Unshakable.
I’d spent too much time imagining what it would be like to be on the other side of that look. To be the one pulling that focus, the one he locked in on with that same quiet ferocity.
The ball cracked off Shep’s paddle, spinning toward Merri with ruthless precision.
Undaunted, she met it with an easy flick of her daisy-covered paddle, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Try that again, Golden Boy. You won’t get a point off me that easily.”
Shep’s grin stretched wide. “I don’t mind if I do.”
But Hampus... Hampus pulled at his hair, dragging his fingers through the mess until strands fell loose, brushing his cheek.
The sharp crack of paddle against ball snapped me back to the game, followed by Merri’s delighted laugh. Another point gone. Coach Trasier didn’t even flinch. Merri was wiping the floor with them, one flick of her wrist at a time.
The crowd’s cheers swelled around us, but my attention jerked upward.
A deep rumbling snore rolled through the air.
Clyde. He was sprawled across the stage edge, one massive paw dangling over the side.
The stage barely fit the Ping-Pong tables, but it was perfect for the mastiff.
His snores cut through the noise of the crowd, deep and steady, like a lullaby in the chaos.
Not that it helped Hampus. He was still pulling at his hair, strands slipping from the knot as if he couldn’t stop. The darkness in his eyes had spread, a raw, jagged thing. His jaw clenched as his shoulders tensed. Something was breaking beneath his skin, a pressure building in his chest.
“Match point!” Merri twirled her paddle, light flashing off the surface. “Ready to admit defeat?”
Shep’s easy laughter rang out. “Never. Right, Hammer?”
Hampus didn’t respond. His fingers whitened on the paddle, gripping so tight I half-expected it to snap. His body was still, the kind of stillness that made my heart skip. He wasn’t here anymore. Not with us. His focus was miles away.
The ball sailed over the net, spinning fast. Merri barely touched it, sending it skimming over the surface with a delicate tap. Hampus lunged, too late, his body stretching just short of the ball’s path.
Game over.
The crowd erupted, Shep hoisting Merri into his arms, twirling her as she raised her paddle like a trophy. Coach Trasier’s booming laugh bounced off the walls.
But Hampus didn’t move.
He stood frozen, staring down at his paddle like it had betrayed him. His chest heaved, too quick, too shallow, like he couldn’t get enough air. His fingers finally gave up the paddle, letting it fall with a sharp clatter that echoed through the space, jarring in the sudden stillness.
Something was wrong. Something was... off.
He looked lost.
I was ten feet away, positioned near the back of the room, but the moment his eyes stayed blank, the rest of the crowd seemed to blur.
Before I could react, he spun on his heel, shoulders tight, and walked away.
Not toward his teammates, not toward the celebration—away.
His presence cut through the crowd, the wide arc of his shoulders forcing space, as if he could push the people around him out of his way.
He reached the far corner of the room, the shadows pulling him in.
He half-hid behind a column, his face half-submerged in darkness, his jaw set so hard it could have been carved from stone.
The shadows pooled beneath his cheekbones, deepening the lines of his face until he barely resembled the man I’d watched battle across this floor.
I swallowed hard.
Ten feet. Just ten feet away, an exit door loomed—just a step and he’d be gone.
My skin prickled. If he left now, out into the city, in this state…
The radio at my hip pressed cold against me, its presence demanding attention. A simple call to dispatch. One call, and his behavior would be flagged. Someone would check on him. Protect him.
And probably end my career.
Star players didn’t appreciate security guards calling attention to their weak moments.
Especially not Hampus Breining, the man who guarded his privacy like a dragon hoarding gold.
The man who’d never forgive the girl who dared suggest he needed help.
The man who’d never look at me again without contempt.
His head tilted back against the column, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers trembled as they ran through his hair, tugging hard at the tangled strands.
My feet shifted, a reflex. One step. A step too close.
Do something. Say something.
But what? “Hey, I’ve been watching you for years, and lately, you seem like you’re struggling”? Yeah, that wouldn’t be creepy at all.
And delusional. I knew myself well enough to know there was no way I would approach Hampus Breining. Not in a million years.
The chatter of the crowd faded, muffled by the rush in my ears, the pulse hammering against my neck, my ribs.
The weight of responsibility pressed down on me—heavy, suffocating.
But it tangled with something else. Something I couldn’t name.
Something that had nothing to do with my job and everything to do with the lost look in his eyes.
He shouldn’t be alone right now.
But he already was.
Across the arena, Merri’s laugh sparkled over the noise, a sharp, bright contrast to the heaviness gathering in my chest. She perched on Shep’s shoulders, her daisy paddle raised like the Stanley Cup itself.
Other players surrounded her, laughing, cheering.
Coach Trasier grinned along with the rest, as if he had anything to do with their victory.
A perfect moment. Love and joy, all the things I pretended I didn’t want.
But my gaze dragged back to that dark corner, to—
Empty space.
My breath caught, a jagged thing that felt like a cold weight in my lungs. When had he—?
A flash of movement. Broad shoulders disappearing through the narrow exit door window. The metal clicked shut behind him with a sound that seemed too final, too quiet.
Gone.
The radio pressed cold against my hip, a constant reminder that I wasn’t moving, wasn’t doing my job. My fingers stayed frozen at my side, my feet rooted in place. I didn’t shift, didn’t look away. My spine straightened, my expression blank.
But something heavy settled in my chest as I stared at that door. Something thick and sharp, a pulse of ache.
Like regret.
Like failure.
Like letting someone fall because I was too afraid to reach out and catch them.
The celebration raged on, bright and warm, full of hope and joy. But all I saw was that empty corner. All I heard was the faint echo of that door closing, that soft, final sound. And all I felt was the weight of everything I never said.
Some security officer I was. Couldn’t even protect someone from themselves.
Or maybe I was just protecting myself.
The door remained closed. The corner remained empty. And I remained at my post, doing my job, pretending my heart hadn’t just walked out that door with a troubled hockey player who didn’t even know I existed.
Business as usual.