Page 1 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)

ONE

RHETT

The dorm room felt bigger with half the stuff missing.

I dropped my gear bag next to my bed and looked across at Lennox’s side of the room.

His desk was clean, bed made with military precision, and the only sign he’d been back at all was the fresh laundry folded in a neat pile on his dresser.

Everything else screamed, “I’m practically living somewhere else now. ”

Not that I blamed him. If I had a boyfriend like Oliver waiting for me across campus, I’d probably be doing the same thing.

I started unpacking, tossing clothes into drawers and setting up my laptop on the desk.

Through the window, I could see other students hauling suitcases and boxes across the quad.

Move-in weekend always had this buzzing energy, like everyone was gearing up for something big.

For me, that something was senior year and my last shot at making scouts notice me before graduation.

No pressure or anything.

My phone buzzed with a text from Lennox: Lumière at 7? Need to catch up and Oliver’s training tonight.

I typed back: See you there.

Lumière was our usual spot—a cozy campus bar tucked into the basement of the student union that served decent food and didn’t ask too many questions about fake IDs.

We’d been going there since sophomore year, back when the team was struggling and we needed somewhere to drink our sorrows away. Now, it felt like home.

I finished unpacking and grabbed a shower, trying to shake off the weird mood that had been following me around since I’d gotten back to campus. Everyone else seemed to have their shit figured out, and here I was, twenty-two years old and still feeling like I was waiting for my real life to start.

Lumière was busy when I got there, filled with students catching up after summer break. I spotted Lennox at our usual booth in the back and made my way over, dodging servers and groups of freshmen who looked like they were trying way too hard to seem sophisticated.

“Look who’s back,” Lennox said, standing up to give me a quick hug. “You look good, buddy.”

“Thanks. You look…” I paused, taking in his relaxed posture and the way his eyes kept drifting toward his phone. “Happy. Really happy.”

He grinned, and I swear he was glowing. “Yeah, well. Good break.”

We sat down and ordered our usual—burgers and beers, nothing fancy. Lennox filled me in on his summer break, which had apparently involved a lot of time with Oliver, hiking, and lazy lakeside moments that made me feel like I was watching a Hallmark movie.

“What about you?” he asked after the server brought our drinks. “How was it here?”

“Good. Quiet. Spent most of it training and hanging out with my parents.” I took a sip of beer. “They’re doing well. Dad’s excited about some new acquisition, Mom’s been redecorating the house again.”

“Still trying to convince you to join the family business?”

“Nah, they gave up on that freshman year. They’re pretty supportive of the hockey thing, actually.”

Lennox nodded. “That’s cool. Not everyone’s parents are that understanding about their kids chasing sports dreams.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky.” And I was. My parents had never put pressure on me to follow in Dad’s footsteps, never made me feel guilty for choosing hockey over board meetings.

They funded my education, made sure I had everything I needed, but they stayed out of the way and let me figure things out on my own.

Our food arrived, and we spent a few minutes eating in comfortable silence. Lennox kept glancing at his phone, but not in an annoying way. More like he couldn’t help himself.

“So,” I said finally. “You and Oliver. Things are serious.”

It wasn’t a question. Anyone with eyes could see how gone Lennox was.

“Yeah.” He looked almost embarrassed by how happy he was. “I know it’s only been a few months, but…”

“But it feels right.”

“Exactly.” He paused, studying my face. “What about you? Anyone interesting?”

I shrugged. “Not really. Been focused on training, you know? Senior year’s going to be intense.”

“Come on, Rhett. You could have your pick of guys if you wanted. You’re smart, you’re athletic, you’re?—”

“What?”

“You know. You come from money. That Morrison name opens doors.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. Someone who’s interested in my trust fund.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” I pushed a fry around on my plate. “I just prefer doing things my own way. If someone’s going to be interested in me, I want it to be because of me, not because of who my dad is.”

Lennox was quiet for a moment. “You know most people don’t even know who your dad is, right? You keep that pretty close to the vest.”

He was right. I’d worked hard to keep my family background separate from my college life. I lived in the dorms instead of getting my own place, and I’d never mentioned Morrison Media Group to anyone on the team. As far as most people knew, I was just another hockey player on scholarship.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Lennox continued. “You’re so determined to prove you can do everything yourself that you don’t let anyone get close enough to know the real you.”

“The real me?”

“Yeah. The guy who calls his mom every Sunday, who remembers everyone’s birthday, who spent his entire winter break volunteering at that youth hockey camp, even though you didn’t have to.”

I hadn’t realized he’d noticed that last part.

“I’m just saying,” Lennox went on, “you’re a good guy, Rhett. And you deserve to be happy. Look at Easton and Jace, Elio and Jaxon, Patrick and Shane. We’re all figuring it out.”

He was right about that, too. Somehow, over the past year, all my closest friends had found their people.

Easton had been with Jace for a year, and they were solid in that quiet, steady way that made you believe in love.

Elio and Jaxon had taken forever to get their shit together, but now they were inseparable.

And Patrick—Patrick had surprised everyone by falling hard for Shane, not least because Patrick had been the straightest of us all.

Everyone except me.

“Maybe,” I said. “We’ll see what this semester brings.”

“That’s the spirit.” Lennox raised his beer. “To senior year. And to figuring our shit out.”

“To senior year,” I agreed, clinking my bottle against his.

We finished dinner and headed back across campus, walking slowly in the warm late-August evening. The conversation had shifted to hockey, predictions for the season, how the new recruits would be shaping up, and whether Coach was going to change up the lines. Safe territory.

But as we walked, my mind kept drifting back to what Lennox had said about family money and opening doors.

It wasn’t that simple, and he knew it. The Morrison name came with baggage, especially in Chicago business circles.

There were people who loved my dad and people who hated him, and very few in between.

I thought about the worst year, when I was seventeen and everything had almost fallen apart.

Some media conglomerate had been making moves, buying up smaller companies and squeezing out the competition.

They’d set their sights on Morrison Media Group, and for a few months, it had looked like we might lose everything my grandfather had built from a small, local newspaper he’d saved from bankruptcy.

Richard Whitmore. That had been the name on all the acquisition papers, the hostile takeover attempts, the late-night phone calls that had my dad pacing the house and my mom stress-eating ice cream. Richard fucking Whitmore, trying to destroy my family just because he could.

We’d fought back, of course. Dad had called in every favor, leveraged every relationship, and somehow, we survived. But those months had been hell, watching my parents try to hold everything together while some corporate shark circled our family like we were wounded prey.

I’d met Richard Whitmore’s son a few times over the years, at business events my parents had dragged me to when I was younger.

Aiden Whitmore. Stuck-up little shit with perfect hair and designer clothes, who looked at everyone like they were beneath him.

He’d had this permanent scowl, like the world was disappointing him just by existing.

It made his face extra punchable, honestly.

But that was years ago. Ancient history. The Whitmore family could rot in hell for all I cared, and their spoiled brat son could rot right alongside them.

“You okay?” Lennox asked as we reached our dorm. “You look like you’re thinking about something unpleasant.”

“Just remembering some family business stuff,” I said. “Nothing important.”

We took the stairs to our floor, and I followed Lennox to our room, even though I knew he’d probably be heading over to Oliver’s place within the hour.

“So,” he said, unlocking the door. “Practice starts Monday, right?”

“Yeah. Coach wants us all there at 6:00 a.m. sharp. You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He grabbed a few things from his dresser and stuffed them into a backpack. “This is it, you know? Senior year. Last chance to make something happen.”

“No pressure,” I said dryly.

“Exactly.” He slung the backpack over his shoulder and paused at the door. “Hey, Rhett?”

“Yeah?”

“What I said earlier, about putting yourself out there? I meant it. You’re one of the best people I know. Don’t let fear keep you from finding the right person.”

After he left, I sat on my bed and stared out the window at the campus below. Students were still moving around, carrying boxes and laughing with friends, everyone excited about the semester ahead.

Lennox was right. I was afraid. I was afraid of people wanting me for the wrong reasons, afraid of not being good enough on my own, afraid of caring about someone and having it blow up in my face. But maybe that was exactly why I needed to take some risks.

Starting Monday, everything would get serious again. Practices, games, scouts, the constant pressure of knowing this was my last shot at making it to the next level. But maybe there was room for something else, too. Someone else.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, looking at names of guys I’d hooked up with over the years. Casual stuff, nothing serious, nothing that required me to be vulnerable or open or anything more than just Rhett from the hockey team.

The guys had been fun. We’d had our fair share of wild memories. Except when I scratched the surface, none made me want to stick around. None made me want to stand tall, come out for real, and hold their hand for good. Maybe great sex wasn’t all it took.

And maybe it was time to change that.

I closed the phone and got ready for bed. Monday was coming whether I was ready or not, and senior year was going to be everything I’d worked for since I was a kid dreaming of playing in the NHL.

But first, I had to figure out who I wanted to be when I got there.