And just like that, it’s game time.
We tap gloves, bump fists. My line heads for the tunnel and I pull my helmet on, adrenaline spiking. Mila’s safe. My team has my back. The past is behind me.
And now?
Now we play some damn hockey.
CHAPTER 21
Mila
Ialways findit amazing that my experience with what happened to Nathan didn’t turn me off hockey. Especially given the fact that my brother was responsible for Nathan’s death and my father was willing to look past it. I practically grew up on the ice, always at my dad’s and brother’s sides—coach and player. And while I didn’t want to play the sport myself, I could skate with the best of them and was the Wraiths’ biggest cheerleader.
So as I sit here now in Edmonton’s arena watching the game, I take it all in. There’s something about the chill in the air that always feels sharper when you’re watching a game in enemy territory. There’s something about being in the minority of fans that makes me cheer harder.
The lights are bright. The boards are scuffed. The glass rattles with each hit. But it’s the sound of the Edmonton crowd—half excitement, half animosity—that tightens the competitive coil in my stomach.
We’re in seats at center ice, elevated high enough to see everything, yet close enough that I can practically feel the vibration of skates scraping the ice. Penn told me he got good tickets for us, and I marveled at that since this has all been such spur-of-the-moment planning. When I mentioned it to him, he leveled an adorably boyish smirk at me. “There are a few benefits to being a star in the league.”
Indeed.
Jackson is seated beside me, broad-shouldered and relaxed in his posture, but his gaze never stops moving. One eye on thegame, one on the people in the stands below us, and another—I swear—somehow on me.
“This is intense,” I mutter, leaning forward as Penn takes the face-off.
Jackson chuckles softly. “And here I thought you’d seen him play before.”
“I have,” I say quickly. “But it just feels different for some reason.”
“Because things are starting to come to a head?” he asks, twisting to look at me.
Maybe. But more likely because my feelings for Penn grow deeper by the minute. I keep that to myself though and give a semi-truth. “I think just since the article came out.”
Jackson appraises me, somehow seems to see through my excuse. “You mean since Penn stood up in front of the world and dared four men to come for him in order to protect you?”
God, it was brave, and daring, and I’ll admit… sexy as hell. “Yeah… since that,” I say with warm cheeks.
Jackson laughs and we turn our attention back to the ice.
Penn wins the puck clean, snapping it back to King on defense. King immediately dishes it up the boards to Stone, who races across the blue line, dodging a defender. Boone trails on the opposite wing, and the three of them converge on the Edmonton net like a freaking wrecking crew.
My heart leaps into my throat as the puck gets passed to Penn in the high slot. He hesitates, considers taking the shot, and then zips it right back to Stone through a defender’s legs. Stone is already winding up and rips it. The goaltender doesn’t react in time and the red light flashes.
“YES!” I scream, springing to my feet. Sure, Stone’s goal was beautiful, but that assist was magical.
Jackson stands, clapping loudly. He grins down at me. “Your boy’s got wicked hands.”
Yes, he does.
My cheeks burn as I watch Penn’s line celebrate. His smile is mega-wattage and it warms my heart. “He’s not—well, he is my boy—but…”
“You’re cute when you fluster,” he says, eyes crinkling. “And no need to explain. I’ve read the files.”
We settle back into our seats. “You read about what happened ten years ago?”
“Sure. That too,” he replies casually. “But I was actually referring to your love story.”
I blink. “Our what?”
