Page 6

Chapter Six

Lucy

M om is going to kill me.

I don't know what fifty grand is supposed to feel like. But apparently, it feels like a thousand camera flashes going off in your face while a smug six-foot-four hockey player wraps an arm around your waist like he already owns you .

Technically, I have that kind of money.

Well—my parents do.

It’s not like I’ve never had access to it. But I’ve spent the last two years working overtime to prove I could build something of my own .

But tonight?

Tonight, none of that mattered.

Tonight was about proving something else entirely.

"Smile, sweetheart," Connor murmurs against my ear. "Your investment's paying off."

I jolt, caught between a laugh and a panic attack, as the crowd surges around us.

The ballroom is buzzing —everyone trying to get a better look, whispers flying like confetti, and I’m pretty sure three reporters are already live-streaming this nonsense.

I glance up at Connor, wide-eyed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I just became the highest-paid date in Icehawks history. And I didn’t even have to take my shirt off.” He smirks and winks at me. “ Yet .”

“Connor,” I hiss.

But he just grins wider and pulls me closer. Like we’re lovers. Like this is normal .

His palm spreads across my back, fingers just brushing the curve of my waist as he tugs me in for the cameras.

This wasn’t supposed to turn into some pretend couple act. But with his hand on my waist and every camera in the room pointed at us… it’s starting to feel like exactly that.

I swear my heart flatlines.

My brain is already imagining what it would be like if this wasn't just for show—if every morning started with his sleepy smirk over coffee, if movie nights meant his fingers playing with my hair while I curl into his chest, if game days included stolen kisses in empty hallways before he hits the ice.

The thought hits me like the shots of tequila Ryder and some fans are throwing back at the bar—warm, dangerous, and absolutely intoxicating.

Somewhere nearby, Tony-the-Auction-Icon grabs the mic with a flourish, drawing attention back to the front of the room.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” he sings, spinning like a disco ball come to life. “We have officially shattered every record in Icehawks gala history!”

I nearly faint.

“Miss Lucy Daniels, Icehawks royalty in the making, just dropped a cool fifty thousand dollars to claim our man of the hour—Connor Walsh!”

The lights feel too bright. My lungs too small. Connor's hand way too steady on my body.

“I need air,” I mutter, trying to pull back.

Connor doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens.

“Oh, come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice dipping low and smug as hell. “People might start thinking you actually want me.”

I go completely still.

Then turn to glare up at him. “This is a publicity nightmare.”

He leans in, smiling for the cameras like we’re in a toothpaste commercial. “Relax, Lucy Lou,” he says, voice all velvet and heat. “Just enjoy your prize.”

Before I can say something that might actually get me fired, Tony chimes in again.

“I think it’s safe to say,” he says dramatically, “that Mrs. Walsh has entered the chat!”

The room erupts .

I choke. “Oh my god.”

Connor laughs, full-bodied and unbothered, like this is the best night of his life.

“You’re turning red,” he says. “Cute.”

"I am not cute. I'm dying ."

Connor is still talking—something teasing about our “honeymoon plans”—but I don’t hear a word.

Because right now I’m being eaten alive by the moment, by the eyes, by the fact that my brother just walked out like I stabbed him in the chest. Like our little game was a betrayal of something that runs deeper than just sibling rivalry.

I look towards the door where Ethan stormed out and the noise around me fades. The lights blur and the entire rooms starts fucking spinning.

"Connor, I need some air. I'll be back."

I twist out of Connor's grip, ignoring his surprised plea as I duck under his arm. Crossing the room, Sophia reaches for me, concern etched on her face, while Natalie calls my name, but I weave through the crowd like I'm running drills.

The exit sign glows ahead of me. I burst through the heavy doors, gasping as the cold night air hits my face.

It's sharp. Icy. Real.

Normally, I don’t even feel the cold, not really. That's what happens when you spend your life in Iron Ridge.

That's also what happens when all you can see is your brother, pacing halfway down the stone steps, broad shoulders drawn tight, fists jammed into his pockets like he’s holding something back with everything he has.

“Ethan!”

He looks over his shoulder at me but keeps walking.

Goddammit.

My heels skid a little on the edge of the step as I hurry after him. The gala noise blurs behind me. Cameras still flashing through the windows. Somewhere inside, Connor’s probably posing like he’s the latest celeb.

But out here? Out here, it’s just me and Ethan and a night that suddenly feels too damn quiet.

“Ethan, stop!”

No reaction. Just the rigid line of his back, his pace quick and uneven.

I catch up and grab his arm.

He spins so fast I stumble.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.

His eyes are wild when they lock on mine. His nostrils flare, rage and fury and so many things written across his expression I don't even know where to start.

I take a step back, needing a second to take the sight of my rampaging brother in.

“You have no idea what you just did,” he says. Low. Rough. Like he’s choking on every word.

“It’s a charity auction,” I snap. “You were the one bidding like it was a pissing contest.”

“You think that’s what this was? A joke?” He shakes his head, the laugh that slips out completely humorless. “You think I care that you bid on Connor?”

“You think this was about him?”

I stare at him. “Isn’t it?”

He exhales hard and drags a hand down his face, fingers scraping roughly across his jaw.

I’ve seen Ethan pissed. Seen him tear into people with that cold, surgical calm that makes experienced executives fold in meetings. But this… this is something else. He’s unraveling right before my eyes. Barely holding it together.

His voice drops. “I might’ve expected this shit from him .”

My chest tightens.

“But you?” He steps forward, just enough to make me flinch. “Not from you. Not my own damn sister.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He laughs. A short, sharp, bitter laugh that makes my skin freeze. “You think you’re immune? You think just because you throw around Dad’s money like confetti and pretend you’re building something for yourself that you’re any different from the rest of them?”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, what’s not fair is watching you fall into the same trap I did. Thinking family means something. Thinking it makes you safe.”

I blink hard, heat rising in my throat. “What are you even talking about?”

He shakes his head, jaw flexing, pacing two steps away like he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he stays close. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

My pulse skips. "Who?"

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Connor! And I’ve seen the way you try to pretend you don’t notice.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He turns back, eyes sharp, voice rough.

“I saw it, Lucy. The way you froze when he touched you. The way your eyes tracked him like you couldn’t help it.”

I can’t breathe.

“You think this ends with a date and a photo-op?” His mouth twists. “You think he wants you ? You’re a story to him, Luce. A headline. A quick thrill until the next shiny distraction comes along.”

My arms fold across my chest. “You've been gone for years, Ethan. You don’t know him anymore.”

“And you don’t know me.” His voice is suddenly low again, brittle. “You don’t know what it costs to protect this family. What I’ve had to give up to keep everything stitched together while everyone else gets to fall apart.”

“You stormed out,” I say. “You made a scene .”

He flinches like I hit him.

My voice drops. “You’ve had three champagnes and no dinner. You’re not even—Ethan, you’re not acting like yourself. And you think that's not falling apart?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t start treating me like I’m unstable just because I finally lost a bid.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know it.”

Wind curls between us as darkness grips the parking lot outside the arena.

“You’ve been off for weeks,” I say, quieter now. “You barely came home for Christmas. You’ve missed Dad’s last two calls. You’re not sleeping. And now you’re out here, drinking like it’s your job and throwing money around like it’s—”

My stomach drops.

Like it’s not.

“Ethan…”

His jaw locks. “Don’t.”

I step closer, trying to see through the shadows. “What’s going on?”

He doesn't look at me.

“You’ve been lying to me,” I whisper. “And you’re not okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes snap to mine.

And for a second, I see it. Right there—under the anger, the pride, the tight grip on control.

Fear.

“You don’t get it,” he says, voice raw. “You’ve never had to worry about money, have you? Not really. You had school, and internships, and you still live with Mom and Dad.”

My throat tightens. “You think I don’t see how hard you’ve worked? That I don’t know how much pressure is on you?”

He laughs again. Still bitter. Still empty.

“Well, congratulations, Lucy. Now you’re fifty grand poorer,” he says, stepping back. “And you still don’t have a damn clue.”

He turns and leaves, drifting into the darkness without looking back.

The sound of his shoes on the pavement echoes long after he’s gone and my arms wrap around my stomach like they can hold me together.

And then, even in the freezing cold wind—I feel it.

The weight of a stare. Warmth against my back and the soft crunch of shoes behind me on the steps.

“Lucy.” Connor steps up beside me, not touching me, just… there. Solid and warm and quiet. Like he’s trying not to startle a wild animal. "Are you okay?"

My arms fold tightly across my chest. Not for protection—just to hold myself together.

“I’ve never seen him like that,” I whisper.

Connor doesn’t answer right away. His breath fogs faintly in the cold air around us.

“You didn't answer me. Are you okay?” he asks again, voice low.

I shake my head.

But I nod, too.

Because the answer is both.

My eyes burn, and I blink hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Not now. Not here .

“Everything’s been off with him lately,” I say. “And I thought—I don’t know, I thought it was just work stress. Maybe too much family pressure, or something with Dad, or…”

My throat tightens. Because I don't know. I don't know how to help, and that makes everything so much harder.

Connor shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders without a word. His jacket is huge around my shivering frame, but I inhale the warmth, the scent, the weight of it.

It swallows me whole and for a moment, I close my eyes, just for a second, and let the feeling settle.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says quietly.

“Maybe I did.”

“No. You didn’t.”

I look up at him. His expression is unreadable. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… calm. Like he’s holding steady for the both of us.

I let my gaze drift over his clean-shaven face, seeing him—really seeing him—for the first time tonight. His lips part slightly, no trace of his typical smirk that's usually hidden behind dark facial hair.

Instead, there's something raw and honest in the way he watches me, something that makes my heart skip.

He notices me looking.

“What's up, Lucy?” he asks, softer this time.

“I keep waiting for you to say something cocky.”

He huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

My lips twitch. Just slightly. It doesn’t last.

“I know what it’s like to carry more than you can handle,” he says. “Ethan’s proud. That’s not new. But whatever’s going on with him… that’s not on you.”

A knot forms in my chest, and this time, I can’t swallow it down. Connor notices and reaches for me, his fingers grazing my wrist.

“Hey.”

I look into his eyes.

“You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“You don’t have to.”

He takes a step closer.

Not asking. Not pushing. Just giving me the option to meet him there.

And I do.

I reach for him before I know I’m doing it. One hand in his lapel. One breathless second of hesitation.

Then… I lean in.

And kiss him.

It’s soft. God, it’s soft .

His lips move against mine with the kind of patience that undoes me more than anything else tonight. One of his hands finds the back of my neck, the other resting lightly at my waist, and he kisses me like I’m breakable. Like he knows I’ve been holding my breath for hours and he’s trying to give it back.

When I pull away, I’m shaking but he stays close.

His voice is rough as he smiles down at me, his hand still cupping my cheek. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that, Lucy Lou.”

“I know,” I breathe, smiling for the first time in what feels like a week.

Snap.

The sudden sound cuts through the quiet like a gunshot.

I freeze on the spot and watch as Connor's eyes widen in front of me.

Snap snap snap.

Connor turns fast, stepping in front of me, shielding me with his back from the sudden burst of light across the street.

"Fuck. They've found us, Lucy."

I look past Connor's shoulder and see the man darting in the darkness with a camera. A huge lens tucked under his arm as he ducks into a van across the parking lot.

"Shit," I curse under my breath.

I just kissed Connor Walsh. After spending my families fortune on him in an attempt to outshine my brother for my own selfish needs. In public. With the whole world watching.

Congratulations, Lucy.

You just turned a one-night bid into a full-blown nightmare.

Guess we’re fake dating now.