Page 40

Mila

B y the time Penn pulls into the garage, I’m already bracing for what’s coming.

The sound of the metal door rolling upward seems like a bad omen.

I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going to walk through that door, but I know he’s not going to be happy.

He’s not going to be grateful that Jace is in custody and will likely be charged with attempted murder, along with a variety of lesser charges, including stalking and harassment.

Penn’s probably not going to be relieved I’m safe, although a tiny bit beat up, and he’s not going to be grateful to my brother for stopping any further carnage when he attacked Jace after he shot me.

Jackson is still sitting at the kitchen island, Willa nursing a cup of tea beside me on the couch—both of them quiet but keeping me company since I got home from the hospital.

It wasn’t bad. Not really. After the initial fear subsided, the remaining buzz of adrenaline kept the pain to a minimum.

It was as Greer said… a graze wound to my upper arm.

A few stitches. A lecture from every single Jameson agent about risk and luck and doing stupid shit for the right reasons.

It was not part of the game plan that I divulge Jameson was there.

It was decidedly the factor that pushed Jace over the edge, angering him so much that he shot me.

So yeah… I’ve already been chastised by no fewer than four agents, including a blistering from Kynan when it was all said and done.

A fucking banner day.

When the mudroom door opens, my entire body tightens, causing a tiny throb in my arm where a small bandage covers the wound. Willa puts a reassuring hand on my leg and whispers, “It will be fine. Let him rant.”

She knows just how pissed he’s going to be.

Someone called her when I got to the hospital and then she was there, watching the emergency room doctor work on me and holding my hand.

She knew I was thinking about doing this against Penn’s wishes, and we spent a lot of time talking the last few hours about how to make this right.

I obviously owe him an apology, but I do not regret my decision.

It’s over because of what I did.

Footsteps through the kitchen and then I hear Jackson’s stool scrape against the tile. Penn steps into the living room like a man carved from stone. His expression is hard, fierce and unreadable. Jackson stands right behind him.

My eyes flick past Penn, looking at the Jameson agent. He doesn’t know me or Penn all that well, and he’s been a protector to both of us, but by the look on his face—he’s still on the job to make sure I don’t get hurt by the man I love.

My gaze goes back to Penn and I find eyes roaming all over me as they scan for injury, for damage, and land on my arm where the bandage wrap is clean and neat.

“You okay?” His sounds gruff, emotional, but I can’t tell if he’s angry.

“I’m fine,” I answer quietly. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

He nods once, glancing over his shoulder at Jackson. “Jace?”

“In custody,” Jackson confirms. “Taken without incident after medical cleared him. He’s going down and won’t be a threat to either of you again.”

Penn exhales slowly—not relief exactly—just one less thing on his plate.

The weight in the room shifts almost imperceptibly. Not lighter. Just different—like he’s setting one burden down only to brace for another.

“Appreciate you being here,” Penn says to Jackson, then glances at Willa. “Thanks for coming.” Then his voice turns ice cold. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d both leave now.”

I jolt at how rude that sounds, but this is Penn’s house. And well… we need to talk.

Jackson pins his eyes on me. “You good?”

I nod, noting the way Penn seems to bristle under Jackson’s concern. Jackson puts a hand on Penn’s shoulder. “She’s tougher than all of us combined. You need to at least give her credit for that.”

Penn doesn’t say a word.

I rise from the couch with Willa and she leans in to give me a gentle hug. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” I promise, and I mean that. I might be calling her sooner rather than later, asking if I can crash at her and King’s place since there’s a good chance Penn’s going to kick me out of his home when this is all said and done.

And then they’re gone, out the front door, and the click of the latch sounds like the clang of iron prison bars. Menacing and without escape.

Silence.

Penn stares at me for ten full seconds, and then it happens.

The explosion.

I see it coming—the way his chest rises and falls like he’s trying, and failing, to keep a dam from breaking.

“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?” he yells, arms hanging down but fists pumping open and closed, open and closed.

I sink onto the couch, fold my hands in my lap and wait for him to get it out. I’d prepared for this, and he deserves his moment to purge. Penn paces in front of me on the opposite side of the coffee table, a storm in motion.

“I told you not to do this.” His voice isn’t raised but the low growl of anger is enough to slice into me. “I told you I was not okay with it. And you went behind my back, anyway. That’s not respect, Mila. It’s an absolute betrayal of trust.”

I wince, because he just manifested my biggest fear. That he would take this as such a deep betrayal, his walls would go back up. I swallow hard but stay quiet because I’m hoping by venting it all out, he will listen to what I have to say.

“I trusted you,” he grinds out, raking a hand through his hair. “And you put yourself in the crosshairs without thinking about what it would do to me if you died. Fuck… it’s bad enough you were actually shot, but what the hell did you think would happen to me if you were killed?”

The ache in my chest is sharp and twisting and I’m flooded with the guilt I told myself I refused to feel because I believed in what I was doing.

And then—just as fast as it started—he stops pacing.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters as he pivots.

He storms down the hallway, disappearing into the back of the house.

I sit there—stunned, hollow—my heart sinking like a stone.

I expected him to rant until he had no more, then I expected him to ask for my reasoning.

I thought there might be a willingness to listen after his fury was expelled, but I did not expect him to leave.

A deeper kind of fear seeps in—not fear of his anger, but fear that I’ve fractured something inside him too badly to fix.

I can’t do this.

He can’t be with me? He can’t have a relationship anymore because I broke his trust?

The sorrow is nearly crushing as I push off the couch slowly, wincing at the pull in my arm, ready to retreat somewhere— anywhere—to lick my wounds, but then he speaks from behind me.

“I want three kids.”

I slowly turn to see Penn leaning casually against the doorframe like he didn’t just eviscerate me five minutes ago.

I’m so discombobulated. “Wh-what?”

His face is calm, with no trace of anger. None of the disdain or accusation. “Three kids. Maybe four. I’ve been thinking about it. How many do you want?”

I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. Has he? Did I push him over the edge?

“How many?” he repeats calmly.

“I… I don’t know,” I stammer. “Three sounds good.”

“Perfect.” He pushes off the frame, walking toward me like we’re discussing weekend plans.

“What’s happening right now?” I blurt out.

“I’m mad at you,” he says simply. “I probably will be again when I think about it too long.”

“But you want to talk about kids?” I drawl in confusion.

He comes toe to toe with me and I have to tilt my head to look up at him. “I feel like we have important things to talk about.”

I’m reeling at how calm he is. At how he just abandoned his furious rant to talk about… children? “But you’re pissed at me. I broke trust. You said you can’t do this.”

“Yeah… I can’t continue to berate you. I’m out of gas, anyway. So, we need to talk about some important things.”

Penn motions for me to sit back down on the couch, and I sink into it, my heart racing and mind spinning.

“Let’s talk about our future,” he says.

I stare at him like he’s gone crazy. But he seems serious. There’s something raw in his eyes not—not anger, not even hurt exactly—but something that looks a hell of a lot like determination fighting through pain.

“I want you to stay here. With me. For good. I know Florida has been your home for a long time, but I want us to move in together and start a life.”

“Penn,” I say as I rub at my temple, which is now hurting more than my arm. “What the hell is going on? You said I broke your trust. Don’t you think that’s something more important to talk about?”

Penn’s mouth tightens. For a heartbeat, he looks like he might shut down again—old instincts flickering behind his eyes. The ones that learned a long time ago that betrayal meant isolation, not forgiveness.

“No, not really.” He takes a seat beside me. “I got my anger out, and yes, while you went behind my back, you have to know I’m not stupid. I can look at the end result and admit it all worked out. Yeah, you got a bullet hole in your arm—”

“It was just a scratch,” I say.

“That needed stitches,” he chastises, “but I’m also accepting the overwhelming relief this is over, and it’s dulling the anger a bit.

Do I wish you had been honest and just told me that you were going to do it no matter what I said?

Yes. Do I also understand why you didn’t?

Yes, I understand that too. I was being heavy-handed, demanding you do what I say without any thought to your feelings, and I’m adult enough to admit that was wrong.

In the future, Mila… if you disagree with me, fine.

I’d just ask you not go behind my back.”

I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “Okay. I promise I won’t.”

Penn offers me a brilliant smile and I can truly feel he’s let go of the anger. “Anyway, we’ll figure out what to do with your house there. Whatever you want. But I want you here. In this house. And when the time’s right, maybe we’ll find a place that’s ours—not just mine.”

Emotion clogs my throat, tears threatening to flood.

But he’s not done. He continues to talk and with each word that comes out of his mouth, euphoria swims through my veins, making me lightheaded. “You’ll work from here—graphic design, whatever makes you happy. We’ll set up a nice office for you.”

I nod, unable to speak.

“And one of the things I’m really looking forward to is holidays together. Just us, or with the team, or friends. Your aunt Dorene for sure, and hell… maybe even Peter. No more lonely Christmases for either of us.”

Tears sting my eyes.

“If you ever want to get involved with the team stuff—charity work, events—you can. But only if you want to. I already know you’re getting close with some of the women, and you will be friends for life with them.”

I swallow hard, overwhelmed.

“And someday,” he continues, softer now, “if you want kids—two, three, four, whatever—we’ll figure that out too.”

It’s too much. Too perfect. Too impossible.

“Penn,” I whisper.

He finally reaches for my hand.

“I love you, Mila,” he says quietly. “This is me loving you. Planning a life with you. Wanting everything with you. You’ve changed my life for the better.

You took a reclusive, bitter man with no emotional capacity and showed him a better way.

You opened my heart and my mind. You made me not only a better man but a better teammate to those who need me.

Yes, I’m pissed you put yourself in danger, but I can absolutely forgive that because you’ve given me so much more. ”

Tears slip down my cheeks.

“I love you too,” I choke out. “So much.”

He pulls me into his arms, careful of my injury. His hold is strong enough to steady me, gentle enough to unravel me all over again. He tucks me against his chest like I’m something breakable and precious, like he’s anchoring me to this moment, to him, to everything we’re about to build.

And maybe that’s exactly what love is—not loud or showy—but a quiet certainty that out there, the world will keep spinning, messy and unforgiving.

But in here, with him, I’ve already found my home.

My future.

My forever.

Matteo “Lucky” Branson is the Titans’ biggest personality—part locker room hype man, part walking TikTok trend. But when a flirty influencer dares him into a public “love challenge,” will he score something real—or just become another viral fail?