Chapter 17
MILA
Two weeks later, Mila is back in Hartford. This time she’s got company. Naomi is right behind her, phone glued to her ear, rattling off deliverables in rapid fire.
And bringing up the rear, scowling like someone pissed in his green juice, is Richard.
Because of course her emotionally constipated ex is here to sulk through the entire week with the enthusiasm of a man on his way to a colonoscopy.
Her campaign is off to a strong start. Email open rates are through the roof, social buzz is building, local sponsors are biting. But none of that helps the nervous energy doing cartwheels through her bloodstream this morning.
Today’s their first big event, and she’s been holding her breath since sunrise.
The parking lot outside the Connecticut Children’s Hospital is already swarming with local news vans when she arrives.
Volunteers in bright green jackets and Whalers players in jerseys paired with truly unhinged costume accessories mill around.
One guy is wearing a Hulk mask with his full hockey kit.
Jesse, naturally, is in a bright blue cape and a sparkly crown. Like Frozen meets pro sports.
Mila steps out of her car in her favorite navy blazer and a pair of low heels she hopes say polished professional even though she hasn’t slept in two days.
Natalie had texted her that morning.
Natalie
Breathe. Smile. You’ve got this.
She makes her way toward the group, tablet in hand, heart thudding like it’s prepping for overtime.
The event is simple enough—players visiting pediatric patients, handing out mini sticks and foam pucks, then announcing their new “Whalers Wish Box” initiative.
Every week, the team will host kids from the hospital in a private suite at home games.
Free tickets. Free snacks. Player meet-and-greets. The works.
Mila’s proud of her team. She should be beaming.
But there’s one problem. One massive, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw-clenching problem.
Theo’s here. Standing outside the front doors, wearing his jersey over a long-sleeved thermal. Hair tousled. Hands shoved in his pockets. Looking like he’d rather face a penalty shot in no gear than step into a room full of sick kids and flashing cameras.
And more importantly—he’s avoiding her.
He’s not being rude exactly. He nodded when she arrived. Gave her a quiet, “Hey.” But that’s it. No small talk. No warm half-smile like the one she’s come to expect from him.
She shouldn’t care.
She really, really shouldn’t.
But she does.
“Everything good, boss?” Jesse sidles up beside her and Naomi, ridiculous cape flapping in the breeze, cheeks pink with excitement and cold. “Because if you need me to liven things up, I can make balloon animals.”
She cuts him a sideways glance, lips twitching. “You know how to make balloon animals?”
“No,” he says, dead serious, then grins. “But I’ve got confidence.”
She snorts. “You’re like a golden retriever that learned how to talk.”
“Guilty,” Jesse says, unbothered, before turning his attention to Naomi. He angles his cheeky grin at her, the one Mila swears he probably practices in the mirror. “Just say the word and I’ll make you a giraffe.”
Naomi, elegant as always in a tailored coat and killer heels, lifts one perfect brow. “You think that’s going to impress me?”
“Is it working?” he asks, flashing a dimple.
And to Mila’s shock, she actually giggles. “Ask me again after the giraffe.”
Jesse pumps his fist like he’s scored a goal. “It’s on.”
He spins away, off to cause more trouble.
Before Mila can call after him, a dry voice cuts in from behind them.
“Well. Glad to see professionalism is alive and well on this project.”
She doesn’t need to turn around to know Richard is standing there with his arms crossed, lips pursed like he’s smelled something rotten. Which, to be fair, is his default expression these days. She wonders if Ashley stopped returning his late-night booty calls. Smart girl.
She turns slowly, leveling him with a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. “You know, if you hate kids this much, you could’ve stayed in Toronto.”
“I wasn’t planning to come,” he replies coolly, adjusting the sleeves of his perfectly tailored coat. “But someone should represent the company with a little...decorum.”
Naomi snorts under her breath and mutters, “Ah yes. Nothing says decorum like showing up late and pouting in a peacoat.”
Richard doesn’t blink. “There’s a difference between connecting with the community and making fools of yourselves.”
Mila smiles sweetly. “And there’s a difference between showing up and showing up, Richard. But I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference.”
His eyes narrow—just enough to be satisfying—but he doesn’t take the bait. Maybe because Naomi and several other firm employees are standing beside nearby, within earshot of her dragging him.
He clears his throat, mutters something under it, and stalks off toward the entrance.
Mila watches him go, jaw tight, adrenaline fizzing in her chest.
“You want me to trip him?” Naomi asks, calm as anything.
Mila exhales slowly. “No. But the offer’s noted.”
The hospital coordinator emerges, waving them in, clipboard in hand and face beaming. The players file into the brightly lit pediatric ward, some goofier than others, but all of them game to play along.
Mila hangs back near the entrance, watching it all unfold.
The kids, some in wheelchairs, others propped up in beds with IV poles trailing behind them, light up at the sight of jerseys and ridiculous costumes. There’s laughter. Grins. A few tentative waves that turn into full-on beaming.
And then the team—this chaotic, lovable crew of grown men who spend their days crashing into each other on ice—goes soft.
Jesse is the first to impress, of course. He drops to his knees beside a little girl in a princess gown and a chemo cap, bows like she’s royalty, and offers her his foam sword.
“For Her Highness,” he declares solemnly. “May your reign be long and filled with cake.”
She giggles so hard she nearly falls off her pillow, and Jesse pretends to faint dramatically at her feet.
Carter is nearby, attempting to juggle apples from a snack tray and failing spectacularly. A nurse catches one mid-air and gives him a mock scowl. Carter puts his hands up in surrender, but the kids surrounding him cheer. One boy claps and shouts, “Do it again!”
Carter grins. “I only juggle when my contract’s up.”
Tristan has somehow commandeered a stethoscope and is letting a tiny kid listen to his heartbeat through his jersey.
“Sounds strong, right?” he says seriously. “That’s from all the chicken nuggets.”
The kid giggles, and Tristan winks. “Don’t tell my trainer.”
Tall hovers awkwardly beside a little boy in a Whalers jersey, a feeding tube taped gently beneath his nose. He looks like he’s not sure where to put his giant limbs, looming like a tree next to the brood of small children. But then, slowly, he lowers himself to one knee, until he’s at eye level.
“Here,” he says, offering his goalie stick like it’s made of glass. “You hold it like this.” He curls his massive hands around the shaft, demonstrating. “But, you know…cooler. Meaner.”
The boy copies him, tiny fingers barely spanning the grip.
Tall nods, his mouth twitching into a rare, crooked smile. “Perfect. Now you’re ready to backstop the team.”
The boy beams. The stick is almost twice his size, but he holds it like he’s ready for the NHL.
Mila watches the exchange, warmth blooming in her chest—and she realizes she’s not the only one. Naomi stands a few feet away, unusually quiet, eyes fixed on Tall with a softness in her expression that Mila doesn’t often see on her usually stone-faced, unflappable colleague.
Before she can make a joke or nudge her, her gaze drifts and finds Theo.
He hasn’t joined the fray with Jesse and the others. He’s tucked into a quieter corner of the room, crouched beside a boy in a wheelchair.
She watches for a moment, then drifts closer, curious.
“I used to come here too, you know,” Theo says gently. “I grew up not far from here. Westport.”
The boy looks up at him, wide-eyed.
Theo leans in, giving him a small smile like they’re sharing a secret. “Does the cafeteria still have those giant chocolate chip cookies? The ones that make your fingers all greasy? Those were the best.”
The boy laughs softly and says something Mila can’t quite make out. But Theo nods.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a puck, then a Sharpie from somewhere beneath the collar of his jersey. He signs the puck carefully and hands it to the kid, who is beaming.
Mila’s heart folds in on itself.
And just like that, she forgets the agenda. Forgets the bullet points on her clipboard, the timeline, even Richard’s smug face and stupid peacoat.
All she can think about is Theo’s voice.
Theo’s hands.
As the visit winds down and the room shifts again, Theo straightens and steps away from the boy. Mila catches up with him in the hallway outside the pediatric wing.
“I didn’t know you grew up near here,” she says, walking in step beside him.
Theo looks mildly startled, like he didn’t expect anyone to notice. “Uh, yeah. Westport. Not too far.”
“Do you have family nearby?” she presses. “You should bring them to one of the games. Or one of the events.”
His hand goes to the back of his neck, eyes finding the floor tiles suddenly fascinating. "Maybe. They're not big on hockey."
Silence stretches. Not the easy kind, either—the kind that makes her want to fill it with literally anything just to make it stop. And in that awkward, suffocating quiet, it hits her like a brick to the face.
Oh shit. Oh no.
That wasn't disinterest in his voice. It was the careful, practiced tone of someone who's learned exactly how to deflect without lying.
She knows that tone. She's used that tone.
When people ask about family and you'd rather talk about literally anything else because the truth is too messy, too complicated, too fucking painful to unpack in casual conversation.
She shouldn't have pushed. Shouldn't have assumed. God, she of all people should know better.
Theo’s shoulders hunch slightly, pace quickening like he’s already pulling away.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts, but the words scrape out half-formed. She doesn’t even know what she’s apologizing for—asking, not knowing, both.
Before she can say more, someone calls them back for a group photo and a round of high fives. Theo turns without meeting her eyes, and Mila swallows the guilt.
Later, after the press has packed up and the volunteers start cleaning up, she finds herself standing by the juice table, a press packet in hand she’s not really reading.
That’s when she hears him.
Theo speaking quietly a few feet away.
He’s in an alcove near the edge of the room, crouched beside the same boy from earlier—the one in the wheelchair, the one who hasn’t stopped watching Theo, eyes round and shining, like he can’t quite believe he’s real.
The kid tugs at the hem of his jersey. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Theo chuckles, quiet and sheepish, the sound so gentle it doesn’t quite fit his frame. “Nah. But...there’s this girl who works with the team. Blonde. Real smart. P-p-probably way out of my league.”
The boy says something Mila can’t hear, but whatever it is makes Theo laugh again.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got it bad.”
She turns before she can hear another word, feeling the guilt for eavesdropping wash over her. Her steps are slow, aimless, her heart pounding.
Because this thing with Theo...it’s not a crush anymore. Not just fleeting glances and near-misses.
It’s starting to feel like it’s inevitable.
And that scares the hell out of her.
Because Theo’s good. Earnest. Steady in the way people never seem to value until it’s too late. And he looks at her like she’s magic.
And she’s afraid that if he ever musters the courage to reach for her, she’ll break him without meaning to.
And worse—worse than all of it—is that she still can’t get the Man in Black out of her head.
Her phantom in the dark. The stranger who touched her and dismantled her defenses, piece by piece. Who made her feel wild and wanted like no one ever has.
He’s still texting her. Still whispering into the quiet hours of her nights.
And she still answers.
Because deep down, she wants it to be Theo.
But another part of her—tighter, more guarded—worries what happens if it is.
So she floats between the two. Between fantasy and reality. Between the man who waits in daylight and the one who haunts her in the dark.