My fingers tighten around my coffee mug.
But it was Nathan Gentry who lost the most—his life.
My stomach rolls as I think about what they did to him. The criminal investigation provided gory details I didn’t want to know. That poor kid—whose only sin to earn him such enmity from the older members of the team was a few missed passes in a game that caused us to lose. Peter and Jace—they were going to punish him to make sure it didn’t happen again.
I wasn’t there but I heard all about it that night. Me, Jace, Peter, Ryan, Colton… all hanging out at Peter’s house. While the players lived with billet families, Peter’s dad was the coach and they had a huge recreation room where, more often than not, the older players chilled.
Fuck, they were vicious, laughing over how they jumped Nathan, stripped him naked, and forced him to drink alcohol until he started puking. They hit him with rubber hoses and paddles and I almost vomited when Jace bragged, “We even shaved his hair. That will teach him a good lesson.”
It was all fun and games to them, and I don’t doubt, not one of them thought he’d die. I know that wasn’t their intent, but it was still their fault all the same.
I don’t know if Nathan fought back because they never said, but in my nightmares, I could only imagine that he was begging them to stop. I have to believe he was crying, desperate for the torture to end.
And when he was too drunk he couldn’t stand up and finally passed out, and their fun was over, they still had a good laugh over the fact they left him naked on the locker room floor, knowing he was going to be sore from the beating and good and hungover for practice the next day.
Unfortunately, Nathan aspirated on his own vomit and was dead when the janitor arrived that morning to open the facility.
I shut my laptop, but even making that article disappear doesn’t take away the oily feelings of self-disgust. I didn’t stand up to any of them. Didn’t chastise them for that behavior. Hell, I even laughed along, although their cruelty made me sick.
Peter Brennan has served ten of his twelve-year sentence. Mila and I are the reason he got sent to prison. Now he’s getting out, and if these threats are from him, then I have no doubt—he’s going to follow through on his promises of retribution.
And I have no fucking clue what to do about it.
The sound of padding feet on the staircase causes me to jerk and I realize Mila is coming down. I glance at the clock and see it’s almost eight a.m. When I turn back, she’s there. Freshly showered, her long black hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders.
Jesus, she’s stunning.
I’d never looked at her this way before—back then, she was just Peter’s kid sister, a fifteen-year-old girl with a crush on Nathan. Nothing about her had registered as anything other than a kid who sometimes lingered around the rink, watching us play.
But now… now she’s something else entirely.
Her large blue eyes are the kind that stop a man in his tracks—striking, framed by thick black lashes and flawless skin. Her full lips are painted with a subtle pink hue, her high cheekbones giving her an almost elfish quality. And the sweater she’s wearing, soft and formfitting, hints at delicate curves I’d never noticed before.
I force my gaze to lock on her face, pushing down the unwelcome attraction twisting through me.
Mila steps hesitantly into the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her as if she’s unsure of her place. Her weight shifts slightly, betraying nerves, and for a moment, I feel just as unsure as she looks.
What the hell am I supposed to do with her?
I clear my throat and push back from the island, rising to my feet. “Coffee?”
She blinks, then nods. “Yes. Please. Cream if you have it.”
I move to the coffee maker, grateful for something to do with my hands. As I pour a fresh mug, I catch her gaze drifting around the kitchen, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the marble countertop.
“This place is incredible,” she murmurs.
I splash some cream in and hand her the cup. “Gotta spend my money on something.”
She gives me a small smile, wrapping both hands around the coffee like she’s soaking up the warmth. “I followed your career,” she admits softly. “I watched you play. I’m really proud of you.”
I shift uncomfortably, taking a slow sip of my own coffee.
“You deserve the success,” she continues. “You earned it. Especially after what you did. Going to the police.”
I huff out a breath, setting my mug down a little harder than necessary. “Some days, it doesn’t feel like I did the right thing.”
Mila scoffs, shaking her head. “Nathan’s parents feel differently.Ifeel differently.” Her eyes sharpen, her conviction evident. “We avenged his death, Penn.”
