Chapter 57
fifty-seven
Elijah
I know before they say anything.
I don’t need Jackson’s quiet comment, don’t need the way Zach moves beside her, don’t even need the way her breath still hasn’t fully settled.
I see it in her.
In the flush that hasn’t quite faded from her skin, in the softness of her mouth, in the way her body holds itself, looser, warmer, like something inside her has been eased and stirred all at once.
And the thing that hits me first isn’t anger.
It isn’t jealousy.
It’s relief.
It settles low and heavy in my chest, quiet but undeniable, because I know what that means. I know what they gave her out there, what she needed, what I’ve been holding back from her for too long.
She’s lighter.
I can see it.
And that matters more than anything else.
Jackson’s arm stays wrapped around her waist as they approach, his hand firm and grounding like he’s anchoring her in place while she finds her balance again. He glances at me as they reach me, something amused flickering in his expression.
“Our girl decided to have a little fun with Zach in the garden,” he says quietly, just low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond us. “But she’s still a little restless.”
My gaze drops fully to her.
I step in closer without thinking, my hand lifting to cup her face, my thumb brushing slowly over her cheek as I take her in properly. The heat in her skin, the softness in her eyes, the way she leans, just slightly, into my touch like she’s been waiting for it.
“Is that so?” I murmur.
Her breath catches. It’s small, but I feel it.
“Do you need more?” I ask, my voice low, steady, but threaded with something I don’t try to hide.
She looks at me. Really looks at me.
“Maybe.”
The word lands deeper than it should.
Something tightens in my chest, something that feels dangerously close to breaking loose, but I hold it where it is, keep it contained, keep it controlled.
“Then when we leave,” I tell her quietly, my thumb still tracing the line of her cheek, “we’ll give you everything you need.”
Her lips part slightly.
“I’m looking forward to that.”
For a moment, everything narrows.
Just her.
Just the way she’s looking at me.
Just the way she’s asking without saying it outright.
And for a second, I want to forget everything else. The room, the people, the threat that’s still sitting just outside the edges of this night, I want to take her somewhere quiet, somewhere hidden, and give her exactly what she’s asking for.
But I don’t. Because I can’t. Not here. Not yet.
So I force my focus forward as Zach steps up to the podium.
The room quiets gradually, the conversations softening into a low hum before fading enough for his voice to carry.
He doesn’t rush into it.
“This event exists because of Evelyn,” he begins, his tone calm, grounded, the kind of steady that doesn’t demand attention but holds it anyway. “She created something that doesn’t just draw attention, but directs it. In a way that actually matters.”
His gaze shifts briefly toward her, and there’s something in it, respect, pride, something deeper, that makes people pay attention without him needing to say anything more.
“She found a way to raise awareness and funding without turning it into spectacle,” he continues. “And that matters, especially for something like this.”
He pauses, just long enough for the room to settle fully.
“Diabetes has shaped a large part of my life,” he says then, more quietly. “Not just as an athlete, but as a person. It’s something I’ve had to learn to live with, train through, manage in ways most people don’t see.”
There’s no pity in his voice.
No performance.
Just truth.
“And that’s why this foundation matters. Because it’s not just about me. It’s about everyone who’s dealing with it, everyone who’s learning how to navigate it, everyone who deserves better support than what’s currently there.”
He thanks the sponsors.
The attendees.
The people who showed up.
And then his tone shifts slightly, something more personal threading through it.
“There’s one more thing,” he says.
The room stills again.
“At the end of this season,” he continues, “I’ll be retiring from professional hockey.”
It lands hard. You can feel it ripple through the room, the quiet shock, the murmurs that follow, but he doesn’t waver.
“I’m ready to move into the next chapter of my life,” he says simply. “And to focus on this foundation fully.”
My gaze flicks briefly to Lia.
She’s watching him with something soft and proud, something that tells me she understands exactly what that choice means.
Zach finishes the way he always does. Clean. Direct.
“Thank you for being here.”
Applause rises. And for a moment, everything feels steady again. Like we’ve stepped into something new. Like we’re finally moving forward.
The first shot cuts through it.
It’s distant.
Sharp.
Wrong.
And for half a second, the room doesn’t react, like it hasn’t quite caught up to what it means.
Then the second shot follows.
Closer.
And everything breaks.
The sound fractures the room open, screams rising almost instantly, chairs scraping, people rushing, the careful structure of the night collapsing into chaos in seconds.
My body locks into focus immediately. Lucian is already moving toward me, his voice low but urgent as he reaches me.
“It’s Vargas,” he says. “They’re hitting the perimeter.”
Of course they are.
My hand finds Lia without thinking, pulling her into me, my arm wrapping around her, anchoring her against my body as I scan the room, already mapping exits, movement, threats.
“Jackson,” I call.
He’s there instantly.
Close.
Ready.
“Stay with her,” I tell him, my voice sharp now, controlled but absolute. “Do not let her out of your sight.”
“We need to get Zach,” Lia says, her voice tight, urgent, cutting through everything else. I see him the second I look.
Zach steps down from the stage without hesitation, no pause, no glance back, cutting straight through the chaos toward us with the same calm precision he carries on the ice. People move around him, security shifting bodies, redirecting the crowd, but he doesn’t break stride.
“I’m here,” he says the moment he reaches us, his hand coming to Lia’s arm, grounding her on the other side.
Gunfire cracks again.
Closer now.
Return fire answers.
Security is already engaging.
“Move!” Christian’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Back exit, now!”
The crowd shifts, pushed, guided, controlled chaos as people are funneled toward the rear.
“Stay tight,” I say, my grip firm on Lia as we move, Jackson at her other side, Zach just behind and beside us, his hand never leaving her.
We move as one.
Fast.
Deliberate.
Her grip tightens on me.
“Please don’t leave me,” she says.
The words hit harder than they should.
Because for a split second, I was going to.
The instinct is there, sharp and immediate, to turn, to move toward the threat, to step into it beside my brother, to end it before it gets any closer, But she’s here. In my arms. Alive. Looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping her steady.
I stop. Just long enough to choose.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her, my voice firm, leaving no room for doubt.
Even if every part of me is screaming to turn back.
We move faster after that. Through the back corridor. Out into the night. More men. More movement.
Cars already waiting, engines running, doors open, people being directed inside with sharp, controlled instructions.
I don’t let go of her.
Not for a second.
Zach stays tight to her side as we get her into the car, Jackson sliding in after her, and I follow immediately, pulling her back into me the second the door shuts.
The car lurches forward.
Fast.
Pulling away from the estate. Gunfire still echoes faintly behind us, distant now but not gone. My gaze stays fixed out the window.
Watching.
Tracking.
Waiting.
Christian is still there.
Lucian is still there.
They can handle it.
I know they can.
But that doesn’t stop the tension sitting in my chest, tight and unrelenting, because I don’t have eyes on it anymore. I don’t know how it’s unfolding, don’t know who’s still standing, don’t know if this is contained or just beginning.
Lia shifts closer into me, Zach’s hand still wrapped around hers on the other side, Jackson’s arm firm at her thigh as he leans over to touch her, grounding himself.
She’s surrounded.
Held.
Protected.
“I’m okay,” she says quietly.
I nod.
But I don’t answer.
Because until I know what is happening with my brother, nothing about this is okay.
And for the first time tonight, I’m not in control of what happens next.