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Mila

T he cold has settled deep in my bones, an unforgiving chill that no amount of shivering can shake.

While I’m originally from Minnesota, living in Florida the last ten years has made winter intolerable.

And it’s not just that I lived in Florida…

I didn’t leave that state. There were no homecoming visits to Minnesota to visit my parents or friends. When I left, I never looked back.

My car is parked a short distance away on the street, already blanketed in a thin layer of snow that just started falling, but I don’t get inside.

I stay right here, standing at the heavy iron gate of Penn’s fortress of a house.

I bought the necessary winter gear when I got to Pittsburgh and my gloved fingers curl into the fabric of my coat as the wind slices against my cheeks.

I glance up at the security camera mounted on the stone column, wondering if Penn has seen me standing here.

He clearly gets notifications as evidenced by the other night, but so far, he hasn’t said anything through the speaker.

I know he’s not within the walls of his house at this very moment because the Titans had an away game in Detroit, and I also happen to know the team is flying back right after.

Those details are easy enough to find, just as I know the team plane landed about an hour ago.

I expect he’ll be pulling up any moment.

Huddling against the cold and brushing stray snowflakes from my cheeks, I ask myself again why I thought this was a good idea.

I’d been counting on desperation overriding my sense of pride, but standing here now, my body aching from the cold and exhaustion pressing against the edges of my consciousness, I realize how foolish this is.

Of course, Penn won’t help me. He’s already made that clear when he refused to talk to me the last time I was here, but I guess I’m a glutton for dismissive punishment. I certainly know what abandonment feels like.

Common sense tells me I should go, but I have no one else to turn to. Penn is the only person in this world who will understand what I’m going through and I have to keep trying to get it into his thick skull.

My pulse leaps at the distant rumble of an approaching vehicle.

Headlights cut through the swirling snow, illuminating the long, tree-lined driveway leading up to the house.

A white SUV slows as it nears, rolling to a stop just before the gates.

I can make out a Mercedes symbol on the front grill but can’t see much else because the headlights blind me.

I hold up a hand to shield my eyes and take a few hesitant steps to the side so I can see the driver’s window.

It slowly lowers, and for the first time in a decade, I’m face to face with Penn Navarro. I’ve watched his career over the years so I’ve seen him grow up on TV, and I don’t know what I expected after ten years, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Penn was always intense—a little too serious, a little too sharp-edged for a seventeen-year-old—but the man in front of me now is something else entirely.

Back then, he was leaner, his face still carrying traces of the boy he used to be. His jaw was always clean-shaven, his hair always a little too long, like he barely remembered to get it cut. His hazel eyes had been brighter, easier to read, even when he tried to act like nothing touched him.

Now? There’s no trace of that boy left.

The Penn Navarro before me is all hard angles and intensity, a man who looks like he’s carved himself out of stone and refuses to let anyone get too close.

His jawline is sharp enough to cut, dusted with just enough scruff to make him look both polished and untamed.

His dark brown hair is shorter, styled like he gives a damn now, but there’s still that signature messiness to it, like he ran his fingers through it right before stepping out.

His greenish-brown eyes aren’t warm anymore—they’re darker, like he’s learned exactly how to lock his emotions behind an impenetrable wall.

There’s something lethal about him now, something that wasn’t there before.

I used to think of Penn as stoic, but this?

This is different. It’s not just the lack of emotion showing in his blank expression.

It’s like he doesn’t have the ability to let himself feel anything at all.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just studies me. His expression is unreadable, but his gaze is sharp, sweeping over me from head to toe. There’s no shock, no confusion—just quiet scrutiny.

I force myself to hold his gaze, even as my teeth chatter.

His brows pull together. “How long have you been out here?”

I hesitate before answering in barely a whisper. “A while.”

Penn exhales through his nose, glancing past me to where my car sits ten yards away. His fingers move over the dashboard, and the gate buzzes softly as the locks disengage.

“Get in your car,” he mutters, sounding more irritated than concerned. “Follow me up.”

I don’t waste time questioning it. I scramble back to my car, fumbling with numb fingers as I crank the heat to full blast, but only cold air comes out. As I follow his SUV up the long, winding driveway, my headlights sweeping over the house—if you can even call it that.

It’s massive.

A multi-level, modern structure built from glass and stone, perched like a sentinel against the darkened sky.

Floodlights from above and base lights from below cast shadows against the walls, and as I pull closer, I spot additional cameras positioned along the roofline, their blinking red lights tracking movement.

None of it surprises me. If anyone has a reason to want to keep the world out, it would be Penn.

He pulls into a garage bay and I park just beyond the rolling door.

Nabbing my phone and purse, I exit my car and lock the doors so I can follow him in.

He punches in a code on a security panel by a door that leads into the house and the garage door slowly rolls down.

It’s then that I notice that Penn’s gaze is fixed on it and doesn’t leave until it’s firmly touching the ground.

I realize… he’s making sure no one could follow him in.

He steps into a mudroom that leads into a gorgeous kitchen and I sigh as warmth envelops me. I smell a hint of cedar and faint traces of cleaning products lingering in the air and look around. I’ve never been in a house so grand before. It’s a bit boggling.

Penn shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over a chair. “You want something to drink?”

I hesitate before answering, my teeth still on the verge of chattering. “Hot chocolate?”

His expression barely flickers, but I catch it—the slight twitch in his jaw, like I’ve somehow annoyed him.

Still, he moves to the cabinets, pulling down a mug.

He hasn’t welcomed me to stay for any length of time, but I remove my coat, hat and gloves, draping them over one of the tall island chairs.

I stand nervously with arms folded tightly across my chest and watch as he goes through the motions of making me hot chocolate.

It’s not the instant packet kind but rather he’s going all out with milk, cocoa powder and sugar.

He even pulls a spice jar out of the cupboard and adds a tiny dash of cayenne to heat it up.

He’s so very quiet as he stirs the liquid with deliberate motions as it comes to a boil, a process that is painstakingly slow.

I’ve rehearsed what I want to say a million times and I know I should say something. I should explain why I’m here and fill the awkward void, but God it’s hard to know where to start.

Penn doesn’t say anything as he stirs the liquid, but I feel his tension, the way his grip tightens around the spoon, the way his shoulders are stiff.

I take a slow breath, steadying myself. “I started getting the messages a few months ago,” I say quietly.

“First, it was texts—always from an unknown number. Just vague threats at first. You’ll regret what you did.

You ruined everything. I ignored them, thought maybe it was just some loser from back home trying to scare me.

But then they got worse. More specific. I’m getting emails now too. ”

Penn still doesn’t look at me, but I know he’s listening.

“They mentioned Nathan,” I continue, my voice tightening around his name.

“They mentioned you.” My fingers clench around my sleeves, gripping them like a lifeline.

“The messages escalated fast. Said they were going to make me pay, that I wouldn’t see it coming.

It’s gotten… more graphic. More detailed.

” I swallow hard. “I don’t know for sure who’s sending them, but I have a pretty good guess. ”

Penn finally looks over his shoulder at me, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Your brother.”

I nod. “He’s getting out of prison on Friday.” My response sounds thin in the vast silence of his kitchen. “Jace has been out for over a year now and these messages just started in the last few months. I think he would have done something sooner.”

Penn exhales through his nose, turning his attention back to the pot. The milk is steaming now, tendrils of heat curling from the surface.

I keep going, because if I stop now, I might lose my nerve. “I don’t think they’re just empty threats, Penn. I don’t think they’re going to let this go.” I wet my lips, my throat dry. “And I bet you’re getting the same thing.”

He doesn’t react, just keeps stirring with slow, controlled movements. The silence stretches between us until I can’t take it anymore.

“Say something,” I demand with frustration.

He turns off the stove, then looks at me, his expression blank. “Why is this my problem?”

I stare at him, my stomach twisting into knots. I don’t know what I expected—maybe not immediate concern, but at least some acknowledgment that this isn’t just my mess.