Page 4

Chapter Three

Knova

“Ohmigawd, babe!” The woman seated behind me presses her face to the window. “This is, like, sooooo beautiful! You’re so thoughtful!” Her voice, already high-pitched, has taken on an even shriller quality in an attempt to be heard despite the noise-cancelling headphones.

Look, I’m in favor of letting women do whatever they want to do, but I will never for the life of me understand why some ladies feel the need to talk like they’re little kids instead of grown-ass women. The baby voice she’s been doing since I picked them up makes me want to take her aside and talk sense into her.

The guy beside her has his knees splayed out and keeps adjusting himself. Ugh. That’s even worse than the baby voice. “Look at all that desert, babe.”

“I know! ” the woman squeals. “It’s, like, incredibly majestic, you know?”

“So majestic,” the guy agrees.

I glance at the clock on the controls. I only have to put up with these people for twenty more minutes. Thank God.

“Brittney, babe, I just want you to know you’re so special to me.” The guy reaches for her hand and pulls it to his chest. He places his palm over her heart and stares into her eyes. Neither of them are looking out the window, and he’s still manspreading. Why is he trying to have a heart-to-heart up here, where he has to shout to be heard over the rotor? A helicopter isn’t a great place to have a deep conversation.

Unless… Oh, no. Spare me. Don’t let it be what I think it is.

“Tim?” Brittney leans closer. “You know you’re, like, soooo special to me, too, right?”

“I know. That’s why I want to ask you—”

I’m focusing on keeping the chopper in the air, so my eyes are on the controls when Tim makes his move. Brittney’s answering squeal is so high-pitched that at first, I think we’ve blown a seal in the fuselage. There’s a flash of movement on my internal mirrors when she vaults into Tim’s lap and starts kissing him. “Yes, yes, yes! I will, like, totally marry you, babe! ”

The helicopter jolts, giving away my distraction. Fortunately, neither of my passengers seems to notice since they’re fully preoccupied with their sloppy make-out session.

I want to tell them not to bother. Love sucks, and weddings are a scam. My gaze flicks to my finger where, just for a few hours, I wore a ring that told the world I belonged with someone. With Viktor.

Yeah, right. There’s no way that would last, even if I wanted it to. Viktor’s number one priority is Viktor. Always has been and always will be. Whoever he’s with will always be a distant second.

Actually, no, a distant third . Because hockey will always be second.

I know, because we tried dating once already back in the day, and look how that turned out. The worst part wasn’t the dress or the whispers—it was how easy it was for him to betray me.

The happy couple is still crawling all over each other by the time we touch down. I let the ground crew deal with them while I go through my usual post-flight checks. I assume they’ll be gone by the time I’m done, but when I step out onto the tarmac, Brittney’s waiting for me. I don’t know where her boy toy ran off to.

“Did you leave something on the chopper?” I ask, hooking my thumb back toward the helicopter.

“No, I just…” Brittney does a little awkward shuffle-hop, like maybe she has to pee or something. The next thing I know, she’s lurching toward me, arms spread wide as she pulls me into a hug. “Thank you so much. Tim’s, like, seriously the best. He was there for me when my daddy died last year, and he knew this would be totally special because he was in the Air Force… Daddy, not Tim.” She pulls away and dabs at her eyes, sniffling a little as she does so. “He can’t be here to see me get married, but getting engaged up there makes it feel like he got to be there for this part, you know? This was just really special.”

“Oh, uh.” I shift from foot to foot, not sure how to deal with a stranger’s big emotions. Half the time, I’m not sure what to do with my own feelings. “You’re welcome. And, um, congratulations. On your engagement. I’m glad we could make it special.”

She smiles through her sniffles. “Like, soooo special.” With that, she hurries off to find her fiancé.

Well, crap. Now I feel like a little bit of a dick for being judgmental earlier. She hugged me because she was grieving. I judged her because I was bitter. That’s not the same thing. I place my hand over my chest, feeling the weight of the dog tags dangling beneath my shirt. I know a thing or two about losing someone you thought would be around for a long, long time.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting the train of thought that, if left unchecked, could get pretty dark pretty fast. I slip it out of my pocket and check the screen. It’s Dante.

Of course, it’s Dante. Of course, there’s a catch. If this man ever offered me a coffee, I’d check it for roofies and plot twists.

I don’t waste time on a greeting and get right to the point. “Please tell me it’s handled.”

“Hello, Knova. How are you? I’m great, thank you for asking. I’m working on the annulment, but it’s taking longer than anticipated.”

I grit my teeth as I stalk off the tarmac. “What’s the holdup?”

“You know how it is with lawyers,” Dante says.

“Not really.” I push through the Staff Entrance door and beeline it toward the kitchen. I have at least one more flight scheduled today, but I’m not waiting in the Vegas heat. I need air conditioning and a cold drink.

“Just relax, Knova, I’m taking care of it.”

“Relax?” I repeat. “Next you’ll be telling me to calm down and quit being hysterical.”

“Ah, no.” Dante clucks his tongue. “Do you know how long I’ve been married? Longer than you. I know better than to say those things.”

Longer than me. As if I got married and not bamboozled.

“When I tell you to relax, I’m not just being metaphorical. I’m making you an offer. You’re coming to the Venom game tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.” I rarely miss a game, since I grew up with half the players and am related to one of them, but tomorrow’s extra special because my mom, the only Mrs. Hale who matters, is singing the National Anthem.

“Then how about this: I’ve booked a spa day for two. Why don’t you and a special someone spend the morning getting nice and relaxed before the opening game? I’ve already paid. All you have to do is show up. Here, I’m sending you the information right now.”

A spa day doesn’t sound so bad. I used to do that kind of thing a lot more before I was in the military. “Thanks. That’s very generous.”

“See you tomorrow, then!” Dante says.

“Okay, and don’t forget about the—” But the call has already ended.

He thinks this marriage is salvageable.

He’s wrong.

Even if part of me—some broken, traitorous, hope-drenched part—kind of wishes he wasn’t.

I rub my temples like that’s going to press the chaos back into its box. What a mess.

I open the employee fridge with one hand, already texting my best friend with the other.

SuperKnova: Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? Wanna go to a spa with me?

BowBeforeBaylor: Um YES did you think I was gonna say no or smth?

SuperKnova: Great, I’ll text you the deets.

I have no intention of telling him why I have a paid spa day courtesy of my nutball boss. That NDA cuts both ways, right? Not even my best friend needs to know about this mess with Viktor.

Come to think of it, Dante probably wanted me to take Viktor on this little getaway.

Well, too bad. Viktor can stuff it.

* * *

“So,” Baylor says, eyeing the two massage tables like they’re an ambush, “this setup screams date night. Did someone bail on your romantic getaway? Or is this the part where you confess your undying love for me?”

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprain something.

“You have a vagina, Knova,” he stage-whispers, “and despite my many charms, that’s still a dealbreaker.”

“Don’t make this weird,” I tell him, adjusting the fall of the robe I’ve already changed into like it’s armor. “You’re not my type, either. This isn’t a date, dude. It’s just a spa day. They’re going to do a thing with hot rocks and exfoliating salt or whatever, and we’re going to walk out of here with magnificent pores. That’s the only agenda.”

Baylor strides over to one of the tables. “Really? Because this place looks expensive, and if we’re doing the salt scrub, that’s an upcharge.”

“I won a gift certificate at work,” I say. Technically not a lie, albeit a gross oversimplification. “Dante footed the bill.”

Baylor accepts this explanation without further questions. He knows all about Dante, from the old man’s shenanigans to his deep pockets. Besides, Dante owns the spa.

Shortly after we get settled, a pair of masseuses come in. “Congratulations, newlyweds!” they exclaim in unison.

Baylor flops over on the table to gawk at me. “Newlyweds? Knova, what the hell is going on?”

“We’re not married,” I tell the women. Under my breath, I add, “What a worthless NDA.”

The masseuses exchange a glance. The taller and blonder of the two asks, “Are we in the right room? Aren’t you Knova and Viktor? Dante said…”

Baylor’s head lifts sharply. “You married Viktor?” His voice drops. “As in Viktor Abbott?”

“It was a mistake,” I snap.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

That lands like a slap. I look away. “I didn’t tell anyone. It literally just happened, and Dante made me sign an NDA.”

“Still.” He exhales. “I thought I was your person.”

“You are. That’s why I didn’t want you involved in this shitstorm. Aaaaand… it was an accident.”

Baylor snorts. “An accident? What, did you fall and land on his ring? Please tell me you also landed on his co — ”

I press my palms to my eyes and groan. “Can we just start the massage and I’ll explain as we go? Because talking about this is really stressing me out, and a salt scrub would help with that.” Or at least, it wouldn’t hurt.

Baylor settles back down onto his table with a grumble. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”

The masseuses approach, with the blonde woman heading to Baylor’s table and the pretty Hispanic-looking woman coming to me. As soon as she starts rubbing my skin, I start to melt. I’ve been so tense lately. It feels nice to have someone rub the knots out of my muscles.

Her hands work over my shoulders, and, despite myself, I sigh. I’ve been carrying so much. Too much.

A phantom sensation dances across my spine—bigger hands, callused palms. Viktor’s hands.

My body reacts before I can shut it down. Heat blooms in my gut, uninvited.

I should not want to remember how he touched me.

But I do.

“Okay, here’s what happened,” I say through the hole in the padded headrest. NDAs be damned. I swear with Dante, they’re just a running joke anyway. “I accidentally married Viktor. Dante made a mistake. No one is supposed to know.”

Baylor’s voice is slightly distorted when he asks, “Again, how does one accidentally—”

“Dante got the wrong twin. Seriously. Dante was trying to surprise Knight and Sofia with a publicity stunt, er, wedding…”

“Did he really?” my masseuse asks, because I have neither privacy nor dignity left. “I know he’s our boss, but…”

“Yup. He’s low-key obsessed with bringing back the magic.”

“That seems like a really weird accident,” Baylor says. “Why did you go through with it?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve been asking myself the same thing, and I give my best friend the only answer I have. “There was a lot of alcohol involved. Can we drop it, please? We’re not staying married.”

“You’re not staying married to Viktor? My God… If I accidentally married him, I’d roll with it. Or at least roll on top of it. A few times at least. What could be the harm in that? It would be totally legal.”

“Me, too,” says Baylor’s masseuse. “Not that it’s any of my business, but that man is fine. ”

I stiffen at her tone. “You know Viktor?”

“Not personally, just from TV. We’re big Venom fans.” She sounds casual, so I assume this is true, but Viktor could have banged every other girl in Vegas, and I wouldn’t know.

What if she does know him? What if he flirted with her? What if he’s flirted with half the damn city?

I shift slightly on the table, and the chain around my neck presses against my throat.

Nobody asks about the tags anymore. Probably because they’ve learned not to. Or maybe because they’re smart enough to know the answer wouldn’t be pretty. When I left the service, I told my mom. Baylor knows, too. But I made it clear—it’s not up for discussion.

And Viktor? He’s the last person I would share personal information with.

Baylor chuckles. “Was that jealousy I heard just now? Because you have no reason to be jealous. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

He means the look that stops time a little. That strips you bare, even in a room full of people. Like I’m the only person Viktor sees—and he’s starving. And terrified. And reverent. Like I’m not just someone he wants, but someone he’s afraid to want because it might wreck him. Baylor didn’t say all that, but I felt it in the way my friend looked at me after, like he knew I’d seen it too. Like maybe I just didn’t want to admit it. Not even to myself.

I try to make a derisive noise, but my masseuse’s hands hit a huge knot between my shoulders right at that moment, so it comes out as a groan. “Like he wishes he could scrape me off his shoe? Once or twice.”

“Nope, not that look.” Baylor sounds amused. “Never mind. Let’s just enjoy the massage.”

“Actually, let’s not enjoy it too much,” I murmur, lifting my head just enough to glance at the two massage therapists. “Just a reminder—Dante made me sign an NDA. A real scary one. Like, break-your-contract-and-he’ll-make-you-disappear scary.”

The brunette at my side goes stiff. “Oh, we know. He already told us that if any photos or rumors got out, we’d be ‘relocated to Siberia with a lifelong ban from eye contact.’ I think he was joking. I hope he was joking.”

“He wasn’t,” Baylor and I say at the same time.

Over the next two hours, my muscles surrender, but my mind refuses to go quiet. The question keeps looping like a bad pop song I can’t stop humming.

What if he does look at me like I’m something he wants?

Worse—what if he always has, and I just never let myself believe it?

* * *

“Everything okay?” Mom asks.

“Hm?” I keep my eyes locked on the ice, where Viktor and the rest of the Venom are gathered near the bench. We’re waiting just off the rink so Mom can sing the National Anthem. And Viktor—Viktor won’t stop staring at me. Which I know because I’m staring right back.

What is his deal?

Is he undressing me with his eyes? Probably. The perv. He finally got me naked, and now he wants a damn trophy and a slow-motion replay, frame by frame. We haven’t spoken since we woke up married and bare, and even then, he was ogling me like I was his favorite dessert.

“I asked if you’re okay,” Mom repeats gently. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”

“Just not feeling chatty, I guess.”

She lays a hand on my arm, and I finally look at her. She’s still beautiful, even pushing sixty, with just a few silver streaks in her hair. Knight and I both favor her—strong jaw, wide-set eyes, the cheekbones that could cut glass. I should be so lucky to age like her.

Right now, though, the laugh lines around her mouth have softened into concern.

“Baby,” she says softly, “you sure? You can talk to me.”

Oh. That’s what this is. She’s worried I’m spiraling again, like I did after my last tour—quiet in a way that scared her and Dad both.

“I’m fine, Mom. Just tired from work.” I shift my weight. “Had an engagement. Five thousand feet up.”

Her face relaxes, and she bumps her shoulder against mine. “And from the party the other night, no doubt. What time did you get home? I was up late, didn’t hear your car come up the driveway.”

“Didn’t.” I duck my head. “Got a hotel room. I was pretty drunk.”

She beams like I told her I just won a humanitarian award. “That’s my responsible girl.”

Normally, this is when I’d snap that I’m not a girl, that I’m a grown-ass woman who’s faced live fire and crash landings and misogynistic air traffic controllers. But… I did get drunk. And married. And quite possibly used his enormous hands for deeply inappropriate purposes—with his full cooperation, I might add.

So instead, I just let her think whatever she wants. And I look back toward the bench where Viktor’s still watching me. That same steady, unreadable gaze like I’m a puzzle he’s finally figured out but isn’t sure if he wants to solve.

God, I hate that I notice.

Worse? I hate that he looks good.

All suited up in his pads and jersey, curls damp with sweat, chest rising with every deep inhale like he’s holding back a war cry. He’s every fantasy I ever had—before I learned that boys like Viktor don’t stay. They flirt, they flash those devastating dimples, and they wreck you. Then they walk off whistling, never looking back.

And if you’re lucky, they only break your heart once.

But still—he looks like him. The boy who held my hair when I drank too much at my first house party. Who taught me how to throw a punch and kissed my knuckles afterward like he was proud of the damage I could do.

And my stupid, traitor heart squeezes like it wants to remember what it felt like to be wanted by him, even for a second.

I snap my gaze away, cheeks flushed and throat tight. Nope. Not going there. He’s still watching.

Why is he being such an insufferable weirdo?

“Go,” Mom says, eyes twinkling. “Before I embarrass you with a hug and a kiss.”

“You already did,” I mutter, but I lean in for a squeeze anyway. She’s warm, soft. Familiar in a way that makes me ache with things I haven’t named yet.

She pats my cheek. “And don’t ignore your dad up in the stands, okay?”

“No promises,” I say and peel off toward the tunnel, head down, heat licking at the back of my neck.

Up the stairs, past security, into the VIP section, where the seats are padded, the air conditioning is blessedly strong, and the drinks are only criminally overpriced.

Sofia waves me over, nudging the armrest up like she’s parting the seas for Moses. “I saved you a seat.”

She hands me a sparkling water like the goddess she is. I pop the tab and take a long drink, praying it’ll cool the flush in my chest. But my eyes—those disloyal traitors—drift right back to the ice.

Right back to Viktor. Still watching. Still not blinking.

And my pulse gives a single, traitorous kick, as if to say: You still want this.

The speakers crackle.

“Venom fans, make some noise!” Marco’s voice booms across the arena. The man’s grammar is iffy, his accent is straight-off-the-boat Italian, and his energy could bring a corpse back to life. I’ve known him my whole life—he’s basically an uncle with better hair and constantly embarrasses Sofia by wearing slides with socks.

The crowd erupts. I elbow Sofia gently. She winks.

“Today, we are having a special performance from a member of the Venom family!” Marco cries.

A spotlight swings toward us. A stadium intern jogs over with a mic and thrusts it into my hand.

“—Knova Hale!”

…What. The. Fuck.

“No!” I read my mom’s lips from ice level. She waves her hands. “No, no, no.”

But it’s too late.

Knight is waving wildly on the bench, trying to redirect the camera crew toward our mom. People are clapping. The music is starting. My name is on the jumbotron.

Somehow, I’m standing. Somehow, the mic is in my hands. Somehow, my feet are moving. I open my mouth.

“Oh, say can you s—”

What escapes sounds like a frog choking on a kazoo.

I clear my throat. Try again. Overshoot the key, undershoot the volume. I’m a full bar behind the orchestra, which is really committing to the brass section like they’re playing for a coronation.

By “twilight’s last gleaming,” I’ve changed keys and time signatures, and someone in the front row actually flinches.

Kill. Me.

I want to vanish. Explode. Take off like I’m back in the pilot seat.

Then—like a gift from the gods—Dad appears beside me, calm and steady, taking the second mic and belting out the rest of the anthem in his flawless, velvety voice.

I mouth along with him, a ventriloquist dummy in boots and humiliation.

The crowd cheers at the end. Some of them think it was a bit. A joke. A skit, maybe. I force a smile and wave like I haven’t just died inside and come back as a ghost.

As the usher takes the mic back, I mutter, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Marco?” Dad asks, genuinely confused.

“No. Viktor.”

Dad raises a brow. “That doesn’t sound like Viktor. That little shit is a lot of things, but cruel isn’t usually one of them.”

I shoot a look toward the bench—blessedly empty now. “We’ll see.”

Mom joins us in the suite and hugs me tightly. “You were brave. I’m proud of you.”

I nod, my throat still burning. “Thanks.”

But inside? I’m plotting revenge.

And this time, I’m not missing a single damn note.