10. Dean
Dean
The arena settles differently at night. It never goes completely still.
It never really empties. There’s always something happening somewhere in the building, some echo of movement or voices carrying faintly down a hallway.
But it quiets enough that the noise stops fighting for space in your head, and what’s left is easier to focus on.
That’s why I use my office when I need to get through things that matter.
Paxton’s file is still open on my desk when we stand, pages marked up in a way that says I’ve gone through them more than once and will again before I’m satisfied.
There’s potential there. Raw, but real. The kind that doesn’t come around often, and when it does, you don’t half-handle it and hope it figures itself out on its own.
Across from it, the Rizzoli camp plans sit in a growing stack. Notes, revisions, names circled and crossed out, details that keep expanding because once their family gets involved, nothing stays small.
Jake stretches as he steps away from the chair, rolling his shoulders back with a quiet exhale. “You’re not letting that kid breathe, you know that, right?”
“He doesn’t need to breathe,” I say, gathering the papers into a neater stack. “He needs to be ready.”
“He is ready,” Luka adds from the door, leaning against the frame like he’s been there longer than either of us realized. “You just don’t trust it yet.”
“I trust what I can prove,” I answer, sliding the file closed. “Right now, I’m still proving it.”
Jake shakes his head, but there’s no real argument in it.
He knows how this works. They both do. We move out into the hallway together, the conversation fading into something easier as we head toward the exit.
The lights are dimmed just enough to shift the space, to make it feel bigger than it does during the day when it’s filled with bodies and noise.
Jake breaks off first, clapping Luka on the shoulder before giving me a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Be ready,” I tell him.
“Always am.” He heads down the opposite hall, leaving me and Luka walking side by side toward the doors.
The quiet settles back in. It’s not heavy.
Not uncomfortable. Just there. Then Luka’s phone buzzes.
He pulls it out without thinking much of it, thumb swiping across the screen as we keep walking.
I don’t pay attention at first. There’s no reason to.
Until there is. His steps slow just enough for me to notice.
His focus narrows, pulling him out of the moment, and that’s all it takes for my attention to shift.
“What’s up?”
“Maddie,” he says, already typing something back. There’s a thread of concern there, but it hasn’t sharpened yet. “She’s asking if I’m awake.”
Something in my chest tightens. “She say what’s going on?”
He shakes his head, lifting the phone to his ear as he hits call. “No. Probably nothing.”
We keep moving. The line rings once. Twice. Three times. He pulls the phone away, glancing at the screen before putting it back to his ear like maybe it’ll change if he tries again.
“She’s not answering,” he mutters.
The space behind my eyes starts to throb. Slow. Then sharper. Luka lowers the phone just as it buzzes again in his hand. Another message. His expression shifts when he reads it. Not panic. But closer.
“I’m heading out,” he says, already turning toward the exit. “She wants me to pick her up from Tyler’s.”
“Now?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He glances back at me, already moving. “It’s probably nothing. She just—”
He doesn’t finish it. He doesn’t need to.
I’m already moving with him. That pressure behind my eyes builds, sharper now, more insistent, something that doesn’t settle no matter how much I try to push it down.
My hand lifts without thought, adjusting the watch at my wrist, pressing just enough to feel it.
The hair tie sits where it always does, tucked beneath it—steady and familiar in a way that has nothing to do with logic.
It grounds me. And that’s not something I let myself think about too closely.
“I’m coming with you,” I say.
Luka shakes his head immediately. “You don’t have to. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I didn’t ask.”
He exhales, glancing at me like he’s deciding whether to push it. “It’s probably just Tyler being Tyler,” he says. “She’s fine.”
The words don’t settle anything. If anything, they make that pressure behind my eyes tighten further, something low and controlled building under it. I reach the doors first, pushing them open without slowing.
“Coach—”
“I’ll follow you,” I cut him off, already stepping out into the night air. “You can argue with me about it later.”
He doesn’t try again— I don’t give him the space to.
We pull into the lot outside Tyler’s building within minutes of each other.
Luka is out of his car before I’ve fully shut my door, his movements already sharper than they were back at the arena.
The elevator ride is short. Too short. The kind that doesn’t give your mind enough time to settle into anything solid before the doors slide open again.
The music hits first. Loud enough that it bleeds into the hallway, bass heavy, voices layered over it in a way that turns everything into noise instead of sound.
Luka and I step out at the same time. And look at each other.
What the fuck.
He exhales once through his nose, already pulling his phone out.
“I texted her,” he says, quick, controlled. “Told her I was here.”
I nod. But I’m already moving. The hallway stretches out in front of us, the music growing louder with each step, each beat of it settling into something that doesn’t sit right.
My fist hits the door hard enough that it cracks through the music, sharp and demanding in a way that doesn’t leave room for being ignored. Once. Twice. Again.
The door swings open. Tyler stands there with a beer in his hand and a grin on his face, like he’s still inside whatever moment he thinks this is. Until he sees us. The smile doesn’t disappear. But it shifts.
“You come here to congratulate me?” he asks, his words dragging slightly at the edges.
Luka and I exchange a quick glance. “Congratulate?” Luka repeats.
“Yeah,” Tyler says, pushing the door open a little wider like he’s inviting us into something we didn’t ask to be part of. “I got called up. Maddie and I are going to Denver.”
He looks at Luka when he says it. But I don’t hear anything after the word Maddie.
The rest of it blurs. Denver. She’s leaving?
The thought doesn’t sit right. It doesn’t line up with anything I know about her.
With the way she’s been. The way she moves through the rink.
The way something in her has been just slightly off without ever fully tipping into something I could name.
I would’ve known. I would’ve felt it. My jaw tightens.
Luka is still talking, something low and controlled, something measured in a way that keeps the situation from shifting too fast. I don’t hear most of it. Because there’s only one thing that matters.
“Where is Maddie?” My words cut through everything else. Clean. Sharp. Tyler’s expression changes.
It’s small. Barely there. But it’s enough. My body reacts before my mind catches up, something in me tightening, locking in place. Luka sees it too.
I know he does by the way his posture shifts, by the way something darker settles into his voice when he speaks next. “Go get her.”
It’s not a request. It’s not loud. But it carries weight in a way that doesn’t need volume to be understood. Tyler straightens slightly, pushing back against it, his grip tightening around the beer in his hand.
“I know who your family is,” he says, his tone shifting, something defensive slipping into it. “You’re not coming into my place carrying a weapon.”
Luka doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. There’s something in his expression now that doesn’t belong to the rink. Something older. Sharper. The kind of presence that doesn’t need to be explained for it to be felt. And it’s not him that answers.
It’s me.
I step forward, closing the space between us without hesitation, without giving him time to adjust or rethink whatever position he thinks he’s holding.
“You can pat him down,” I say, my voice low enough that he has to focus to hear it, steady enough that there’s no mistaking what sits underneath it.
“You can search every inch of him if that makes you feel better.” I take another step.
Close enough now that he has to tilt his head back slightly to keep eye contact.
“But I’m telling you right now—” There’s no rush in the words.
No raised voice. No wasted movement. “—you’ve got three seconds to bring Madison out here.
” The space between us tightens. Everything else fades.
“Or I will walk into your house,” I continue, holding his gaze, not giving him anywhere to go with it, “and I will use my bare hands to make sure you understand exactly why that was a mistake.”
The music is still pounding behind him. People are still moving. But right here—nothing else exists. “Three,” I say quietly.
“I’m here.” Her voice threads through the space behind him, quiet but steady in a way that cuts through everything else.
It doesn’t rise above the music. It doesn’t have to.
It reaches me anyway, finding something in my chest that tightens and releases at the same time, like I’ve been holding my breath longer than I realized.
“Madison…” Tyler grinds out, the words pushed through clenched teeth, his focus still locked on me like he thinks looking away will cost him something.