Page 21

Mila

T he night air is cold, plumes of frosty air escaping my mouth.

Penn and I walk side by side, our steps falling into a natural rhythm as we head to a bar where we’re meeting King and Willa.

Everything is so new and sometimes awkward.

The space between us feels… complicated.

His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, shoulders squared as if he’s got his walls back in place.

I wish he’d take my hand. Show me a sign of affection so I’d be reassured I didn’t dream that we’re now in some sort of relationship. But maybe those are just foolish, romantic notions. Maybe what Penn and I have is only physical and in the bedroom.

Please take my hand, Penn, and prove me wrong.

The thought nags at me, making my fingers twitch at my side, but I don’t dare reach for him first. We’ve crossed so many lines in the last twenty-four hours—lines we didn’t know how to define, boundaries we didn’t even realize existed until we obliterated them.

And now? Now we’re here… somewhere between what we were and whatever the hell we’re becoming.

I sneak a glance at him as we walk. His jaw is strong but not tight. He doesn’t seem angry. Just lost in thought. Maybe the same thoughts swirling around in my head are swirling in his.

“Cold?” Penn asks quietly, snapping me out of my silent musings.

I shake my head quickly, offering a small smile. “No. I’m good.”

He nods, his gaze flicking toward me briefly before returning straight ahead. Shit… I should have said I was cold and maybe he would have put his arm around me. Next time I’ll do that.

I let my mind wander back to the game, my lips lifting into a genuine smile.

God, I loved being there tonight. Sitting in the stands with Willa, watching Penn on the ice…

it was different this time. I’ve watched plenty of his games over the years, followed his career from a distance, but tonight felt personal.

Like I wasn’t just a spectator anymore. I was part of his inner circle.

I can still see him in my mind—his body slicing through defenders with brutal precision, his movements a perfect blend of power and grace. But it was his goal in the second period that stole my breath.

Penn had taken a pass from Boone in the neutral zone, skated hard toward the net with a defender practically draped over his back. He’d deked once, twice, then flipped the puck up over the goalie’s glove side, hitting the top corner so clean it was poetry in motion.

My chest clenched and I jumped to my feet with the rest of the crowd, but unlike everyone else, my heart was pounding for a different reason.

Because that wasn’t just a goal. It was him—focused, relentless, unstoppable.

And for a split second, I swear he looked toward where I was sitting.

Was he looking to see how I was reacting? Do I provide him with inspiration?

“You okay?”

Penn’s voice pulls me back to the present, and I blink, realizing I’ve been lost in my thoughts again. His eyes are on me now, a hint of concern in them.

“Yeah,” I say, offering a small smile. “Just thinking about the game.”

His lips curve, just slightly, and that one look—soft and almost shy—makes my heart flip. “What did you think of it?”

“Loved it.” I respond, and I can’t hide the excitement that bubbles up. Can’t hide the pride in my friend. “You were incredible out there. Your talent is truly unmatched, Penn.”

His jaw works, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Thanks. It was nice having you there to cheer me on.”

The words are not overly effusive but coming from Penn—a man who has held himself in reserve for years—I know they have true meaning.

Warmth blooms in my chest and I hold on to that as silence settles again, but this time it feels different.

Solid and comfortable.

And not long lived.

Penn clears his throat, speaking quieter than before. “I told them,” he says.

It takes me a moment to process, my steps faltering slightly. “Told who?”

“The team.”

I stop completely. “Wait… you told them? About…”

Penn realizes I’m three paces behind and walks back to me. “Everything.” His eyes meet mine, steady despite the vulnerability I see flickering beneath the surface. “About the Wraiths. About what happened with Nathan. About the article and the danger, and the reasons I am the way I am.”

My heart pounds as I stare up at him. “Penn…”

He lifts a shoulder, looking almost uncomfortable now, like he’s not sure what to do with my reaction. “I had to,” he says softly, his gaze drifting toward the pavement. “I couldn’t keep carrying it around. Not with them. Not anymore.”

Emotion swells in my throat. “How did they take it?”

“Better than I expected,” he admits, his lips pulling to one side as we resume walking. “A lot of shock, sure. But… they’ve got my back.” He pauses, eyes locking onto mine again. “And yours.”

I swallow hard, my chest aching with something I can’t quite name. “I’m really proud of you, Penn. I know that wasn’t easy.”

He holds my gaze for a beat longer before his eyes drift away again. “It feels… weird,” he murmurs. “Lighter. Like I can breathe for the first time in a long time.”

My heart squeezes, and I resist the urge to reach for him. “You deserve that. And thank you for sharing that with me.”

He seems embarrassed by my praise, giving a slight cough. “I talked to Van after,” he says. “He put me in touch with someone—Jameson Force Security. They can help with the threats.”

Relief washes over me, so sudden and intense that my knees nearly buckle. “Really?”

“Yeah… his brother-in-law works there and they’re all like former Special Forces, CIA, Secret Service types. He says they’ll be more effective than the police as they have better resources.”

“Wow,” I murmur, letting that sink in. Is it possible that I could actually get a peaceful night’s sleep and not have to worry about the boogeyman jumping out at me from around every corner?

“I’m not taking any chances,” he says, and this time, when his eyes meet mine, there’s no hesitation. Only resolve. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Emotion chokes me, but I manage a shaky nod. “Thank you.”

The bar comes into view, its warm glow pouring out onto the street. The crowd buzzes inside, the hum of conversation and laughter spilling through the doors.

Penn’s posture shifts immediately, his shoulders going rigid as he surveys the crowd. He scans the room like a man on a mission, searching for King and Willa.

“Looks packed,” I murmur, my anxiety creeping up a notch. I don’t do well in crowded places like this—not since the threats started.

“Stay close,” Penn says, and before I can react, his fingers thread through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Heat floods me instantly, my pulse pounding in my ears as I glance down at our joined hands. His grip is firm, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

God, I love how this feels.

Like I belong to him.

The space between us evaporates as he guides me through the crowded bar. Heads turn as we pass, whispers following us.

“Is that Penn Navarro?”

“Holy shit, it is.”

“Dude, get a pic—”

“Penn… can I get an autograph?”

“Not now,” Penn says to a female fan, his tone polite and leveled with a genial smile, but firm as he brushes past. “Maybe later.”

I glance up at him, surprised by how effortlessly he handles the attention. There’s no arrogance, no annoyance—just quiet control.

And damn if that doesn’t make me fall for him a little harder.

After a few more steps, Penn spots King and Willa tucked into a booth near the back of the bar, away from most of the crowd. Relief floods me at the sight of Willa’s warm smile and King’s easygoing wave.

King stands, clapping Penn on the back as we reach the table and then holds out his hand to me. “You must be Mila. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Before I can reply, Willa is there, giving me a quick hug, even though I saw her no more than thirty minutes ago. “Long time, no see,” she chirps, and I can’t help but laugh.

We settle into the booth, me on the inside with Penn sitting so close, our thighs touch. A waitress appears and we all order beers.

We lapse into easy conversation, the heaviness of the last few days momentarily pushed aside.

It’s a relief to sit here, surrounded by laughter and lighthearted banter, without the weight of secrets or the looming threat hanging over me and Penn.

I feel the tension slowly draining from his body, his shoulders less rigid, his jaw not clenched so tight.

He’s relaxed in a way I hadn’t imagined possible, and it makes my heart ache a little.

Penn deserves this—this carefree moment where he can just be without constantly watching his back or walling himself off from people.

And for me… it’s a glimpse into what life could be like if we manage to come out of all this unscathed. I’m not ready to let go of that feeling just yet. I lean in, eager to soak up the moment with new friends and maybe a meaningful relationship with a man I admire.

Willa’s laughter bubbles up over the thrum of bar chatter around us. “Okay, I’ve got one,” she says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “What’s your guilty pleasure TV show or movie? And don’t you dare lie, Penn. I know you’ve got one.”

Penn, sitting beside me, lifts an eyebrow, leaning back against the booth with a cocky smirk. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be ambushed?”

“Because you are,” King replies with a grin, taking a sip of his beer. “Spill it.”

Penn’s lips twitch, and I brace myself, already knowing whatever he says is going to surprise the hell out of me. “Fine.” He exhales heavily, as if this is a confession he’s been holding on to for years. “I normally just watch ESPN, but I do have one guilty pleasure on TV.”

“What is it?” Willa presses.

His face flushes. “ The Bachelor .”

I blink. “Wait… what?”

Willa’s jaw drops. “You? Mr. Hockey-Is-Life Navarro watches The Bachelor ?”

“Only the finales,” he mutters, suddenly very interested in the condensation dripping down his beer glass. “I don’t sit through the whole damn season, but I gotta know who wins.”

King nearly chokes on his drink. “You bet on it, don’t you?”

Penn doesn’t even look guilty. “Occasionally.” He shrugs. “What can I say? I like a little action.”

Willa bursts out laughing. “I’m dead. I would’ve bet my next paycheck you’d say something like Breaking Bad or Yellowstone .”

“Those are solid shows,” Penn says, tipping his glass toward her, “but they don’t have the same… drama.”

“I’m never going to let you live this down,” I tease, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Penn Navarro, closet romantic.”

“Hey.” He points a finger at me, eyes narrowing playfully. “Let’s not throw stones, Mila. I bet you’ve got something just as embarrassing.”

My cheeks warm, but I lift my chin, owning it. “Hallmark Christmas movies.”

King groans. “Oh God.”

“Don’t judge!” I laugh, holding up a hand. “They’re comforting. You always know how they’ll end, and sometimes, a predictable happy ending is exactly what I need.”

“Respect.” Willa nods solemnly. “Nothing wrong with a little cheesy romance.”

King gives her a skeptical look. “And what’s your guilty pleasure?”

Willa doesn’t hesitate. “ Bridgerton. ”

“Of course,” King mutters, shaking his head like he should’ve known. “All those corsets and scandal.”

“Scandal keeps things interesting,” Willa says with a wink.

“All right, King,” I chime in, leaning on the table. “Your turn.”

King shifts uncomfortably. “ The Walking Dead .”

“Bullshit,” Penn drawls, narrowing his eyes. “Come on, man. Out with it.”

A muscle ticks in King’s jaw before he finally grumbles, “ Emily in Paris. ”

Willa’s mouth drops open, and I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. “You watch Emily in Paris ?”

“Willa started it,” King mumbles, his ears going red. “And now… I’m invested.”

Penn lets out a whistle. “I did not see that coming.”

“Damn, King,” I tease, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “I thought you were going to say Top Gun or something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” King mutters, but his lips twitch. “Laugh it up.”

Willa leans in, her expression turning devious. “Speaking of The Walking Dead … if the zombie apocalypse hits tomorrow, what’s your plan?”

The question shifts the entire vibe of the table, the mood turning contemplative because this is serious business. Having a solid game plan is the key to survival.

“Oh, that’s easy.” King straightens, confidence radiating from him. “I’m commandeering a yacht and heading out to sea. Zombies can’t swim. I’ll fish, drink beer, and wait for the world to reset.”

“Smart,” Willa murmurs, clearly impressed. “But what if the zombies evolve and learn how to doggy paddle?”

“Then I’m screwed,” King says with a shrug, making everyone laugh.

“Mila.” Willa turns her attention to me, eyes bright with curiosity. “What’s your plan?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Honestly? I’d probably hide in a closet and hope for the best.”

Penn snorts. “Babe, that’s not a plan. That’s a death sentence.”

Babe.

He just called me babe and it sounded so natural. I stare at him a moment, trying to see if there’s some regret or embarrassment deep in his eyes, but he doesn’t even seem to notice what he just called me.

I shake off the warm fuzzies. “I’m not exactly survivalist material. I guess the smartest thing I could do is jump on King’s yacht.”

“Plenty of room.” He chortles and then looks across to Penn. “You’ve probably got a full tactical plan. Come on, man.”

Penn’s grin is lazy and full of confidence. “Fortify my house. Stockpile food and ammo. Take out any threats before they get too close.” He shrugs, casual about the whole thing. “Survival101.”

Willa shakes her head, clearly amused. “Of course, you’ve thought this through.”

“I like to be prepared,” Penn says with a smug grin.

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him. “And where am I in this scenario?”

Penn’s grin softens, a hint of something more vulnerable peeking through. “Not on King’s yacht. You’d be by my side. Obviously.”

My heart gives a ridiculous little flutter, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Willa coos, and King groans.

“Now you’re making the rest of us look bad, Navarro,” King mutters, shaking his head.

Penn smirks, reaching for his beer. “What can I say? I’m a man with a plan.”

“All right,” Willa says with a grin. “Since we’re all in this together, I call dibs on raiding Sephora before the world ends. A girl’s got priorities.”

King groans again, but the laughter that follows is easy and genuine, the heaviness of the past few days momentarily forgotten.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m part of something… normal.

And as dull as normal sounds, it’s truly the best feeling in the world.