Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Mila
Waking up next to Theo Volkov felt different when you weren't hiding.
Before, our mornings had been stolen moments. A frantic check of the clock, a hushed whisper, a constant undercurrent of anxiety that the door would burst open and expose us.
Today, I woke up in a hotel room in Indianapolis, wrapped in a duvet that smelled like hotel bleach and Theo. Sunlight streamed through the sheers, bold and unapologetic.
I rolled over. Theo was already awake. He was propped up against the headboard, one arm tucked behind his head, scrolling through his phone with his other hand.
He was shirtless, the sheet pooling at his waist, exposing the sharp definition of his abs and the V-line that disappeared into the fabric.
He looked calm. He looked… settled.
He sensed me moving and glanced down. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face—the kind of smile that made my insides melt.
"Morning, teammate," he rumbled.
"Morning, Captain," I yawned, scooting closer until my head rested on his chest. His skin was warm. His heartbeat was slow and steady. "What’s the damage? Is the world burning?"
"Pretty much," he said casually, turning the phone so I could see. "Twitter is a dumpster fire. My mother called three times—she’s hysterical, but happy. And Silas released a statement saying he’s 'taking time to focus on personal matters.' Which is code for 'lawyers are eating me alive.'"
"Good," I muttered. "I hope they leave crumbs."
"My agent says the debt is effectively dead," Theo continued, his fingers tracing circles on my bare shoulder. "The predatory lending angle scared the loan sharks off. And Silas can't collect without admitting he bought it illegally."
"So we’re free?" I asked, looking up at him.
"We’re free," he confirmed. He dropped a kiss on my forehead. "But we still have one boss battle left."
"Miller?"
"Miller."
Coach Miller. The man who controlled Theo’s playing time, his recommendations, his legacy at Blackthorne. We had to go back to campus. We had to pack up our lives. And we had to face the music.
"Are you scared?" I asked.
Theo set the phone down on the nightstand. He wrapped both arms around me, pulling me on top of him so I was straddling his hips. He looked into my eyes, the grey clear and bright.
"I’m done being scared, Mila," he said. "I have the girl. I have the team in Chicago. Miller can scream all he wants. He can't touch us."
"That’s the spirit," I said, leaning down to kiss him. "Although, if he yells at you, I might bite him."
"Please don't bite my coach," Theo chuckled against my lips. "Save the biting for me."
"Deal."
We lingered in bed for another hour, ordering breakfast and watching SportsCenter replay Theo’s mic-drop moment. Seeing us on screen—holding hands, walking away from the chaos—felt surreal. We looked like a power couple. We looked unstoppable.
"Okay," Theo said finally, slapping my ass lightly. "Shower. Pack. Let’s go home and finish this."
The drive back to Blackthorne was a victory lap. We blasted music (my playlist this time, lots of Taylor Swift which Theo pretended to hate but secretly tapped the steering wheel to). We stopped for gas and Theo kissed me in front of the pumps while a trucker honked. We didn't care.
We pulled into the campus parking lot at 4:00 PM.
The atmosphere was weird. Students stopped and stared as the black Raptor rolled in. Phones came out. Whispers started.
“It’s them.”
“The Tsar is back.”
I reached for the door handle, but Theo stopped me.
"Wait," he said.
He got out first. He walked around the truck. He opened my door.
He offered me his hand.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," I said, taking it.
We walked across the quad hand-in-hand. We didn't rush. We didn't look down. We walked straight to the Athletic Complex.
We bypassed the locker room and went straight to the offices.
Coach Miller’s door was closed. Theo didn't knock. He just opened it.
Miller was sitting at his desk, watching film. He looked up, startled. His eyes narrowed when he saw us. When he saw our joined hands.
"Volkov," Miller grunted. "You’ve got some nerve showing your face here."
"I came to clean out my locker, Coach," Theo said evenly. "And to say goodbye."
Miller leaned back, crossing his arms. He looked at me, then back at Theo.
"You realize what you did, right?" Miller asked, his voice low. "You humiliated a General Manager on national television. You turned the Combine into a soap opera. You made this program look like a circus."
"I told the truth," Theo countered. "Silas Kensington was abusing his power. I protected my family."
"You burned bridges," Miller snapped. "Do you think the old guard in the NHL likes whistleblowers? Do you think they like players who go rogue?"
"The Blackhawks liked it," I interjected.
Miller’s gaze snapped to me. "Excuse me?"
"The Blackhawks," I repeated, stepping forward. I felt Theo’s hand squeeze mine in support. "They called him. They offered him the Captaincy. They want a leader, Coach. Not a puppet."
Miller stared at me. For a second, I thought he was going to explode.
Then, slowly, the tension left his shoulders. He let out a long, heavy sigh. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Chicago, huh?" Miller muttered.
"Yes, sir," Theo said.
Miller looked at Theo. He looked at the scar on his brow, the set of his jaw. He looked at the way Theo was positioning his body slightly in front of mine, shielding me even though there was no physical threat.
"You’ve grown up, Volkov," Miller said quietly. "You used to be a robot. I worried about you. I thought you didn't have the heart for the next level."
He stood up. He walked around the desk.
"You proved me wrong," Miller admitted. "What you did on that stage... that took guts. Stupid guts, but guts."
He extended his hand.
"Good luck in Chicago, son. Don't embarrass me."
Theo stared at the hand. Then he took it. A firm shake.
"Thank you, Coach."
"And you," Miller said, looking at me. A grudging smile touched his lips. "Kensington. You’re a pain in the ass. But you kept him honest."
"I try my best," I smiled sweetly.
"Get out of here," Miller waved us off. "Before the boosters start calling me asking why I let the best player in the country walk out the door."
We walked out of the office.
As the door clicked shut behind us, Theo let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for four years.
"That went better than expected," he said.
"He respects you," I said. "You stood your ground. That’s all he ever wanted."
We walked down the hall to the locker room. It was empty. The season was over.
Theo walked to his stall—Number 19. His nameplate was still there.
He started packing his gear into a duffel bag. The skates. The pads. The helmet.
He picked up his jersey. The black and gold with the 'C'.
He looked at it for a long moment.
"Are you going to keep it?" I asked.
"No," he said. He folded it neatly and set it on the bench. "I’m done with Blackthorne. I’m done with the past."
He zipped the bag. He slung it over his shoulder.
He looked at me.
"Let’s go home," he said.
"Home to the Fortress?"
"No," he said, pulling me close. "Home to us. Wherever that is."
We decided to spend one last night at the Fortress before driving to Chicago. Jax was thrilled. He ordered five pizzas and invited half the team over for a "Farewell to the King" party.
But around midnight, Theo gave me The Look.
The heavy-lidded, dark-eyed look that meant I need you alone.
We slipped away. Not to the bedroom, but to the roof.
The Fortress had a flat roof accessible by a fire escape. We climbed up, carrying a bottle of champagne and a blanket.
The night was clear. The stars were bright, unpolluted by city lights. The wind was cold, but under the wool blanket, pressed against Theo’s side, I was warm.
"To the future," I said, raising my plastic cup.
"To the future," Theo echoed, clinking his cup against mine.
He took a sip, then set the cup down. He turned to me, his face illuminated by the moonlight.
"Mila," he said softly.
"Yeah?"
"I need to show you something."
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box.
My breath hitched. "Theo... you said the puck was a promise."
"The puck was a promise," he said. "This is the delivery."
He opened the box.
Inside was a ring. It wasn't a diamond. It was a sapphire—deep, stormy blue, exactly the color of the painting I had fixed. It was set in a simple, elegant silver band.
"It’s not traditional," he said, sounding suddenly nervous. "But I saw it in a shop in Indy this morning while you were sleeping. It reminded me of your eyes. And the painting. And... us."
"It’s perfect," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "It’s absolutely perfect."
He took it out of the box. He took my left hand.
"I know we’re young," he said. "I know we’re moving to a new city and starting new lives. But I don't want to do any of it without knowing you’re mine. Officially."
He slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly.
"Mila Kensington," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Will you marry me? For real this time?"
"Yes," I sobbed, launching myself at him. "Yes, yes, a million times yes."
He caught me, falling back onto the blanket. We kissed under the stars, frantic and joyful.
"Take me inside," I whispered against his mouth. "Take me to bed."
"No," he growled, rolling so he was on top of me. "Right here. Under the sky. I want the universe to see."
"It’s freezing," I laughed, though my body was already heating up.
"I’ll keep you warm," he promised.
He did.
He stripped me out of my clothes with an urgency that stole my breath. But it wasn't the desperate, fearful urgency of before. It was a celebration. It was a reclaiming.
When he entered me, it was slow and deep. He watched my face, savoring every reaction.
"You’re mine," he whispered, thrusting into me. "Tell me."
"I’m yours," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist. "I’m yours, Theo."
"And I’m yours," he vowed.
He moved with a rhythm that was pure poetry. Every touch was a statement of love. Every kiss was a thank you.
We made love on the roof of the Fortress, with the wind howling around us and the stars watching. It was wild. It was messy. It was the most beautiful moment of my life.
When we finally finished, collapsing into a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing, Theo pulled the blanket over us, tucking me into his side.
"You know," he murmured, kissing the top of my head. "We have to be up in five hours to drive the U-Haul."
"I don't care," I mumbled, tracing the tattoo on his arm. "I’m never moving."
"We have to move," he chuckled. "Our dog is waiting in Chicago."
"Claude," I smiled sleepily.
"Claude," he agreed.
I closed my eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
The fear was gone. The doubt was gone.
I was Mila Kensington. Future wife of Theo Volkov. Future art restoration expert. Future dog mom.
And for the first time in my life, the picture was complete.
The Next Morning
The U-Haul was packed. My car was towed behind it. The Fortress was empty, echoing with memories.
Jax stood in the driveway, looking forlorn.
"Who’s going to tell me not to eat pizza for breakfast?" he asked sadly.
"You’re a big boy, Sinner," Theo said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You’ll figure it out. Besides, you’re visiting in two weeks."
"Damn straight," Jax said. He hugged Theo—a real, manly bear hug. Then he hugged me. "Take care of him, Princess. He’s high maintenance."
"I know," I laughed. "I have the manual."
We climbed into the truck cab. Theo took the wheel. I sat in the passenger seat, my feet on the dashboard (Theo didn't even complain).
He started the engine. He looked over at me.
"Ready?" he asked.
I looked at the ring on my finger. I looked at the man beside me.
"Ready," I said.
He put the truck in gear. We rolled down the driveway, leaving Blackthorne behind.
As we hit the highway, heading west toward Chicago, Theo reached over and took my hand.
"Hey, Mila?"
"Yeah?"
"Play the playlist," he said. "The Taylor Swift one."
I grinned. "Really?"
"Yeah," he smiled, squeezing my hand. "I think I’m starting to like it."
I hit play. Love Story blasted through the speakers.
Theo Volkov, The Tsar, the terrifying ice machine, started tapping his hand on the steering wheel to the beat.
I laughed, leaning my head back against the seat, watching the road stretch out before us.
It was a long road. But we were driving it together.
And that was all that mattered.