Chapter 15
Georgia
Happiness is a terrifying thing.
It’s not warm and fuzzy like the movies tell you. It’s sharp. It’s bright. It’s a high-wire act where you’re suddenly aware of exactly how far you have to fall. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. When you have everything... well, the ground looks a lot further away.
I was packing.
Not to leave. But to run.
Toby had stopped me in the hallway last night. He had kissed me until I couldn't breathe, until the logic of my father's check dissolved into the desperate need to be with him. We had made a plan. A crazy, reckless, beautiful plan.
We weren't going to take the check. We weren't going to break up.
We were going to liquidate.
Toby had spent the morning on the phone with a private broker—one unconnected to Kincaid Shipping. He was selling his personal assets. His car. His watch collection. Even the few stocks he had bought with his own allowance money over the years.
It wouldn't be millions. But it would be enough to pay off Leo's debt. Enough to buy us time until the draft.
And tonight, we were celebrating.
"Ready?"
Toby leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom. He looked... lighter. The weight that usually sat on his shoulders seemed to have evaporated. He was wearing jeans and a black hoodie, looking less like a billionaire heir and more like the boy I had fallen in love with in a boathouse.
"Almost," I said, zipping up my weekend bag. "Are you sure about the car? The Rover is your baby."
"It's metal and glass," he shrugged. "I can buy another car. I can't buy another you."
My heart did that treacherous little flip it always did when he said things like that.
"Cheesy," I teased, trying to hide my smile.
"True," he countered. He walked over and took the bag from my hand. "Let's go. The cabin is booked. Two days. No phones. No fathers. Just us."
We took the service elevator down to the garage. The Rover was gone—already picked up by the broker. In its place was a nondescript rental sedan.
"Incognito," I noted.
"Invisible," he corrected.
We drove out of the city as the sun began to set. The sky was a masterpiece of violet and gold, reflecting off the frozen lake.
I rolled down the window, letting the cold air sting my cheeks. I felt alive. For the first time in months, I wasn't looking over my shoulder. We had a solution. We had each other.
"You're smiling," Toby said, glancing at me.
"I am."
"What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about Leo," I admitted. "I texted him. Told him the money is coming. He... he cried, Toby. He said he's going to move to Oregon. Start a landscaping business. He's going to be safe."
Toby reached across the console and took my hand. "He's safe. And so are you."
"We beat them," I whispered, almost afraid to say it out loud. "We beat the old men."
"We did," Toby said, bringing my hand to his lips. "We won."
The cabin was perfect.
It was an A-frame nestled deep in the woods, about two hours north of Duluth. No Wi-Fi. No neighbors. Just pine trees and snow and a fireplace that took up half the wall.
We spent the first hour just... existing. We made a fire. We opened a bottle of cheap wine we’d bought at a gas station. We sat on the rug, watching the flames dance.
"This is better than the penthouse," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder.
"The penthouse is a museum," Toby said. "This is a home."
He turned to look at me. The firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the softness of his mouth.
"I have something for you," he said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.
My breath hitched. "Toby..."
"Don't panic," he laughed softly. "It's not a ring. I'm not that crazy. Yet."
He opened the box.
Inside was a key. A simple, brass key on a leather cord.
"What is this?"
"It's a key to a storage unit in Chicago," he said. "I moved some of my... personal things there. Things my father doesn't know about. And I want you to have access."
"Why?"
"Because if anything happens," he said seriously. "If they come for me, or if the accounts get frozen... there's cash in there. And passports. And deed papers to a small property in Canada."
He put the cord around my neck. The key settled cool against my skin, right over my heart.
"It's an escape hatch," he whispered. "For us. If we need to run, we run there."
I touched the key. It felt heavy. It felt like a promise.
"You thought of everything."
"I have to," he said. "Because now I have something to lose."
He cupped my face. His thumbs brushed my cheeks.
"I love you, Georgia."
The words hung in the air, suspended in the firelight.
He had said it before, in the dark, when he thought I was asleep. But this was different. This was deliberate. This was a declaration.
"Say it again," I whispered.
"I love you," he said, his voice stronger. "I love your chaos. I love your art. I love that you challenge me. I love that you see the boy inside the ice."
Tears pricked my eyes. "I love you too, Toby. I love you so much it terrifies me."
"Don't be terrified," he murmured, leaning in. "Be mine."
He kissed me.
It was the kind of kiss that stops time. The kind of kiss that makes the rest of the world fade away until there is only the two of you, suspended in a universe of your own making.
He lowered me onto the rug. The fire crackled beside us.
We made love slowly. There was no rush. No desperation. It was a worship. A mapping of skin and soul.
He touched me like I was holy. I touched him like he was the only solid thing in a liquid world.
When we finished, tangled together in the glow of the dying embers, I felt a sense of peace so profound it was almost dizzying.
"I want this," I whispered against his chest. "Forever."
"We'll have it," he promised. "After the draft. We'll get an apartment. Somewhere with big windows for your painting. And I'll play. And we'll be... boring."
"Boring sounds perfect," I sighed.
"Sleep," he murmured, kissing the top of my head. "We have all the time in the world."
I closed my eyes. I believed him.
We had beaten the odds. We had outsmarted the patriarchs. We were safe.
I drifted off to sleep, the brass key warm against my skin, dreaming of boring apartments and golden retrievers.
I woke up to the sound of a phone ringing.
It wasn't my phone. It wasn't Toby's phone.
It was a landline. An old-fashioned rotary phone sitting on a table in the corner of the cabin.
I sat up, confused. The fire was dead. The room was cold.
Toby was already awake. He was standing by the phone, staring at it like it was a bomb.
"Who calls a cabin landline?" I whispered.
"No one," Toby said, his voice tight. "Unless they know exactly where we are."
He picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
I watched his back. I saw his muscles tense. I saw his knuckles turn white on the handset.
He didn't say anything for a long time. He just listened.
"I understand," he said finally. His voice was dead. Flat. Robot mode.
He hung up the phone.
He stood there for a moment, not moving.
"Toby?" I asked, pulling the blanket around me. "Who was it?"
He turned around.
His face was pale. Ashen. The light was gone from his eyes. The hope was gone.
"My father," he said.
"How... how did he find us?"
"He tracked the rental car. He owns the rental company's parent corporation."
Of course he did.
"What did he say?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Did he threaten the trust fund again?"
"No," Toby said. He walked over to the bed. He sat down on the edge, looking at his hands. "He didn't mention the money."
"Then what?"
"He told me to turn on the TV."
"We don't have a TV."
"Check your phone," he said. "He turned the data back on."
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I turned it on.
It exploded.
Notifications flooded the screen. Dozens. Hundreds.
Texts from Lola. Texts from Jager. Texts from my brother. News alerts. Instagram tags.
I opened the first news alert.
TMZ SPORTS: COLLEGE HOCKEY STAR TOBY KINCAID IN "SUGAR DADDY" SCANDAL: GM'S DAUGHTER ALLEGEDLY PAID FOR COMPANIONSHIP.
My stomach dropped.
I clicked the link.
There were photos. Photos of me getting into the Rover. Photos of us at the Gala.
But then... there were documents.
A copy of the check from Sterling & Thorne. The one for $100,000. The one I didn't take.
But the article didn't say I refused it.
It said: Sources close to the Kincaid family confirm that Georgia Sterling accepted a six-figure payment to "manage" the star player's off-ice needs. The NCAA is investigating potential improper benefits violations that could strip Kincaid of his eligibility and tank his draft stock.
And then, the kicker.
A recording.
A grainy, audio file embedded in the article.
I pressed play.
Voice 1 (My Father): "Take the money, Georgia. Save your brother. Be the martyr."
Voice 2 (Me): "Done. I'll do it tonight."
It was edited. It was cut. It left out the part where I said I wouldn't forgive him. It left out the part where I refused to break Toby's heart.
It sounded like a transaction. It sounded like I had agreed to sell Toby out for cash.
I dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor.
"Toby," I whispered. "That's... that's edited. You know that's not what happened. You know I didn't take the check."
Toby didn't look at me. He was staring at the wall.
"The NCAA suspended me," he said. "Ten minutes ago. Indefinitely pending investigation."
"We can fight it! We can show them the broker records! We can prove we were selling your assets!"
"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "The story is out. The narrative is set. 'Sugar Daddy Scandal.' No team will touch me with this hanging over my head. I'm toxic."
He stood up. He walked to the window.
"My father called to tell me he's pulling the plug. Not on the money. On the team. He's withdrawing his sponsorship of the arena unless the university expels you."
"Expels me?"
"For academic fraud. Apparently, he has evidence that you... helped me with my Anatomy exams."
"I helped you study!"
"He has photos of you in the study room. Late at night. It looks... compromising."
He turned to face me.
"He won, Georgia. He nuked us. He burned it all down."
"We can still leave," I said, standing up. "We have the key! We have the cabin in Canada! We can run!"
Toby looked at me. His eyes were empty.
"Run with what?" he asked. "My accounts are frozen. The broker called while you were sleeping. The sale of the car was blocked. We have nothing."
"We have each other!"
"Do we?"
He picked up my phone from the floor. He looked at the article again.
"That recording," he said. "You said 'Done.' You said you'd do it."
"I was lying to him! To get out of there!"
"Were you?" He looked at me with a coldness that shattered my heart. "Or did you consider it? Did you hesitate? Even for a second?"
"Toby..."
"Did you consider selling me out to save your brother?"
I froze.
I couldn't lie. Not to him. Not now.
"Yes," I whispered. "For a second. Because I was scared."
Toby flinched. It was a small movement, but it felt like I had hit him.
"That's the difference," he said. "I never hesitated. I burned my life down for you without a second thought. And you... you calculated the ROI."
"That's not fair!"
"Fair?" He laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "Fair is a fairy tale, Georgia. This is reality."
He walked to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to Duluth," he said. "I have a press conference. I have to try to salvage what's left of my name."
"I'm coming with you."
"No."
He stopped at the door. He didn't turn around.
"You're staying here. My father's car will come for you in an hour. It will take you to the airport. You have a ticket to Paris."
"Paris?"
"Go," he said. "Take the art. Take the key. Go to Paris. Paint your storms."
"I don't want Paris! I want you!"
"You can't have me," he said. "I'm done. I'm out of the game."
He opened the door. The cold wind rushed in.
"Toby, please!" I ran to him. I grabbed his arm. "Don't do this. Don't let them win."
He looked down at my hand on his arm. Then he looked at my face.
"They already won, Georgia. The moment we thought we could be happy... they won."
He pulled his arm free.
"Goodbye, Princess."
He walked out into the snow. He got into the rental car.
I stood in the doorway, screaming his name, as he drove away.
He didn't look back.
The tail lights faded into the whiteout.
I was alone. In a cabin in the middle of nowhere. With a key around my neck that opened nothing but a box of ghosts.
And the silence that followed was louder than any scream.