Page 39

Penn

T he locker room is dead quiet. It’s not our normal vibe, given how successful we’ve been this year. Top of our conference, so there’ve been plenty of celebrations.

Not tonight, though. It’s more what I imagine a morgue would sound like, but loss will do that.

Chicago kicked our asses and we were all to blame.

We were just a bit off, but that happens sometimes.

We’ll all sulk a bit, mull it over and conclude that our poor performance is fixable.

We’ll be back on the ice tomorrow for practice, more determined than ever to win the next game.

Nobody says a word as we file in—exhausted, pissed, empty. Tonight was one of those grinding, miserable games where nothing fell our way and the scoreboard felt like a punch to the gut when the final buzzer sounded.

I head straight to my stall, strip off my gloves and helmet and toss them in the bottom. It’s only when I reach for the tape on my pads that I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

A man approaching my locker. I take him in, noting the air of confidence and steady eyes. Looks like he could snap my neck easily and not lose a moment’s rest over it.

Jameson.

My entire body goes still because no Jameson agents traveled with me. They’re all back in Pittsburgh watching Mila.

The man steps forward—quiet, calm, professional. “Mr. Navarro… my name is Cruce Britton. I’m with Jameson and I need to speak with you privately.”

Every warning bell in my body starts screaming and I try to quell the rising panic. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He lowers his voice, glancing around the locker room. “It’s about Mila.”

Ice floods my veins and I feel an unease creep that I’ve never felt before. It’s rooted in fear, but an underlying current of rage courses through me.

“What happened?” I grit out. My entire body vibrates with dangerous energy.

The agent holds up his hands slightly, like he knows what’s coming. “The first thing you need to know is that Mila’s okay now.”

To come all this way to tell me that the woman I love is okay now implies she wasn’t okay prior to this and the last thread of control I have snaps.

I lunge, grabbing him by the collar, slamming him back into the side of a row of wooden lockers with a crash that echoes through the room.

Several of my teammates yell in surprise but I ignore them.

“You tell me what the fuck is going on right now!” I bellow.

Chaos explodes around us—Boone, Stone, King, Rafferty, North—all moving in fast, hands on me, pulling me back.

“Penn! Jesus, man… let him go—”

“Get the fuck off me!” I snarl, but I release the agent because I need answers more than I need to break someone’s face. The room has gone completely silent except for my ragged breathing.

Britton straightens his jacket, completely unruffled. If he’s like all the other agents I’ve met, he’s probably seen action that makes what I just did look like a ride on a carousel. Ice in his veins.

He looks neither pissed nor amused. Just here to do business.

“There was an incident with Jace Holloway.” I think my head might explode and I vaguely feel someone’s hand on my shoulder—a short squeeze.

“Mila was part of a controlled operation to lure Holloway out. He unfortunately pulled a gun and Mila was shot.”

Everything in me goes dark. The noise of the locker room fades even as I hear the murmurs of my teammates around me. My knees wobble and I think I might go down.

“Shot where?” someone asks, and I turn to see Stone standing there. “And how bad is it?”

My vision tunnels.

“A graze wound,” Britton says, as if he’s reciting from a script, but the word graze grounds me slightly. “She’s already been treated at the hospital and released. She didn’t want you to know until after the game.”

I’m immediately flooded with an intense relief that almost has tears springing to my eyes. She’s alive.

But she lied. A darkness starts creeping through me. She did the one thing I told her not to do. And she almost died because of it.

I don’t even realize what I’m doing but with a roar of fury, I grab the nearest bench and hurl it as hard as I can, causing it to flip over and send a few of my teammates scrambling. It crashes into one of the lockers with a loud crack.

King and Stone are there first, hands on my shoulders, trying to bring me back.

“Penn,” King says sharply. “Look at me.”

I do, but there’s a thin red film over my vision. My blood feels like it’s boiling.

“You gotta pull it together. She’s going to need you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall.

“She lied to me,” I say through clenched teeth. “She said she was sick, which is why she stayed in Pittsburgh, only to go behind my back and do something I specifically told her not to do.”

“Don’t make any snap judgments,” Boone says quietly.

“She’s still alive,” North adds. “That’s what matters. You can sort that other shit out later.”

I rake a hand through my hair, every emotion in me battling for dominance—rage, fear, betrayal.

“She could have fucking died,” I rasp out, my voice shaking with anger.

“But she didn’t,” Rafferty says.

“She lied to me,” I snarl.

Rafferty smiles at me sympathetically. “And I bet she still trusts you enough to believe you’ll show up for her now.”

I force myself to breathe.

One second.

Then another.

I’ve been alone for so long that my first instinct to shut down and barricade myself from the hurt is taking over. Things are so much easier when I’m alone.

I swallow hard and look at the agent. “How fast can you get me back there?”

“There’s a Jameson jet on standby,” he says. “We can have you in Pittsburgh in about ninety minutes.”

I nod, heart still thundering in my chest. I press a hand to the back of my neck, still feeling the weight of what just happened.

“Get me to the airport,” I tell him.