Page 29

Mila

I always find it amazing that my experience with what happened to Nathan didn’t turn me off hockey.

Especially given the fact that my brother was responsible for Nathan’s death and my father was willing to look past it.

I practically grew up on the ice, always at my dad’s and brother’s sides—coach and player.

And while I didn’t want to play the sport myself, I could skate with the best of them and was the Wraiths’ biggest cheerleader.

So as I sit here now in Edmonton’s arena watching the game, I take it all in. There’s something about the chill in the air that always feels sharper when you’re watching a game in enemy territory. There’s something about being in the minority of fans that makes me cheer harder.

The lights are bright. The boards are scuffed. The glass rattles with each hit. But it’s the sound of the Edmonton crowd—half excitement, half animosity—that tightens the competitive coil in my stomach.

We’re in seats at center ice, elevated high enough to see everything, yet close enough that I can practically feel the vibration of skates scraping the ice.

Penn told me he got good tickets for us, and I marveled at that since this has all been such spur-of-the-moment planning.

When I mentioned it to him, he leveled an adorably boyish smirk at me.

“There are a few benefits to being a star in the league.”

Indeed.

Jackson is seated beside me, broad-shouldered and relaxed in his posture, but his gaze never stops moving. One eye on the game, one on the people in the stands below us, and another—I swear—somehow on me.

“This is intense,” I mutter, leaning forward as Penn takes the face-off.

Jackson chuckles softly. “And here I thought you’d seen him play before.”

“I have,” I say quickly. “But it just feels different for some reason.”

“Because things are starting to come to a head?” he asks, twisting to look at me.

Maybe. But more likely because my feelings for Penn grow deeper by the minute. I keep that to myself though and give a semi-truth. “I think just since the article came out.”

Jackson appraises me, somehow seems to see through my excuse. “You mean since Penn stood up in front of the world and dared four men to come for him in order to protect you?”

God, it was brave, and daring, and I’ll admit… sexy as hell. “Yeah… since that,” I say with warm cheeks.

Jackson laughs and we turn our attention back to the ice.

Penn wins the puck clean, snapping it back to King on defense. King immediately dishes it up the boards to Stone, who races across the blue line, dodging a defender. Boone trails on the opposite wing, and the three of them converge on the Edmonton net like a freaking wrecking crew.

My heart leaps into my throat as the puck gets passed to Penn in the high slot. He hesitates, considers taking the shot, and then zips it right back to Stone through a defender’s legs. Stone is already winding up and rips it. The goaltender doesn’t react in time and the red light flashes.

“YES!” I scream, springing to my feet. Sure, Stone’s goal was beautiful, but that assist was magical.

Jackson stands, clapping loudly. He grins down at me. “Your boy’s got wicked hands.”

Yes, he does.

My cheeks burn as I watch Penn’s line celebrate. His smile is mega-wattage and it warms my heart. “He’s not—well, he is my boy—but…”

“You’re cute when you fluster,” he says, eyes crinkling. “And no need to explain. I’ve read the files.”

We settle back into our seats. “You read about what happened ten years ago?”

“Sure. That too,” he replies casually. “But I was actually referring to your love story.”

I blink. “Our what?”

He turns to me with a smirk. “I can get a lot from reading the files, but I want to hear how it went from shared trauma between you and Penn to all those heart eyes I keep catching you making at him when you think no one’s looking.”

I gape at him. “That’s not—”

“You just called him ‘my boy,’” Jackson points out, his gaze going to the ice where a new face-off is setting up. “You don’t get to hide behind friend labels after that.”

My jaw works, but no words come.

“Come on,” he says, gentler now, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Tell me the truth. What happened after you two came forward? I know you left Muskogee. I know you’ve barely spoken in the last ten years. So how did we get from there… to now?”

I shift in my seat, looking back to the ice. “It’s complicated.”

“Most real things are,” Jackson says quietly. “Trust me… I know from personal experience.”

Maybe it’s his own admission that relationships are complicated, but I exhale shakily.

“We didn’t talk for years. I didn’t even know if he remembered me. I mean, of course I knew he remembered the case, but me? I figured I was just the girl who backed up his story. The girl who ruined her family in the process.”

“But you reached out,” he guesses.

I nod. “When the threats got more violent, I panicked. I didn’t know who else would understand. So, I approached him and at first, he didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Jackson says.

I jolt in surprise, angling my body toward him. I ignore the action on the ice. “Survivor’s guilt? What does that mean? Penn isn’t a survivor.”

“Sure he is,” Jackson says. “As are you. You both went through that entire hazing incident. You survived the ordeal, but you were traumatized by what happened and the way you were treated. You’re still being traumatized.”

“But guilt?” I press.

“You don’t come out of something like that without wondering a million times if you did the right thing, because by doing one action to benefit someone, there’s someone else who gets hurt.”

I nod, understanding what Jackson’s saying.

Penn was made to feel like he betrayed not just the few guys involved but the entire team.

That’s the guilt he’s felt, even if he knows deep in his gut he did the right thing.

But I don’t share that with Jackson. It has nothing to do with his duties to protect us and that’s Penn’s private story to share if he wants to.

“But still,” Jackson continues cheerily. “It’s cool that you two reconnected in a way that I’m betting neither of you were counting on.”

“A lot’s happened in a very short time,” I say as my eyes follow the on-ice action. It’s short-lived, as a TV time-out starts.

“You seem worried,” Jackson says, giving me another reassuring bump of his shoulder. “But I assure you, you and Penn are completely safe, and we’ll be by your side through to the end.”

I shoot Jackson a smile. “Of that, I am not worried.”

“But you are worried about something,” he presses.

“I’m terrified,” I admit with a mirthless laugh, my eyes drifting over to Penn who’s now on the bench, head bent close to Stone as he says something. “Of what happens when this ends. When the stalker is caught. What if it was just the adrenaline keeping us together?”

“You really think that’s all it is?”

“No,” I say instantly, then falter. “But I don’t know if he’s ready for more. Or if I am. And there’s so much mess between us.”

Jackson leans back, arms crossed loosely. “Can I tell you something about men like Penn?”

I nod.

“They don’t do casual. Not when it comes to things that matter. He’s not building a fortress of security around you, not calling out your enemies by name in a national interview, just for kicks. That man’s all in. Even if he hasn’t said the words yet.”

I blink hard against the sting behind my eyes.

Jackson pins me with a look that says he firmly believes what he’s about to say. “He’s scared too, Mila. But I’ve seen that look before—the one he gets when he watches you. That’s a man who doesn’t just want to protect you. That’s a man who’s already yours.”

Below us, Penn’s leaning forward, arms on the wall before the bench as the second line prepares for a face-off. My breath catches as he looks over his shoulder, glancing up at me. I’m shocked he even knows where we’re sitting but his eyes land on mine.

And he smiles.

Not a small one. Not polite. But wide, real, warm.

And just like that, I know Jackson’s right.

Penn is already mine.

And I’m his too.