He turns to me, brows furrowing.
“I mean,” I clarify, “when this is over. When we don’t have to look over our shoulders. What then?”
His gaze softens, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he intertwines his fingers with mine. “I haven’t thought that far because…” He pauses a moment, his eyes cutting away briefly before returning. “Because I’ve spent the last decade of my life just living one day at a time. The only thing I ever had to look forward to was the next win.”
I don’t say anything. I wait, sensing there’s more.
“But lately,” he says, his words sounding rough, “it’s not just about the next win. It’s about the next morning. The next conversation. The next time I get to see you roll your eyes at me.”
My heart lurches painfully.
Penn squeezes my hand. “I don’t know how to plan for a future. But I know I want to start thinking about one. With you.”
I don’t reply—not out of fear or uncertainty—but because if I open my mouth right now, I might cry. And I’m not ruining this moment with tears.
So instead, I lean my head against his shoulder, close my eyes and hold on tight.
CHAPTER 20
Penn
Edmonton’s visitors’ lockerroom is a cacophony of banter, Velcro ripping from pads, and the various other noises of pre-game routines. Sounds I’ve heard hundreds and hundreds of times before.
But today it feels… different. Not because anything is technically out of the ordinary. We’re about to face off against the Grizzlies in their backyard, and everyone’s locked in. Focused. Sharp.
Still, something’s shifted—and I know what it is.
It’s me.
I’m no longer on the outside. Not exactly in the center, but I’m not hanging around the perimeter anymore either. I feel like I belong for the first time in my professional career, and that’s because I am now choosing to be a part of a team. For the first time in my professional career, I look around at my teammates and I see them as more than just the cogs in the machine that generates wins.
I really take the time to see my teammates as they gear up. Foster and King are jawing over music. Rafferty’s lacing his skates with intense concentration, while North taps his stick rhythmically against the bench. Atlas has earbuds in, head bopping, and I wonder what type of music he likes. I never cared before, but now… I do. I’ll ask him at some point.
I take in the new guy. Lucky’s propped up on the bench across from me, grinning like he’s up to no good.
I’m thinking this might be a typical look on the dude.
Mila is somewhere in the arena with Jackson, as he’s the one who will sit with her during the game. Greer and Ladd are rotating in shifts with him so they all stay fresh. They’ve got her covered at all times, but I still have to force myself not to check my phone to make sure she’s okay. This is where I need to be—here, on the ice, doing my job.
Still, my head’s not entirely in the game yet.
Since the article dropped this morning, my phone has been blowing up. Not with hate. With support. My teammates. Former coaches. Even a few guys from other teams. Fans.
Even fucking McLendon, and that’s a world of difference from him trying to take my head off a few weeks ago.
Everyone rallying behind me and Mila, a woman they don’t even know, but they’re bringing her into the fold because she’s mine.
Yup… she is most definitely mine and there’s a whole lot of stuff to figure out there. None of this was something I expected—this tidal wave of goodwill—but I’m not going to lie, it feels fucking incredible.
Even though the organization sent out a team-wide email before the flight, explaining everything in more detail—my past, Mila’s role, the threats—I’ve still had guys asking questions, and that’s okay. I’m determined to be open with everyone.
I’ve never felt more like part of a team.
I lean down to tighten the strap on my shin pad when I see Lucky setting up his phone on a small portable tripod. He catches me gawking and says, “What’s up, Captain Vengeance?”
I smirk and shake my head. “What’s up with me?” I nod at the phone. “What’s up with you?”
He winks. “Just a little magic.” Lucky’s voice then rises over the locker room noise. “All right, fellas,” he announces theatrically. “Time for my pre-game TikTok ritual. And today, I give you… the Sexy Skate!”
