Page 30

Penn

I ’m getting ready to do something that I’ve never done once in my entire professional career, and it feels weird.

Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels awkward and exciting all at once.

I’m about to sit down and have beers with my teammates and celebrate our win over the Grizzlies.

“Your security guy looks like he’s waiting to take out a sniper,” Rafferty mutters as he sinks into the seat across from us, nursing a beer.

“Pretty sure he’d be disappointed if that didn’t happen,” I reply, then take a long pull from my own.

We’re sitting in the lobby bar of our team hotel.

There aren’t a lot of people in here, but I feel the energy that comes from this gathering.

It’s an easy buzz. Conversations drift over the clink of glasses and the muted laughter of a nearby group of business travelers. We’re exhausted, but a good exhausted.

The rest of the team fills the center section of the space, sprawled out across a cluster of leather chairs and high-top tables, everyone relaxed and loose-limbed from the game. This doesn’t feel like an obligation.

It feels like something I’ve truly missed and having Mila tucked into my side, her thigh touching mine while she sips a glass of wine, makes it better than I could have imagined.

Jackson is posted nearby, sitting at a corner table with a bottle of sparkling water and an eagle eye on the room. He’s not intrusive, but the guy radiates alert. It’s so fucking comforting and I’m not ashamed to admit that.

“He looks bored with this assignment,” Lucky adds from the seat next to Rafferty. “Bet he has a spreadsheet ranking all the ways he could kill someone with a spoon and wondering if he’ll get to do that on your behalf, Penn.”

Mila laughs, leaning closer to me, and our shoulders touch. “He’s got that ‘I’ve defused bombs and carried royalty’ vibe.”

“Well, now he’s babysitting hockey players,” North mutters. “Talk about a downgrade.”

Everyone chuckles and it’s funny but fuck if I’m not glad he’s with us.

Mila’s eyes scan the group, and then she leans forward to ask, “Do your partners ever travel with you? Or is it usually just a boys’ trip?”

Foster answers. “Sometimes they do. Depends on the schedule and what’s going on at home, but it’s more difficult for those of us who have kids and partners with careers that require them to stay in Pittsburgh.”

“Willa’s giving a symposium next week she has to prepare for,” King says. “I tried to talk her into coming anyway, but she said I’d be too distracted thinking about her in the hotel room. Which… fair.”

Mila laughs again, slightly girlish, and the sound sends a jolt of something warm through my chest. She fits here. That thought hits me hard and fast. She fits with me . With them . And maybe for the first time, I feel like I’m not just a piece forced into the puzzle—I’m part of the full picture.

Lucky leans in, elbows braced on his knees, and the gleam in his eye tells me he wants to stir the pot.

It causes mixed feelings… part abhorrence and part morbid fascination over what he might inflict on me.

“So…,” he drawls, glancing around at the other guys to make sure they’re paying attention.

“Not to make this weird, but are you two like… a thing -thing?”

My throat goes dry, not only to have such a personal spotlight on me when I’m just barely stepping into the glow of friendship but because Lucky’s forcing me to define what Mila is to me. I quirk a brow. “Define ‘ thing -thing.’”

“You know,” Lucky says, his eyes flicking between us. “You two give off serious secret-lovers-in-a-spy-thriller energy.”

Mila raises an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Lucky continues without missing a beat, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you both slipped away from the table to make out in a dark hallway, thinking you were being slick about it, but we’d all know what was going on.”

Mila tosses her head toward Jackson. “Pretty sure security has that on lockdown.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Makes it all the more forbidden.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve been watching too much TikTok. Your brain has turned to mush.”

“Guilty,” he says, totally unbothered. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m keeping a tally of how many times you glance at each other like you’re in a rom-com.”

“Oh God,” Mila mutters and I can’t help but smile at her.

“That’s three, by the way,” Lucky adds, pointing between us, calling out the way we’re looking at each other right at this moment. “Keep it up and I’m posting a compilation video set to dramatic love ballads.”

“You do and I’m blocking you,” I deadpan, although I don’t even have TikTok nor do I really know much about it.

“Worth it,” Lucky says with a wink.

“Did you two date back when you played for the Wraiths?” This from Atlas, and oddly, his question doesn’t seem overly personal. More like he just wants to understand. “Like, before everything happened?”

“No way,” Mila says with faux disdain. “I was only fifteen and he was seventeen. He was way out of my league and I barely registered to him.”

“That’s not true,” I say, not even trying to play it cool because she was fucking gorgeous even at that young age. “But you liked Nathan.”

“I did,” she admits with a fond smile, and I’m glad to see she’s not mired in grief. Just sweet memories. “He was funny. A goofball, really.”

I should be jealous because I’m not funny nor a goofball and she seems to like those traits, but I’m weirdly charmed by the innocence of her attraction to Nathan.

“That’s hilarious,” Rafferty mutters.

“What’s hilarious?” I ask, ready to defend Mila’s young love with Nathan.

Rafferty shakes his head, holds out a palm. “I just… it’s funny she thought you were out of her league, because if anyone’s out of their league now…”

I look again at Mila, and yeah… she’s definitely in an elite league. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, draping my arm around Mila’s shoulders in our first public display of affection. “Hopefully she’ll keep me around when this is all said and done.”

“You’ve got a good chance,” King points out with a smirk. “You don’t seem to be an asshole anymore.”

All the guys bust out laughing and I can’t be mad about that. I deserve it.

“I don’t know about the asshole part,” Lucky muses. “I apparently missed that part of Penn’s life, but now you’re into each other. That’s all that matters. I mean, look at you two—so cozy.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing a hand down my face.

Mila laughs. “He’s right. It is cozy.”

Lucky beams. “Speaking of cozy—I’m workshopping my next TikTok idea.”

Everyone groans and Rafferty tosses a wadded-up napkin at Lucky, which bounces off his forehead. He ignores it and our collective sighs over his silly ideas. “So anyway… I’m thinking of creating a series called ‘Ice-Bath Confessionals.’”

“What the fuck?” Atlas barks.

Lucky nods. “Yeah… imagine it. Hockey player in the ice bath after a practice or game. Raw, moody lighting, existential quotes with dramatic music in the background.”

“You’re kidding,” Atlas says.

“Not kidding,” Lucky quips with a side-eye his way. “At any rate, the player sits in his ice bath and confesses something. It could be hockey related, like… I was the one who put Biofreeze in your jockstrap , or totally random… I cried watching The Notebook last week .”

Mila giggles beside me, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Think about it,” Lucky drones on. “It would be hilarious, offbeat and with just a hint of vulnerability. Think Hot Ones meets Real World confessional, but in freezing cold water.”

“Jesus,” King says with a laugh. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“And if that doesn’t appeal, then I had another idea.

” Lucky continues, excitement pouring off him.

“A series called ‘Mic’d Up—Fantasy Style.’ I’ll record snippets of players during practice or warm-ups—just casual banter, chirping, trash talk, whatever—then compile the best into a weekly Monday post. But the kicker is, I’ll do funny narration over the video in like a fantasy style. ”

“Fantasy style?” Mila asks, sitting forward with rapt attention.

“Yeah. Like, imagine Penn wrapping his stick with tape, and the voiceover would be something like, ‘The mighty warrior Navarro prepares his battle stick for the upcoming war with the Kingdom of Detroit.’”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” King doubles over with laughter. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Oh, I never kid about content,” Lucky says with mock solemnity. “I’m building a brand. You think this face is gonna play hockey forever?”

“I’m begging you to make one of those,” Mila says, eyes bright with amusement.

“Only if Penn stars in it,” Lucky says, wagging his brows.

I flip him off, but I’m smiling. And it hits me—this is what I’ve been missing. This ease. This acceptance. The kind of camaraderie I thought I lost a decade ago. A burst of confidence hits me and I decide to go all in. “All right… I’ll do it.”

Lucky blinks at me and the rest of the guys stare slack-jawed.

“What?” I demand. “I’ve got layers. I can pivot.”

Mila leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her waist. It’s instinctual now—natural in a way I didn’t think public affection would ever be.

King notices. “Look at you, Navarro. Being all… emotionally available.”

“Fuck off,” I say, but there’s no heat in it.

We sit like that for a while, swapping stories, dodging the heavier stuff. Jackson eventually wanders over and stands by the booth, arms folded.

“Jackson,” Mila says warmly. “Grab a chair.”

He glances around the table. “You boys mind if I crash?”

“Long as you’ve got a TikTok handle,” Lucky says.

“I don’t, but my wife’s a princess. That get me in?”

“Absolutely,” King deadpans.

Jackson pulls up a chair. “So, what are we talking about?”

“Lucky’s obsession with TikTok,” Atlas says, throwing his thumb at his teammate.

Jackson turns his head that way and Lucky appraises him. “Your wife is a real-life princess?”

“Yup.”

“I’ve got a great idea we can roll out on Tik Tok,” he says and again starts explaining his latest flash of genius.

I listen attentively, and admittedly, Lucky is impossible not to like.

The guy is magnetic in that chaotic golden retriever kind of way.

One second, he’s making everyone laugh, and the next, he’s got his phone out filming another weird-ass video.

Just after the game, he was trying to get Coach West to join him in doing the Macarena in the locker room.

When he takes a breather from his most recent idea involving royalty, I ask, “You ever think about turning that into a side hustle? TikTok stardom?”

Lucky grins. “Already have. Sponsorship offers are rolling in. I might be the first hockey player to go pro on the ice and as an influencer.”

“Not sure you’re off base,” Foster admits. “My kid watches your videos. I had to explain what a thirst trap is.”

“Oh, I don’t do thirst traps,” Lucky says innocently.

“You literally licked a hockey stick while shirtless two days ago,” Rafferty reminds him. “You hashtagged yourself as a thirst trap.”

Lucky shrugs. “Art.”

We all burst out laughing and tonight I’ve learned what it really feels like to not just be on the team, but to be a part of the team.

The laughter fades as drinks are refilled and conversations drift into smaller pockets.

Rafferty’s gaze lands on Mila. “You look contemplative.”

She shifts beside me, her gaze soft. “I’m just thankful for everything.” Her eyes cut up to me and back to Rafferty. “To you guys for giving Penn your friendship. I don’t think he realized how badly he needed this.”

They all glance at me, and for once, I don’t shy away from it, even though my face feels red hot with embarrassment. I’m not mad she called me out like that, though. It comes from a place of deep caring.

Foster raises his glass. “To Penn. For doing what was right. And for finally showing up for drinks.”

I lift my own. “To you guys—for giving me a second chance to belong.”

The clink of glasses is quiet but powerful. My teammates share smiles. Jackson watches intently, eyes roaming with one ear on the conversation. Maybe cataloging threats. Maybe just making sure we’re safe.

But I think… maybe he sees it too.

That I’m not running solo anymore. I’ve got a team.

And I’ve got Mila.