Page 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lucy

A fter two lonely days trying my best to avoid this place, I push open the side door to Icehawk Arena, and immediately squint into the half-lit concourse.

The overhead lights are dimmed like the place is on energy-saving mode, and there’s a soft hum in the air, like the bones of the arena are stretching after a long nap.

There's no roaring crowd. No stick clatter echoing off the glass.

Just the low creak of vents and the distant beep of something wheeling past somewhere out of sight.

The text from Coach Brody had come in just as I was shoving my keys into my coat pocket, already halfway out the door with my hair still damp from a quick, poorly executed post-shower blow-dry.

It was such a simple message, an odd one to receive at this time of day from my boss: Meet me at the arena. Now, please. – Coach Brody

No explanation. No emoji. Just vague enough to be irritating, just Coach enough to force me to go.

It’s still off-season. And despite my schedule starting to look bigger now the new season is almost here, I know for a fact that there’s no game scheduled tonight.

And yet, tucked just inside the east corridor, there’s a green and gray helium balloon bobbing against a chair leg like it missed the memo. Further down, a stack of cardboard boxes is parked against the merchandise store window—sealed, labeled, and definitely not from the usual stadium vendors.

I pause, frowning at a crooked handwritten sign taped to a folding table: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 6:00 PM.

Then behind me, two families huddle near the concession stand, decked out in Icehawks jerseys and scarves despite the off-season. A little girl in pigtails clutches what looks like a ticket stub while her dad squints at his phone's map.

They seem as confused by their presence here as I am by mine.

“Okay,” I mutter. “What the hell is going on—”

“Surprise!”

I nearly jump out of my skin as Emma barrels into view from around the corner, juggling two boxes and wearing a grin. She smiles at me just as Logan appears right behind her, holding three more boxes that are stacked like a Jenga tower.

He gives me a curt nod and looks about as thrilled as I am to be here.

“Why are you—what—how are you here?” I ask, blinking as Emma drops the boxes on a nearby bench.

“Packaging drop,” she says, as if that clears anything up. “Well, slash official invite. Slash life-changing business deal. Slash—Logan made me do it.”

Logan grunts, shifting the top box and giving me a pointed look.

“Your friend has no idea how to price wholesale.”

Emma ignores him, then turns to me with a proud little flourish.

“He’s been helping me… like actually helping me. Despite the scowl that says otherwise. Said my blends deserved more than being stuck in a quiet corner of town. So I got them properly packaged—sealed sachets, branding, the works.”

She digs into a box and extracts a gorgeously designed rosy packet with delicate buttery script running along the edge:

Unicorn Mocha Deluxe – Roasted and Packaged by Chapter & Grind.

My jaw drops.

"Connor's favorite."

Emma glows at the design, but my smile falters at Connor's name, my stomach doing that weird swooping thing it always does when someone mentions him.

Two days.

Two whole days of dodging his texts, of taking the long way around town to avoid running into him or Ethan. They wanted to handle this mess themselves? Fine. I've given them exactly what they asked for - complete radio silence.

Even if it's killing me inside.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on Emma's excitement.

"These look amazing. The packaging is perfect." I run my finger over the raised script, admiring the detail. "But I still don't understand why we're here. At the arena. With boxes of coffee sachets."

“Well tonight, they’re going on sale for the very first time at the—”

Before she can finish, Logan slaps her ass like they’re in a locker room and she’s just scored a goal.

Emma jolts, cheeks flushing instantly as she swats at him with the back of her hand.

“Logan!” she hisses, like she wasn’t expecting it—but also like this maybe isn’t the first time it’s happened.

He just glares at her like she was about to reveal some kind of big secret.

“Shut. Up. ”

I blink. Slowly. Because this is weird.

Emma straightens, smoothing her shirt with one hand while sneaking a sideways glance at me—like she’s hoping I didn’t just witness whatever that was.

I squint. “Okay… what exactly is happening here?”

Emma winces and flashes me a sheepish smile.

“Nothing! Forget I said anything. Just... enjoy the vibes. Buy some coffee. Maybe don’t wander too far down the west tunnel unless you want to get run over by a zamboni.”

“Wait, what—”

I turn. And freeze.

Because stepping out of the shadows at the end of the concourse, flanked by a wall of warm stadium light spilling in behind them, are the last two people I was prepared to see today.

Ethan and Connor.

My stomach instantly knots as they approach, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

Connor’s in a fitted charcoal hoodie rolled to the elbows, sleeves tugged up over his forearms like he just finished doing something frustrating and physical and—ugh, of course—he looks stupidly good doing it.

He's also wearing that damn smirk. The one that says he knows exactly what he's doing, exactly how it affects me. The one that reminds me of rooftop dates and champagne kisses and sheets tangled around our bodies in LA.

No. I'm still angry. He doesn't get to just swagger down this hallway and expect everything to be fine.

But God, the way he moves... Like he owns the place, like he knows I'm watching.

I rip my gaze away from him before I do something embarrassing, like melt into the linoleum.

Ethan, on the other hand, is standing taller than I’ve seen in weeks. Shoulders squared, jaw clean-shaven for once. He’s wearing a clean Icehawks hoodie and the hesitant hope of someone who’s trying. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't look like he's drowning.

But that doesn’t mean I’m letting them off the hook.

"What the hell is going on?" I cross my arms, aiming for stern but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

Connor stops a few feet away. "Come with us?"

Oh, sure. Just like that. Like we didn’t have a massive fight. Like he didn’t decide to “protect me” by excluding me from my own brother’s downfall.

“No thanks,” I say sweetly, a slight flutter of my lashes adding to the sarcasm. “I’ve already got a front-row seat to the ‘Keep Lucy In the Dark’ show."

Ethan winces. Connor… smirks. Of course he smirks. Like he’s proud of me for fighting him on it.

“Luce… we just want to show you something,” Ethan tries, his voice earnest, unsure. “It’s... important.”

“Oh, is it a visual aid? A pie chart, maybe? One that explains why the two men who claim to love me both decided I was too delicate to participate in my own family drama?” My voice cracks, just enough to sting. “I’ve been holding this family together since I was eight . And now you decide I need protecting?”

Connor takes a slow step forward. I catch the twitch of his jaw again because he’s fighting a grin now. The asshole likes it when I’m mouthy.

“You’re not delicate,” he says, voice low, like it’s sacred truth. “You’re the strongest person I know. That’s why this—” he gestures toward the shadowy arena “—is for you.”

I blink. My brows draw together.

“For me?” I echo, stomach tightening. “What’s for me?”

Connor and Ethan guide me through the corporate suite doors, and my breath catches at the view below.

The Icehawks Arena is alive .

Kids in brand new jerseys skate circles around Blake, their laughter echoing up to the box seats. Volunteers string banners across the glass while others arrange tables with pamphlets about gambling addiction resources and youth hockey programs.

And there, blazing across the jumbotron in brilliant green and white: "ICEHAWKS LEGENDS CHARITY GAME: Tonight only, feat. Eli Thompson!"

My hand flies to my mouth.

"Lucy." Connor's voice is soft beside me, intimate despite the vastness of the arena spread before us. "We never wanted to shut you out. This is not about erasing the mistakes, but owning them. It's about rewriting what comes next. Not just for Ethan, but for you too."

I can't tear my eyes from the scene below. A young girl in pigtails takes a shot, and Blake dramatically dives the wrong way, making her squeal with delight when the puck slides across the line.

"I wanted to do one thing right," Ethan adds, his voice rough with emotion. "And this is my way of giving back."

My fingers press against the cool glass, steadying myself as the reality washes over me in gentle waves.

Connor did this. For me. For us.

Not to protect me from the truth, but to protect my peace while he built something beautiful from the ashes of our family's mistakes.

I watch another child score, arms raised in victory, and something inside my chest begins to unfurl - tender and warm and achingly sweet.

Connor tiptoes up to my side like a cat stalking it's prey, and presses a quick kiss to my temple before he squeezes my hand.

"I've got to go suit up. The kids are expecting a real hockey player, not just the old guys we dragged out of retirement."

His eyes hold mine for a moment, a silent promise passing between us before he disappears down the corridor, leaving me alone with Ethan.

I turn to look at my brother. The shadows under his eyes have faded in a matter of days. He's still too thin, but there's something different about the way he's holding himself. He's less hunched, like he's finally stopped waiting for the sky to fall.

"So," I say, leaning against the railing. "How did the league meeting go? Am I going to be looking at you through steel bars next time?"

Ethan's fingers tap nervously against his thigh. "I owned everything, Luce. Every bet, every lie, every dollar."

He takes a deep breath.

“They weren’t happy. I’ve got a formal warning on record, a hefty fine coming, and I’m required to complete community outreach. They’re launching an internal review, but because I came forward voluntarily, and because I gave them everything, they’ve agreed not to pursue formal charges."

"But I'm attending support groups now. Three times a week. And I'm entering a voluntary rehab program next month."

My heart squeezes. "And?"

He gestures to the ice before turning to me, his eyes clear for the first time in months.

"Yes. Most importantly… you and Connor? The Icehawks roster? You're cleared of all suspicion. They know you weren't involved in my mess."

Something hot and tight builds behind my eyes.

Relief, pride, guilt—all of it swirling together until I can barely breathe.

"You really did it," I say softly.

Ethan's lips curve into a faint smile. "It's a start. I almost lost everything. You. Connor. The Icehawks. And somehow… I didn’t."

He takes a deep breath and smiles down at the ice.

"That’s not luck, Luce. That’s a second chance. I’m not wasting it. That's what tonight is about. Raising awareness. Getting people to reach out before it's too late."

I stare at my brother, this person who I've known my entire life but who feels brand new standing before me. He's not just my brother again. He's trying to be the version of him I always believed in.

And Connor never stopped believing in either of us.

From my spot near the glass, I watch the chaos unfold on the ice.

Eli Thompson, looking more like a lumberjack than a hockey legend in his vintage jersey, crashes into Blake with all the grace of a dancing bear. They both tumble, laughing as they hit the ice.

The crowd roars as Ryder executes a perfect spin move around Logan, who's pretending to defend while simultaneously taking selfies with fans through the glass—and plucking sachets of Emma’s coffee from his jersey pocket like a magician handing out candy canes.

It's beautiful mayhem.

A mix of retired pros with their beer bellies hanging over their pants and current players showing off like peacocks. Even Coach Brody is smiling from the box where Natalie appears to have taken reigns of the tactics board for the night.

But in amongst the fun of the charity event, my eyes keep drifting back to the goal, where Connor stands guard.

He's wearing a new mask, apparently freshly painted for tonight. When he turns to take a drink, I catch sight of the backplate and my hand flies to my mouth.

There, tucked into the design, are my initials - "LD" - with tiny peach-colored hearts on either side. My favorite candy, transformed into a permanent declaration on his most personal piece of hockey equipment.

My knees nearly buckle.

He painted me into his armor. Like I’m part of what protects him now.

"You're grinning like an idiot," Ethan says, nudging my shoulder.

"I am. I can't stop." I laugh, just as Connor drops into a dramatic twirl before sliding into a save with one leg stretched out like he’s auditioning for figure skating nationals. The puck hits his pad, ricochets into the air, and he casually catches it behind his back like this is Cirque du Soleil .

Then, he's got the audacity to blow me a kiss through the cage of his mask.

"He's an absolute idiot," I mutter, smiling so hard my face hurts.

Ethan laughs with me, like we're back on the couch as kids again, watching cartoons without a care in the world.

Everything about tonight - the charity game, the way Connor orchestrated this whole thing, how he found a way to make something good out of our mess… it's all just so… Connor.

Ethan leans closer. "You can stop being mad at him now. He's a good man, Luce. A good man who was just trying to protect you."

"I know," I say quietly, certainty settling in my chest as I watch Connor make an unnecessarily dramatic save that has the kids in the crowd screaming with delight.

"Then stop being mad," Ethan says. "Go get your man. Be happy. Be loved. Because of all the people in the world who deserve that, you deserve it most."

“You coming down after the game?” I ask Ethan, voice casual, like I'm not ignoring his words because I'm on the verge of crying right now.

He winks. “Nah. I’ve seen enough swooning for one night.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart’s already halfway down the stairs.