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“Harsh? It’s reality. The guy’s been given more second chances than anyone deserves, and he keeps screwing them up. His publicist works harder than a single mom with three jobs just to keep his reputation from completely tanking.”

I open my mouth to fire back, then close it. Because damn it, he’s got a point.

“Just... stay away from him, okay?” Griffin’s voice goes softer. “I’m not trying to run your life. I just don’t want to scrape you off the pavement when he’s done with you.”

God, if only he knew how backwards he has this whole thing.

“Yeah, got it…I’ll be careful.”

And there it is.

That Novak loyalty. Sharpened to a point and always aimed at the heart.

I set the glass down and press my fingers to my eyes, exhaustion sinking deeper into my bones.

“He’s not who you think he is,” I say quietly.

“And you think you know him?” Griffin asks, voice rougher now. My throat tightens. “You don’t get to weaponise someone’s trauma just because you don’t like the way they skate.”

“Drop it… I told you, he’s wired wrong,” Griffin snaps. “Always has been. You weren’t there when he lost his shit on our goalie mid-practice. The damn dude needed twenty stitches to the side of the head…had to be pulled off him. That’s who he is.”

“He’s also the reason that goalie still plays pro.”

Griffin doesn’t respond.

And that silence says everything.

“I’m not stupid,” I add. “I know this is messy. But you don’t get to rewrite the guy’s entire life because you’re afraid. I might be able to handle more than you think.”

His breath crackles through the line. “Just stay away from him, Kat. Please.”

Too late.

“I told you I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” He sighs. “Oh, and Mom’s been texting me about getting together, She thinks we’re both wasting away without her cooking.”

His voice softens, but the damage is done.

“She’s not wrong. I had cereal for dinner last night.”

“Christ, Katarina. You literally counsel people on nutrition for a living.”

“What… it was organic, Weetabix—besides, what’s the saying, do as I say, not as I do.”

We spend another few minutes talking about normal stuff—Mom’s latest sour dough obsession, his disaster of a Tinder date last week, whether Dad’s actually going to retire this year or just keep threatening to until he keels over mid-round of golf.

When I hang up, my space feels too quiet.

I’m lying to the one person who’s always had my back. The brother who taught me how to throw a punch and how to change a tire. The one whose opinion actually matters no matter how twisted it may be.

And for what? A fake relationship to protect a man who doesn’t even remember what he did to me, only to blow up and take my career with it?

A man who wrecked me once and is dangerously close to doing it again—and I’m smiling for the cameras while I let it happen.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

Unknown number: