Page 27

Mila

T he article is live and now we wait to see if this will poke the bear.

Penn and I sit in his kitchen, huddled side by side. His coffee sits untouched. My tea has long gone cold. Both of us stare at our phones, scrolling through the story Jillian wrote and published just an hour ago.

I already knew every word that she printed, yet I can’t stop reading it again and again. The headline is bold and direct: “Penn Navarro Breaks His Silence: The Hazing, the Cover-Up, and the Fight to End It.”

Each word packs a punch—raw, honest and explosive.

Jillian didn’t change a word of what Penn said.

He went into that interview with conviction, and what came out rectified years of silence.

She described his demeanor in vivid detail—the edge in his voice, the steel in his eyes.

She quoted every single line he wanted published, including the one that dared the men who terrorized Nathan—and now us—to come after him.

And now the messages are pouring in.

I glance at Penn, who’s thumbing through texts and emails, his jaw clenched. Not with anger—he’s overwhelmed. I know because I am too.

“Your DMs still blowing up?” I ask gently.

“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Couple of old teammates. A bunch of strangers. That guy from SportsCenter called me a goddamn legend.”

“Most of my messages are people apologizing,” I say. “For not believing me. For thinking I made it up.”

Penn’s hand finds mine and squeezes. “They should apologize. And you don’t owe any of them a reply.”

Penn’s phone chimes and he goes still, reading yet another text message. “McLendon,” he murmurs.

I lean over and he tilts the phone my way so I can see Jacob’s message. That was gutsy and I respect it. You’ve made me rethink things. Maybe we can talk some more when you’re up to it.

My hand covers his wrist and I push the phone down until he sets it on the counter. His eyes meet mine in question.

“You have handled this in such a genuine fashion, you’re making a lot of people think twice about it. It will open a dialogue about hazing, responsibility and doing the right thing. I’m proud of you, Penn.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, just a moment where it looks as though he might shut down on me, but it vanishes like smoke.

Left behind is gratitude and he punctuates it by wrapping a hand around my nape and pulling me closer.

His lips press against my forehead and when he pulls back, his expression is intensely serious.

“I wouldn’t have done this had you not shown up on my doorstep.

This is all thanks to you. My life has changed completely… thanks to you.”

Butterflies zoom around my belly. “I’m glad that’s something you can be thankful for instead of thinking I’m a pain in the ass.”

Penn laughs, a sound I’ve been hearing more and more. “You’re still a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain the ass.”

My lungs deflate, the air gushing out of me in a massive sigh of romantic swoon. I lean in to kiss him but the doorbell rings, and I jump.

Still a little skittish, but then I remember, we’ve been waiting on our ride to the airport.

The team will be flying out to Edmonton, the start of a three-game road trip that will take all week, and Penn has insisted both me and our security team travel on the Titans’ plane.

Admittedly, I’m pretty excited about this level of behind-the-scenes access.

Penn rises from the stool, taking both of our cups to the sink. “That’ll be our security entourage.”

“I’ll get the door,” I say, popping up, but he shoots me a look and I freeze.

“I’ll get it,” he says, a pointed reminder that things still could be dangerous.

He then shoots me a wink and heads to the front door. I follow along, my eyes passing over the luggage stacked there. A suitcase for him, and two for me, because I’m a girl and need more stuff.

Penn swings open the front door, and three figures stand in the morning light. We’d already been contacted by Malik letting us know that he’d be sending three agents to travel with us, along with photos of them so we could make sure who they were.

Ladd McDermott is tall and broad-shouldered, ex-military by the look of him, with sandy-blond hair and a square jaw that belongs on a billboard for tactical gear.

He wears a navy Jameson Force jacket zipped halfway and I see the edge of a leather shoulder holster just inside.

Greer Hathaway is a striking contrast—slim and composed with black hair in a sleek bun and intelligent eyes that look past Penn’s shoulder and sweep the foyer in one practiced motion.

The third person is Jackson Gale, who gives off serious James Bond energy.

He’s darker-haired with intense eyes that make you instantly aware nothing gets past him.

“Your car service has arrived,” Ladd says with a warm smile.

Introductions are made and then we gather our luggage, putting it in the rear of a black Suburban with tinted windows.

Greer takes the driver’s seat and Jackson the front passenger.

Ladd goes to the third-row seats and Penn and I take the second row.

It’s not lost on me that we are fully surrounded by protection, although I’m not sure what could happen on the way to the airport.

I doubt Jace or Peter or whoever is stalking us has the capabilities to take us out like this.

Greer pulls out and hits the highway. Jackson swivels in his seat to look back at us. “So, I heard this all started with you both just trying to do the right thing.”

“ Trying being the operative word,” Penn mutters with a shake of his head, but I see the curve of a smile that tells me the bitterness is left behind.

“Read the article this morning,” Jackson says. “You’ve got balls.” His eyes then cut to me. “No offense.”

I laugh, the first genuine one in what feels like days. “None taken. So, do you three work together often?”

Greer answers. “Ladd and I are married.” Her eyes lift to the rearview mirror to look at him and a soft smile plays on her face. “We’re fortunate that we get to do a lot of assignments together.”

“Married?” I glance over my shoulder at Ladd, surprised. “Did you meet on the job?”

Ladd grins, shaking his head. “We knew each other a long time but hadn’t seen one another in years. I got assigned to rescue her after she was kidnapped in Colombia while embedded as a CIA operative.”

My jaw drops and Penn raises his eyebrows. “You’re kidding?”

“I never kid about rescuing my woman,” Ladd replies with a twinkle in his eye.

“Except I wasn’t your woman then,” Greer says, and my head turns back her way.

“But you are now,” Ladd quips. “Haven’t let her go since.”

Jackson makes a gagging sound. “You two are so sweet my teeth hurt.”

“Not a romantic, huh?” I guess.

“Quite the contrary,” he replies, settling back into his seat to face forward. “I married a princess.”

There’s silence and I’m trying to determine if he’s kidding. “A real-life princess?”

“Real-life royalty. Princess Camille of Bretaria. We met when I was assigned to her protective detail. Fell in love while dodging assassination attempts and royal scandal.”

I blink and glance at Penn to see he’s as shocked as I am. “Did I just get transported into a movie?”

“Had a royal wedding and everything,” Jackson adds, smiling faintly. “Now we live here in Pittsburgh. Low profile. Except for the palace security that her dad still insists on, even though, hello… trained Special Forces here.”

Laughing, I shake my head in disbelief. “You guys are all seriously impressive. And so very interesting.”

Greer shrugs. “We’ve just seen a lot. That’s why we’re good at our jobs.”

We pull into the private terminal a few minutes later, and the energy changes instantly.

The Titans are already gathering near the tarmac, dressed down in joggers and hoodies, slinging bags over their shoulders.

Penn directs me over to the trolleys where we stack our luggage.

Callum stands off to the side, his expression on us intent.

“Come on,” Penn says, taking my hand and leading me to him.

Callum smiles, sticking his hand out in greeting.

“Good to meet you, Mila. Glad to have you with us and I want to assure you that this organization has not only Penn’s back but yours as well.

” He glances between the two of us. “The front office sent an email to every player and staff member this morning. Everyone knows what’s going on. ”

“Thank you,” I whisper, overwhelmed with gratitude.

Penn steps into my side, voiced lowered. “And thank you, Callum, for letting Mila and the security agents travel on the plane. I wouldn’t have been comfortable with other arrangements.”

“Not a problem,” the general manager says and then nods toward Ladd, Greer and Jackson standing a few feet away.

“They’ll need to get cleared to carry firearms on the plane so as soon as we get you and Mila on board, we’ll run them through that process.

In fact, I’ll go speak to them now. Boarding’s in about ten minutes. ”

Callum steps aside to talk to the Jameson agents and we barely have time to turn around when Stone Dumelin is there. He’s the team captain and the one most turn to, according to Penn.

He claps Penn on the shoulder. “That was one hell of an article, man. You’ve got brass ones. I’m speaking on behalf of the entire team, but we’re behind you on this.”

“Thanks,” Penn says, and for once, he actually looks… touched.

After that, it seems like a free-for-all, most everyone wanting a few words with Penn to share their support.

There are backslaps and some slightly awkward but heartfelt hugs.

Even North steps forward to shake Penn’s hand, and I can tell he’s fully let bygones be bygones.

That relieves me because I know one of Penn’s biggest regrets is attacking North.

Penn spends a few moments introducing me to the players and does so while holding my hand the entire time. Ladd, Greer and Jackson each get a few curious looks, but everyone’s respectful. They blend in better than I expected.

When we board, Penn and I take two seats together near the front.

The agents fan out—Ladd a few rows behind us, Jackson on the aisle across from him, and Greer farther back where she can watch everything.

I’m sure they don’t think my stalker has snuck aboard to get to me, but I have a feeling these Jameson agents never go off duty.

For a few minutes, Penn and I sit in companionable silence. His hand holds mine, his thumb grazing the back. I glance out the window as the engines start to hum.

“These last few days,” I say quietly, “feel like they’ve happened in a blur.”

“They did,” he murmurs. “But we’re on the right path. We just need to be patient. We’re flushing them out.”

I nod, but my chest tightens a little. “Have you thought about… what happens after?”

He turns to me, brows furrowing.

“I mean,” I clarify, “when this is over. When we don’t have to look over our shoulders. What then?”

His gaze softens, but he doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he intertwines his fingers with mine.

“I haven’t thought that far because…” He pauses a moment, his eyes cutting away briefly before returning.

“Because I’ve spent the last decade of my life just living one day at a time.

The only thing I ever had to look forward to was the next win. ”

I don’t say anything. I wait, sensing there’s more.

“But lately,” he says, his words sounding rough, “it’s not just about the next win. It’s about the next morning. The next conversation. The next time I get to see you roll your eyes at me.”

My heart lurches painfully.

Penn squeezes my hand. “I don’t know how to plan for a future. But I know I want to start thinking about one. With you.”

I don’t reply—not out of fear or uncertainty—but because if I open my mouth right now, I might cry. And I’m not ruining this moment with tears.

So instead, I lean my head against his shoulder, close my eyes and hold on tight.