Page 31

Mila

W e step off the Titans’ private jet into the bright light of day. It’s been a long week—Edmonton to Dallas to Calgary—and now back to chilly Pittsburgh. I stifle a yawn as Penn leads me into the terminal, his hand holding mine.

Despite all the chaos of our lives, this week has been one of the best of my life.

Traveling with the team has been a dream, but mostly it’s the time I’m getting with Penn.

Day by day, hour after hour, layers are being peeled back from both of us.

He’s easily affectionate with me in front of his teammates and when we’re alone in our room at night, he does things to my body that I didn’t know were possible.

We’ve barely spoken about the hazing, the threats, the article or our security protection.

We’ve huddled in a bubble and let the outside world swirl around us.

While the first game of the road trip was a victory, they lost the last two and everyone is quiet as we enter the terminal.

Penn grabs our bags, maneuvering both our large ones as I wheel my small carry-on.

There are quiet goodbyes among the teammates with promises that tomorrow is a new day and they’ll get back on track.

It warms my heart to see Penn interacting with his friends and while I don’t know exactly how frigid the relationships were before, it’s clear he’s striving to be a different type of mate.

I’m tired from the travel, but my limbs seem extra heavy from a relentless tension that started the minute I stepped off the plane. We are now back to reality.

Jackson, Greer and Ladd walk with us to the curb. They’re all officially going off-duty and a new team of agents will pick us up. Waiting out front is another black Suburban with dark windows, engine idling like it’s ready to pounce.

Malik leans against the passenger’s side door in a black leather jacket, expression unreadable under dark sunglasses. When he spots us, he straightens and moves toward us.

He greets his friends first, fist bumps with Ladd and Jackson, a sweet peck on the cheek for Greer.

“Who’s taking over?” Ladd asks Jackson.

“Me, Griff and Cage, but Kynan wants to meet with them at headquarters.” Malik glances at me. “That okay? Got some time to talk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Penn says, squeezing my hand. “Mila too?”

“Mila too,” Malik says with a smile.

We say goodbye to Ladd, Jackson and Greer. Greer wraps me up in a hug. She’s solid, warm and unshakable, and I’m going to miss that.

Ladd follows, giving my shoulder a squeeze and nodding at Penn. “Taking a few days off,” he says. “But you’ve got our numbers.”

“Text us. Anything, anytime,” Jackson adds. He lingers, gaze warm but watchful, like a big brother making sure his sister will be okay without him. “We’re close. Always.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, my throat tight. They’ve been more than bodyguards these past couple weeks. They’ve been my protection, my buffer, my sanity. I’ll never be able to repay what they’ve given me.

There’s no doubt we’ve formed bonds over the last five days, especially with as much time that we’ve spent together.

I hope when all of this is said and done, perhaps we can continue friendships on the outside.

Of course, that’s assuming I stay in Pittsburgh.

The future has yet to be forecast between me and Penn.

Penn puts our luggage in the back and offers me the front seat next to Malik, but I shake my head, taking the rear instead.

Penn gives my hand a gentle squeeze before closing the door on me and hopping in front.

I manage a smile, even though unease scrapes through me like sandpaper.

Whatever’s waiting for us isn’t going to be small.

There’s no way Kynan McGrath would want us to meet with him unless he had important news.

The drive is silent. Malik doesn’t elaborate, and I know better than to ask. If it’s urgent, it’ll be explained when it needs to be. Still, the quiet gives my thoughts too much room to wander. Worry, fear, dread—all of it churns together and the sweet memories of the last five days start to fade.

At Jameson Force headquarters, everything moves quickly. We go through the same security checks and then we’re ushered upstairs to a sleek conference room where Kynan waits for us at a long glass and chrome table.

Kynan motions for us to sit and we do, Penn and I side by side opposite him.

“We’ve made big progress,” he says without preamble, sounding almost grave.

My grip tightens around the armrest and Penn places a hand on my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Bebe tracked several burner phone pings to an apartment building in Long Island.”

“Jace is from Long Island originally,” Penn says. I didn’t know that, but I wasn’t close to all the players. Only Nathan.

Kynan nods. “He’s apparently been renting there since he got out of prison a year ago. Our investigation shows that he’s currently unemployed so we’re not sure how he’s supporting himself. Malik went by to speak with him, but no one answered.”

“He was inside though,” Malik offers as he stands near the door. “He wouldn’t answer our calls either.”

Penn clasps his hands on the table and leans forward. “So, because the texts came from a phone pinging to a location where Jace lives, that’s proof he’s behind all this?”

Malik nods. “At least he’s one of them, we believe. We also followed up with Ryan DeLuca and Colton Briggs.”

“They talked?” I ask.

“Ryan admitted to throwing the bottle at Penn,” Malik says. “Claims that’s as far as he went though. Said he was drunk and it was a one-time thing. He’s not been in touch with Jace.”

“Do you believe him?” Penn asks.

Malik shrugs. “We couldn’t find any electronic communications between Jace and Ryan. Nothing between Jace and Colton either, for that matter, so it seems unlikely they’re involved.”

I shift in my seat. “Did you talk to Colton?”

Malik nods. “Didn’t say much. But he was sweating like a politician at a lie detector test. Body language screamed rage at even being questioned, but again… we got nothing to tie him to Jace.”

“So Jace is our guy,” Penn murmurs.

“But what about my brother?” I lean forward, crossing my arms on the table. “He’s got the most reason to be upset. Maybe he was directing Jace to do those things. Were you able to talk to him?”

“Yes,” Kynan says. “And he was actually helpful.”

My breath catches. I go still.

Peter was helpful? But why? He hates me.

“What?” I ask, but it sounds more like a plea. “Peter?”

Kynan nods again. “He had a lot to tell us.”

Penn’s hand comes around my back for comfort and I glance up at him, unsure of how I feel about this. Am I supposed to be grateful to a man who killed an innocent boy and then cut me out of his life along with my parents because I did the right thing?

Penn stares back at me with empathy.

“He asked to speak to you.” My head whips back Kynan’s way and I’m not sure I heard him correctly. He clarifies further. “He’s here.”

“Here in Pittsburgh?” I whisper, panic clawing at my insides.

“Here in this building. In my office waiting for you. He wants to talk to you, Mila.”

Penn tenses beside me. His voice is sharp and immediate. “No. Absolutely not. That asshole turned his back on her. Let his parents cut her out of their lives. He doesn’t get to waltz back in now.”

“Penn—” Kynan’s is calm, measured. “Just… hear him out.”

I glance at Penn. He radiates fury, but under it, I see the same worry I feel.

I’m absolutely torn. I have no fond feelings for my brother. In all the time he’s been in prison, he’s not once reached out to me. Why now?

“He knows what Jace is doing,” Kynan says, and Penn and I both turn our attention back to him. “He laid it all out and you should hear it.”

Penn scrubs his hands over his face and sighs before his eyes come back to me. “I don’t like it, and if you don’t want to talk to him, I will. But I want this over and it sounds like he has the answers.”

“Will you stay with me?” I ask, hating that I need external support. It makes me feel weak, but I don’t have it in me to confront Peter alone.

“Of course I will,” Penn assures me, his hand going to the back of my neck where he squeezes. “Always.”

I can’t even relish that his words feel like a promise for a future together. I turn back to Kynan and nod. “Bring him in, then.”

Malik silently heads out the door. It seems like agonizing minutes but is probably a handful of seconds before the door opens again.

And there he is.

Peter.

Thinner than I remember. Paler. Hair buzzed short. A little hollow in the cheeks. But it’s him. My brother.

His eyes land on mine and they look tired and wary. “Hey, Mila,” he says softly.

I don’t reply. I can’t. My throat’s too tight, and my heart’s thudding so hard it’s a wonder no one else hears it.

He walks slowly to the table and sits at the far end—three chairs in between us. He looks to Kynan with an almost childlike plea to help ease this awkward reunion.

Kynan gets the message and starts the conversation. “Apparently, Jace reached out to Peter after he got out of prison and they started corresponding. Peter found out that Jace had a revenge plan from the start. He wanted to join forces to get back at both you and Penn.”

I’m trying to process that, but my brother speaks, low and unsteady. “I know you have no reason to trust me, Mila. But I intended to come straight to you when I got out. And then Malik was there when I got released, explained who he was and brought me here instead.”

So much to process and the only thing I can think to say is, “Weren’t Mom and Dad there to pick you up?”

“They were,” he admits with a half-smile. “And not too happy I got on a plane to Pittsburgh with Malik instead. They didn’t like the fact I wanted to see you.”

“They hate me,” I whisper as my eyes fall to the table, that loss of parental love cutting through me like a sharp knife, even though it’s been gone for over a decade.

“I know, and I’m sorry for that too. But I never did.”