Page 7

I shut my laptop, but even making that article disappear doesn’t take away the oily feelings of self-disgust. I didn’t stand up to any of them. Didn’t chastise them for that behavior. Hell, I even laughed along, although their cruelty made me sick.

Peter Brennan has served ten of his twelve-year sentence. Mila and I are the reason he got sent to prison. Now he’s getting out, and if these threats are from him, then I have no doubt—he’s going to follow through on his promises of retribution.

And I have no fucking clue what to do about it.

The sound of padding feet on the staircase causes me to jerk and I realize Mila is coming down. I glance at the clock and see it’s almost eight a.m. When I turn back, she’s there. Freshly showered, her long black hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders.

Jesus, she’s stunning.

I’d never looked at her this way before—back then, she was just Peter’s kid sister, a fifteen-year-old girl with a crush on Nathan. Nothing about her had registered as anything other than a kid who sometimes lingered around the rink, watching us play.

But now… now she’s something else entirely.

Her large blue eyes are the kind that stop a man in his tracks—striking, framed by thick black lashes and flawless skin.

Her full lips are painted with a subtle pink hue, her high cheekbones giving her an almost elfish quality.

And the sweater she’s wearing, soft and formfitting, hints at delicate curves I’d never noticed before.

I force my gaze to lock on her face, pushing down the unwelcome attraction twisting through me.

Mila steps hesitantly into the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her as if she’s unsure of her place. Her weight shifts slightly, betraying nerves, and for a moment, I feel just as unsure as she looks.

What the hell am I supposed to do with her?

I clear my throat and push back from the island, rising to my feet. “Coffee?”

She blinks, then nods. “Yes. Please. Cream if you have it.”

I move to the coffee maker, grateful for something to do with my hands. As I pour a fresh mug, I catch her gaze drifting around the kitchen, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the marble countertop.

“This place is incredible,” she murmurs.

I splash some cream in and hand her the cup. “Gotta spend my money on something.”

She gives me a small smile, wrapping both hands around the coffee like she’s soaking up the warmth. “I followed your career,” she admits softly. “I watched you play. I’m really proud of you.”

I shift uncomfortably, taking a slow sip of my own coffee.

“You deserve the success,” she continues. “You earned it. Especially after what you did. Going to the police.”

I huff out a breath, setting my mug down a little harder than necessary. “Some days, it doesn’t feel like I did the right thing.”

Mila scoffs, shaking her head. “Nathan’s parents feel differently. I feel differently.” Her eyes sharpen, her conviction evident. “We avenged his death, Penn.”

The words knock something loose inside of me. Anger. Guilt. Protectiveness. It all knots together in my chest.

“You should have stayed out of it,” I mutter.

Mila stiffens. “And what? Let them get away with it?”

I grip the counter, tension rolling through me. “At least you’d still have your family.”

Her jaw tightens. “You think that matters?” Her voice rises slightly, indignation seeping through.

“You think I could have stayed under their roof knowing they sanctioned what Peter did? That they said it was just harmless fun gone awry ?” Her expression twists with disgust. “I have no respect for them. I don’t want them.

And besides, the police didn’t have enough without my testimony. I had to do it.”

I try to push down my frustration. I’m ashamed to admit, part of my anger for Mila getting involved is that she was the final catalyst that set those convictions in motion and tore the team apart.

Had it just been me and my testimony, nothing would have happened.

I would have had the knowledge I did the right thing.

Did all I could. And I could have kept my team together.

Mila’s really the nail in the coffin and I used to despise her for that.

Now, I’m not sure what I feel.

Mila squares her shoulders, but I see the slight tremble in her fingers as she lifts her coffee to her lips. She takes a small sip, then sets the mug down. “Look, I didn’t come here to rehash the past.” She speaks hesitantly. “I came because I didn’t know what else to do.”

I glance at my laptop, where I’ve just spent the morning reliving the past. I motion to the bar stools and she takes a seat. I lean against the counter. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything that’s happened.”

Mila pauses. “The threats started a few months ago. At first, they were just texts—unknown number, nothing traceable. Maybe every few days, but they escalated fast. Then the emails started.” She shivers slightly, wrapping her arms around herself. “They were more detailed. More violent.”

I nod, already knowing the kind of shit she’s been receiving if the email she showed me last night is any indication.

“I went to the police in Florida,” she continues. “I showed them everything. The texts, the emails. But they couldn’t track where they were coming from. They said unless there was proof someone was actually coming after me, their hands were tied.”

Of course, they fucking did. “So you think it’s Peter?”

Her throat bobs. “Who else would want to come after me?”

I drum my fingers against my biceps. “Jace, and I say that only because Peter’s ability to email and text are limited.” I consider this, my mind racing. “Or it could have been Ryan or Colton helping him. Hell, it could be all of them.”

Mila’s brows furrow. “What do they hope to accomplish? Just to terrify us? Or do they want revenge?”

I don’t have an answer for that but I mutter, “I got something too.”

She blinks. “What?”

I nod, my lips pressing into a flat grimace as I remember the gift I got not long ago in the locker room. “A teddy bear with a card that said, I remember. Do you? ”

Mila pales. “I got that message too. But just in a text.”

She hesitates. “I saw the McLendon fight on TV. He cross-checked you pretty hard.”

“Yeah. He clocked me good. He’s obviously still holding a grudge.”

Her blue eyes hold mine. “Still so many people that hate us for doing the right thing.”

After a long beat, I say, “Ryan DeLuca came to one of my games. Threw a bottle at me. Called me a traitor.”

Mila’s hands tighten around her mug.

“So yeah,” I say. “Still a lot of people who fucking hate us.”

Mila sighs. “What do we do?”

I hesitate, considering my options. While it’s the last thing I want to do—so deep has been my conviction to keep everyone on the team far away from me, I can’t keep everyone in the dark. “I think I need to let the team know what’s going on. The organization, at least.”

Mila’s brows lift slightly. “You trust them?”

I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is—I don’t know.

But I do know that whatever’s happening, it’s getting worse. And I can’t ignore it anymore. I push off the counter, grabbing my keys. “I have to get to practice. Then I’ll try to talk to our general manager, Callum Derringer.”

Mila shifts in her chair, looking hesitant. “What should I do?”

I glance at her. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

She nods slowly, but there’s still unease in her posture.

Before I leave, I pause at the door and turn back. “Don’t go anywhere alone.”

She frowns. “Why?”

I hold her gaze. “Because I’ve got a gut feeling that it’s not safe.”

The words hang between us, heavier than either of us would like to admit.

Then I turn and walk out the door.