"Yeah, man," Logan adds, actually smiling for once. "Emma's been texting me every five minutes asking for updates. The whole town's basically waiting for the announcement."
The whole town.
Of course they are. Because in Iron Ridge, everyone knows everyone's business, and apparently my proposal plans weren't as subtle as I thought.
The weight of their stares feels like it's crushing my chest. How do I explain that the perfect proposal I'd planned got derailed by corporate sharks? That instead of celebrating an engagement, I'm standing here feeling like my entire world just got ripped apart?
"Guys, just..." I scrub a hand through my hair and look at the ground. "…shut the fuck up, okay?"
The room goes dead silent.
Blake's champagne glass pauses halfway to his mouth. Connor's grin falters. Even Logan, who's usually unflappable, looks concerned.
"Ryder?" Blake sets down his glass, his instincts kicking in as he reads the situation. "Ohshit. What happened, man?"
I run both hands through my hair now, gripping and pulling so I feel pain on my scalp, feeling like I'm about to come apart at the seams.
"We got interrupted. Actually,shegot interrupted." I swallow over the frustration boiling in my throat. "Right when I was about to—"
I can't even finish the sentence. Can't say the words out loud because that would make this nightmare real.
"Interrupted by what?" Connor asks, his party mood evaporating.
"Some investment group wants to buy her shelter and turn it into a five-location empire." I let out a bitter sound that's nowhere close to a laugh. "Perfect fucking timing."
Blake steps toward me, his game face on. "Listen, man, we can—"
"She's on her way over," I cut him off, scanning the disaster zone of balloons and streamers. "And she's going to walk straight into... this."
"Oh, shit," Blake breathes, and suddenly everyone's moving at once.
"Get the banner down," Logan orders, already reaching for one corner.
"I'll hide the champagne," Jackson adds, scrambling to shove bottles behind the couch.
"Wait, wait," Connor waves his hands frantically, still clutching his glass. "Maybe it's not that bad. Maybe she told them to fuck off. I mean, she loves you, right? She wouldn't just—"
The sound of a car door slamming in my driveway cuts him off.
My blood turns to ice. "That's her."
The guys freeze like deer in headlights, half-deflated balloons and crumpled streamers scattered around them like evidence of a celebration that never happened.
"Fuck," Blake mutters, yanking down the last corner of the banner. "Everyone just... act normal."
Normal.Right.
Because there's nothing normal about eight professional hockey players crammed into my living room at nine o'clock on a Tuesday night, frantically hiding congratulatory decorations.
Through the window, I can see Mia's beat-up Honda parked next to Connor's truck. She's sitting in the driver's seat, staring down at something in her lap.
The contracts.She brought the fucking contracts home with her.
Why can't she see this is all business world bullshit?
The time pressure, the expensive rental cars, the suits? I've seen this exact playbook in every city I played in at the start of my career… Big-shot city slickers who swoop in with their "time-sensitive opportunities" and promises of unlimited resources. Only to go ahead and strip everything authentic out of whatever they touch in the name of a bigger paycheck.
This is exactly the kind of soulless corporate machine I was so fucking happy to escape when I came home to Iron Ridge.
