19. Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
~LILLY~
The silence of the last two days has felt like a physical weight crushing my chest.
Ever since Zed stormed off the ice, he’s vanished. He didn’t show up at the rink yesterday. He didn’t call me again or come by my house either. He’s been completely off the grid, and I’ve been left drowning in his absence.
Until tonight.
The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel is an absolute sensory overload.
The Blazers are hosting their annual pre-season gala, a high-profile charity event, and this year it’s focusing heavily on the Youth Academy.
The space is a sprawling sea of opulence—crystal chandeliers dripping light from the vaulted ceilings, a live string quartet humming in the background, and a dense crowd of multimillionaire team owners, sponsors, volunteers, local celebrities, and NHL players from across the league.
Later tonight, the academy kids and their families will arrive, but right now, it’s a high-society shark tank.
I step through the arched entryway, my fingers tightly clutching my small purse as my eyes immediately begin scanning the crowd.
Across the crowded expanse of the ballroom, the sea of identical, stiff black tuxedos completely parts. My breath catches, freezing in the back of my throat.
Zed towers over everyone in his vicinity, a massive, dark monolith standing at the edge of one of the tables.
He hasn’t worn a tuxedo like most people here tonight.
Instead, he’s wearing tailored black slacks that hug his powerful thighs and a black dress shirt.
The collar is unbuttoned, exposing the thick, wicked expanse of tattoos crawling up his throat, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
The ink covering his forearms, his thick wrists, and his knuckles is fully on display.
It is the most formal clothing I have ever seen on his brutal frame, and good God, he looks devastatingly handsome.
His hair is styled back, but a single, rebellious strand has broken free, falling perfectly over his forehead.
A heavy silver watch glints on his wrist as he lifts a crystal glass, taking a slow, casual sip of amber whiskey while two older board members and a wealthy-looking woman talk at him.
He looks entirely bored and disconnected.
As if sensing my gaze on him, Zed’s head shifts. His piercing eyes cut through the crowded room, bypassing a hundred people, until they lock dead onto mine.
The change in him is instantaneous.
I watch as his massive, tense shoulders visibly relax.
His heavy gaze drops, tracking down the length of my body with slow, scorching deliberation.
He takes in every single inch of the cherry-red dress I chose tonight, my waist, the bare skin of my collarbone, before rising back up to find my eyes.
There is a raw, possessive hunger flaring in his gaze that makes my skin instantly flush hot.
Zed’s lips twitch, the edge of a smile forming as he begins to shift his weight, clearly about to excuse himself from the people and march across the ballroom toward me.
But before he can take a single step, another older gentleman cuts into his space, enthusiastically grabbing his hand for a shake.
Zed grips the man’s hand out of pure professional obligation, but his face doesn’t turn away.
His eyes stay anchored directly to mine over the man’s shoulder, refusing to let me go.
My heart beats a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I offer him a small, reassuring nod, letting him know I’m not going anywhere, before I turn and slip through the crowd toward one of the long marble bars to get a drink and steady my shaky hands.
When I get to the nearest one, I lean against the edge, trying to force my heart rate to slow down.
I have no idea what happened after Zed stormed off the ice two days ago.
I only know the fury I saw in his eyes before he vanished.
Seeing him tonight, looking so put-together, contrasts sharply with that.
While I wait for the bartender to pour my wine, I look out over the glittering crowd.
A few rows over, I spot Jace and Melody mingling near the champagne tower.
Melody catches my eye and instantly smiles, nudging Jace, who raises his crystal glass toward me in a silent, friendly toast. I smile back, giving them a small wave just as the bartender slides my drink across the marble.
“Thank you,” I murmur, reaching for the stem of the glass.
“Still drinking that sweet garbage, I see. Some things never change, Lil.”
The voice cuts through the ambient chatter of the ballroom like a rusted blade. I freeze, my hand locking around the stem of my glass as a cold, heavy stone drops straight into my stomach. My posture instantly stiffens.
I’d know that cocky drawl anywhere.
Slowly, I turn around. Standing less than two feet away is a tall, sharply built blond man. He’s wearing a tailored navy-blue tuxedo, a crystal champagne flute balanced loosely between his fingers. His symmetrical face is set into a look of satisfied, arrogant amusement.
My chest tightens. I knew there would be other NHL players from rival teams attending the gala, but the league is massive. I never actually thought my ex would be standing in this exact ballroom.
“Liam,” I greet him, my voice flat.
“The one and only.” He smirks as he slides into my space, leaning one elbow against the marble bar to effectively trap me against it.
He completely ignores my glare, his blue eyes dropping down to track the front of my dress.
“Goddamn, Lil. I missed that ass. It looks absolutely incredible in that dress. You put that on for me?”
“I didn’t even know you’d be here, Liam,” I say, stepping to the side to create space, but he just shifts his body to block me again, his arrogant, entitled grin firmly in place.
“That’s all I get?” He raises a brow.
“Were you hoping for a round of applause?” I ask.
“Still so friendly.” He lets out a mocking chuckle, tossing his head back. “You were a lot less bitchy when we were together.”
“And you were far less obvious about being an asshole.”
That gets me a stunned blink. Then the arrogance slides right back into place.
“Are you still stuck on the redhead?” he asks. “Seriously?”
My jaw tightens, and I take a sip of my wine to do something with my hands.
“Lil, you completely overreacted and you know it,” he sighs, rolling his eyes as if I am the one being an exhausting child.
He takes a lazy sip of his champagne, leaning closer until I can smell his cologne.
“Let’s be real for a second. You were acting like a total prude, not giving me any more pussy.
What was I supposed to do? A guy has needs.
It’s just how it works. I don’t get why you’re still so upset about a meaningless hookup. ”
The sheer narcissism of his words makes my blood boil. He ruined our entire relationship, humiliated me, cheated on me, and he’s standing here acting like it was my fault for not performing on command.
“I’m not upset, Liam. I’m disgusted,” I say, my voice rising with anger and revulsion. “I want you to get out of my face, and I want you to stay away from me.”
I grip my wine glass and try to push past him, but Liam moves with the quick reflexes of a professional athlete.
He steps directly into my path, his body cutting off my escape route.
Before I can recoil, his hand shoots out, his fingers sliding up my bare forearm, his grip tightening just enough to pin me in place.
“Come on, Lilly,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a demanding hiss as he pushes deeper into my personal space.
“Don’t act like you were miserable the whole time.
” His thumb strokes once over my arm. “Are you still keeping that legs-locked, innocent-girl act up? Because I’m still the only guy who knows how to break through it. ”
“Take your hand off me,” I hiss, pulling back against his grip, my eyes darting around the crowded bar.
“Why are you acting like I’m the villain, huh?
” Liam’s grip on my arm is a suffocating trap.
“I wanted to be with you. You’re the one who stopped give me anything.
And I tried, Lilly. I fucking tried to be as patient as I could be, but a guy can only jack off so much before he gets sick of it. You did this, Lilly. Not me.”
My eyes dart behind Liam’s head, trying to draw the attention of the security guards near us, but the expression on his face distracts me.
Liam’s arrogant sneer suddenly falters. His blue eyes flicker upward, looking past my head, and a deep, defensive frown mars his pretty features. He subtly tenses, his chest puffing out in an instinctive, aggressive posture.
A second later, a massive, heavily tattooed hand slides smoothly around my waist from behind. The grip is iron and instantly recognizable. The rich, dark scent of mahogany, expensive cologne, and a hint of whiskey floods my senses. A wave of pure, electric relief crashes through my veins.
Zed.
He pulls me backward and tucks my back flush against the massive wall of his chest.
Liam’s jaw tightens, an ugly sneer twisting his lips. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Mercer?”
I wince. Of course they know each other. They’re both in the NHL, though Liam’s team hasn’t even touched the playoffs while Zed is the back-to-back Stanley Cup-winning god of the league.
Zed’s thick arm wraps even tighter around my waist, pinning me securely against his steady heart, anchoring me to him.
“If I see your hand on her again, Richards,” Zed drawls, the vibrations of his voice going through my back, “I’ll tear it off at the wrist.”
“Oh, look at that. The monster has a new leash.” Liam scoffs, a desperate flash of bravado crossing his face as he raises his champagne flute like a shield. “Has she let you get to second base yet?”
Something shifts in Zed. I feel his chest expanding against my back.
“Get this right, you bottom-tiered fuck,” Zed grits. “My girl is none of your business.”