Page 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Connor

W e touch down in Iron Ridge just before ten, the team SUV rolling to a slow stop in front of the arrivals curb while the crisp mountain air smacks me in the face like a cold reminder that the off-season’s over.

And so is this little bubble we’ve been living in.

Lucy’s quiet beside me. Calm on the outside. But I can feel the tension in her posture, in the way she’s been fidgeting with her phone since we landed, scrolling but not actually looking at anything.

“Still want to meet Emma at the café?” I ask softly.

She nods, eyes on the window. “I just… need to see her. Sink into my corner chair at Chapter & Grind. Drink a coffee I didn’t make. Pretend for five minutes I’m not a Daniels, you know?”

That quiet ache in her voice damn near guts me.

I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out the small gift I picked up at the airport bookstore. One of those random impulse buys that actually felt kind of perfect.

I hand Lucy the hardcover edition of her favorite romance novel. The one she’s re-read so many times the spine finally cracked in three places.

"Well, maybe you should have this now then?" I smile, loving the way her eyes light up at my gift. "A reminder that when the world gets too loud, love always wins."

She blinks down at it. "Connor…"

“It’s not much,” I say quickly, suddenly nervous. “Just figured you could use a reminder.”

Her eyes meet mine, glassy but fierce, and before I can say anything else, she surges forward and kisses me.

Hard.

Right there in the back of the SUV, with Ryder probably watching through the window and Blake making kissy noises two seats behind us.

I kiss her back anyway.

Because I know what’s waiting for her out there.

If I could take it off her shoulders and carry it myself, I would. But for now, all I can do is kiss her like I mean it and hope it’s enough to get her through the next few hours.

The SUV door slides open and there’s Emma, waving from the sidewalk. Before we can even move, Logan barrels out like we’re late for a penalty shootout, shoving right past me with a grin.

“Emma!” he booms, catching her in his arms and spinning her like he's not the grumpiest bastard on the entire NHL roster.

Lucy and I both freeze.

She lifts a brow. “Did Logan just—?”

“Smile? Yep,” I mutter. “He did.”

We’re still watching as he grabs Lucy’s bag out of the trunk, chucks it into the back of Emma’s car, then turns around and claps his hands like he’s calling a team huddle.

“Let’s move, Daniels. You've got two hours of emotional support before she's all mine for the night.”

Lucy turns to me with wide eyes, and I don’t even think. I grab her waist, kiss her fierce and deep and full of everything I’m not sure I’ll get to say today.

She pulls back, breathless. “I’ll call you.”

“You’d better.”

Then she’s gone—sliding into the passenger seat while Logan beams an odd twisted looking smile that looks so fucking weird on his face.

I head back to my apartment solo, tossing my gear in the trunk and cranking the radio like it might drown out the ache settling in my chest.

Iron Ridge looks the same as when we left. Fresh white snow melting at the edges of sidewalks, mountains steady in the distance, that crisp mountain air still slapping you in the lungs like a pregame wake-up call.

But without Lucy beside me?

Everything feels off. Too quiet. Like someone turned down the volume on the world.

The second I walk through my front door, I let out a groan, kick off my sneakers, and toss my bag somewhere near the coat rack with the kind of aim I usually save for the ice.

I head for the kitchen, crack open a Gatorade, and then catch sight of the state of my apartment.

A jacket draped over the back of the couch. One boot kicked halfway beneath the coffee table. An empty ramen bowl with the fork still hanging over the edge like it didn’t even make it to the sink. My place looks lived-in.

But not by me.

I take a step deeper into the apartment, and everything starts to click into place.

My fingers tighten around the Gatorade bottle as I take a slow sip, every instinct telling me this isn’t just a pit stop.

This is camping out .

Then, out cold on the couch, hoodie pulled up over half his face, blanket twisted around his legs, snoring softly like he doesn’t have a care in the damn world is Ethan.

I stop, stare at him for a beat.

Then I mutter, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He doesn’t move. Not even a twitch.

I scan the room, looking for something to throw at him. My eyes land on the perfect projectile - Lucy's stuffed penguin she won at the arcade during team-bonding last month.

With the kind of precision that's won me more than a few shutouts, I launch the penguin directly at Ethan's face.

Thwack.

"What the—" Ethan jerks upright, the penguin bouncing off his nose and landing in his lap. He blinks at it, then at me, like he can't decide which of us is more offensive to his hungover existence.

"Rise and shine, asshole," I say loudly. “You didn’t think to maybe let me know you were staying at my place? Or was that just going to be a fun little surprise when I got home?”

Ethan stirs, blinking awake with a groggy grunt as he collapses back down on the couch. He scrubs a hand down his face, squinting at me like I’m a bad dream that just walked in uninvited.

“Shit,” he croaks. “Didn’t think you’d be back this early.”

Every ounce of patience drains out of me. “That’s what happens when you don’t ask when I’m coming back. You could have told me you used the key I gave you, dipshit."

I cross my arms, staring at him. But it’s not the words that bother me—it’s the look in his eyes. Hollow. Tired. Like the guy I used to know is hanging on by a thread.

I drop into the armchair across from Ethan, the leather creaking beneath me as I settle in like I’m about to conduct an interrogation. Because I am.

He sits up slowly, scrubbing both hands down his face before pushing the hood off his head. His eyes are bloodshot, the bags beneath them deep enough to store a week’s worth of regret. He looks like hell. But I don’t give a shit how rough he looks.

I care about Lucy.

I care that she walked into that gala last night smiling, glowing—only to walk out with her world crumbling again because of him .

“So,” I say, voice calm. Too calm. “You wanna tell me why I had to hear about your little extracurriculars from a pissed of Coach Brody this morning?”

Ethan blinks, his head tilting like he doesn’t quite follow.

“The Gala. Last night,” I clarify. “Apparently, your name’s getting tossed around like it’s part of the pre-season media package. And not in a good way.”

He chuckles, low and dismissive. “People talk shit all the time, man. You know how sports leagues are—”

“No,” I snap, sitting forward, elbows on my knees. “Don’t do that. Don’t laugh this off like it’s some drunk rumor. This isn’t shit talk , Ethan. This is real . This is agents whispering about your debts. Bookies near stadiums. People saying you’ve been seen placing bets.”

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug, gaze sliding sideways. “It’s not that bad—”

I fucking explode .

“Jesus Christ , Ethan!”

He flinches as I shoot to my feet, hands in my hair like I need to physically keep my skull from splitting in half. My heart’s pounding. My jaw’s clenched so tight it hurts.

“You don’t get to shrug this off . Not this time.” My voice is too loud, echoing off the walls of my apartment. “Lucy is barely holding it together because she’s trying to clean up your mess, and you’re sitting here like it’s just another bad weekend in Vegas?”

He swallows hard. His shoulders hunch.

“You don’t get to play the charming fuck-up when she’s out there trying to salvage whatever's left of her family name.”

“I didn’t ask her to—”

“You didn’t have to!” I roar. “You knew she’d try. Because she always does. Because she’s the only one who ever fucking shows up!”

Silence crashes over us, thick and heavy.

I press my palms to my knees, breathing hard, trying not to put my fist through the wall.

Ethan doesn’t say anything for a second. Just looks up at me through tired eyes.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” he mutters. “It started small. A couple bets here and there. Then the debt stacked faster than I thought it would. Next thing I knew…” He trails off, shame crawling over his face.

“How much?” I demand. “How deep are you?”

He hesitates. Then, voice barely audible: “Two hundred grand. Maybe three.”

I stare at him and shake my head in disbelief.

“I can't believe you bet on hockey ,” I say slowly. “ Our games. My team.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Please don't fucking tell me you bet on me ,” I hiss.

His head sinks between his shoulders like the weight of it is too heavy to carry.

My stomach turns despite the fact he can't even own up to that. “Do you know what kind of line you crossed?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“ Do you? ” I shout. “Because that’s not just a dumb decision anymore, Ethan. That’s a career killer . Not just yours, mine . Lucy’s. You think the league won’t investigate the second your name shows up in some shady betting ring? You think they’ll overlook the fact your sister is a team executive and your best friend is the starting goalie for the team you’re betting on?”

He opens his mouth, but I’m already going.

“I’m not even allowed to gamble, Ethan. Not on anything. It’s in my contract—no betting, period. Not poker, not blackjack, not a single goddamn spin of a roulette wheel. The league has zero tolerance, and if they think I’m connected to this in any way, it’s over. I lose everything. Lucy loses everything.”

He covers his face with both hands.

“I told you I’d help,” I say, quieter now, but no less furious. “You've come to me before, and I told you I’d help. Even now, I gave you a fucking key , Ethan. You were my best friend.”

He looks at me, eyes glassy. “Were?”

I shake my head. “Yes. Fucking were. Because I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Silence again.

Until I say the one thing I hadn’t planned to.

“I love her.”

Ethan’s head jerks up.

“I love Lucy. And I’m not gonna let you drag her down with you.” My voice is steel now. Not shouting, but lethal. “So whatever you need to say, say it now. Because this is your one shot to be honest before I decide whether I ever let you near either of us again.”

Ethan’s staring at me like I just punched him in the chest.

I don’t give him time to recover. I’m too far gone. Too fucking tired of watching Lucy pick up broken glass while everyone pretends nothing shattered.

“She finally let someone in,” I say quietly. “You know how big that is? You know what it took for her to trust again?”

He swallows hard but doesn’t speak.

“She’s spent her whole life building walls, Ethan. You built some of them.” My voice breaks, just for a second, but I keep going. “And now she’s finally letting someone love her. Letting me love her. And I’ll be damned if I let you be the reason she builds those walls back up.”

I pace once, raking a hand through my hair.

“She deserves more than this bullshit. More than late-night phone calls and cleaning up your messes and pretending she’s fine when she’s unraveling.”

Ethan’s hands are knotted in his lap now. He won’t meet my eyes.

“I’m not asking you to fix it all tonight,” I say. “But you have to stop lying. Stop pretending this’ll blow over. Because it won’t. Not this time.”

He exhales shakily. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Yeah,” I snap. “But you did. Again. But you know what's different this time? She’s not alone.”

I drop down to the arm of the couch, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor for a long second before looking back at him.

“I don’t care if you hate me for it. I don’t care if we never go back to how things were. But if you love her—really love her, like a brother’s supposed to—you'll help me fix this mess before it ruins her."

Ethan slumps forward, defeat written in every line of his body. "Tell me what to do."

"Start by telling the damn truth." I lean back, crossing my arms. "All of it. Every bet, every debt, every lie. No more half-truths or deflections."

"It'll take hours."

"Then it takes hours. We're not leaving this room until I know exactly what we're dealing with."

He nods, rubbing his face. "Okay. Where do you want me to start?"

"The beginning. And then we work out a plan-"

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Lucy's name lights up the screen, and my chest tightens.

I answer immediately.

"Connor?" Her voice is small, tight with panic, like she never got the chance to relax with the book I bought her. "I just got home and… and he's not here. I checked everywhere, even the pool house, but Ethan's gone and his car isn't here and I don't know what to do-"

I stare at Ethan, fury rising in my throat.

Even now, even after everything, she's upset because of him. Worried about him.

Her voice cracks on the other end of the line, and I want to shake him until he understands what he's doing to her.

"I know, sweetheart," I say, my voice hard as steel. "That's because I'm standing right in front of him."