Page 28 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)

EIGHTEEN

RHETT

The silence in my dorm room was deafening.

I’d been sitting at my desk for the past hour, staring at the same page of my economics textbook without absorbing a single word.

The numbers and theories blurred together into meaningless patterns while my mind replayed the morning’s conversation in an endless, torturous loop.

Every word I’d said, every expression that had crossed Aiden’s face, every moment when I could have chosen differently but hadn’t.

Lennox was at Oliver’s again, which meant I was alone with my thoughts and the crushing weight of what I’d done.

The room felt too big and too small at the same time, empty without his easy chatter to fill the silence but suffocating in its familiarity.

Everything reminded me of mornings when I’d rushed to get ready for coffee and pastries at Aiden’s apartment, when Sunday had meant something more than just another day to get through.

I closed the textbook with more force than necessary and rubbed my eyes, trying to dispel the exhaustion that had settled into my bones.

It wasn’t physical tiredness, though I hadn’t slept well in the past few nights.

It was the bone-deep weariness that came from carrying around emotions I didn’t know how to process.

Practice the next day was a special kind of hell.

I went through the motions of drills and conditioning, my body moving on autopilot while my mind searched the ice for a presence that wasn’t there.

Aiden’s absence was like a missing tooth, something I couldn’t stop probing with my tongue, even though it hurt every time.

Coach didn’t mention where he was, and none of the guys seemed to know either. Or if they did, they weren’t saying anything to me. I caught Lennox and Elio exchanging glances when they thought I wasn’t looking, but nobody asked questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.

The library was worse. I’d claimed our usual table out of habit, spreading my books across the surface before realizing that without Aiden sitting across from me, making dry comments about my study methods and stealing my highlighters, it was just another table in an overcrowded building.

I packed up after twenty minutes and went back to my room, where the silence waited.

Even the gym felt wrong. I went through my usual routine, pushing weights and running on the treadmill while memories of competitive banter and stolen glances played in my head.

The space where he should have been felt hollow, like someone had cut a piece out of the world and left jagged edges behind.

I told myself I was being ridiculous. We’d only been together for a few months.

People broke up all the time, moved on, found other things to fill the spaces their ex-partners had occupied.

But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to get through the day without wondering where he was, what he was doing, whether he was dealing with his family’s crisis alone.

The thought of him facing those reporters and board meetings and shareholder demands without anyone to come home to made my chest tight with guilt.

Whatever else had happened between us, whatever trust had been broken or words had been said in anger, I knew him well enough to understand how much he hated the performative aspects of his family’s world.

Tuesday blended into Wednesday, which bled into Thursday.

I went to classes and practice and meals with my teammates, participating in conversations and laughing at jokes like everything was normal.

But it felt like I was watching my life from outside my body, going through it while some essential part of me remained suspended in that moment when Aiden had looked at me like I was a threat instead of a partner.

Lennox finally cornered me Thursday evening, blocking my path to the door as I tried to escape another team dinner early.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” he demanded, crossing his arms and giving me the look that only a friend could get away with. “You’ve been walking around like a zombie for days.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You’re about as fine as a car wreck. And don’t tell me it’s stress about school or hockey because I know what that looks like on you.”

I considered lying, making up some story about family pressure or academic overload. But Lennox knew me too well, had been my roommate for long enough to see through any deception I might attempt.

“Just working through some stuff,” I said finally.

“What kind of stuff? The kind that involves a certain transfer student who’s been mysteriously absent from practice this week?”

My stomach dropped.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, and I’m not asking for details. But whatever it was, it’s clearly eating you alive.”

“We ended things,” I said, the words feeling strange and final in my mouth. “It wasn’t working out.”

“Right. And that’s why you look like someone kicked your puppy.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Most good things are.”

“Not this complicated.”

Lennox studied my face for a long moment, and I could see him weighing his words carefully. “You know, sometimes the complicated stuff is worth fighting for. Especially when it’s something that makes you as happy as you’ve been these past few months.”

“I was happy?”

“Jesus, Rhett. You’ve been walking around like you won the lottery for weeks. Humming under your breath, showing up to practice with actual energy instead of your usual pre-coffee zombie shuffle. Whatever was going on with you two, it was good for you.”

The observation hit harder than I’d expected. Had I really been that obvious? Had everyone on the team noticed the change in my mood, the way I’d been lighter and more present since Aiden and I had started spending time together?

“Sometimes good things end,” I said quietly.

“Sometimes they do. But sometimes they just hit a rough patch and need some work.”

“This is more than a rough patch.”

“If you say so. But for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen you care about anyone the way you obviously care about him.”

I wanted to deny it, to insist that whatever I’d felt for Aiden had been temporary, surface-level, nothing that couldn’t be gotten over with time and distance. But sitting there in the hallway outside the dining hall, with Lennox’s knowing gaze fixed on my face, I couldn’t bring myself to lie.

I did care about him. More than I’d ever cared about anyone, in ways that scared me with their intensity. The thought of him dealing with his family’s scandal alone, of him facing cameras and questions and corporate vultures without anyone to hold him up afterward, made me feel physically sick.

But caring wasn’t enough. Trust was the foundation of any real relationship, and if he couldn’t trust me with the difficult parts of his life, if his first instinct when things got complicated was to shut me out, then what kind of future could we really have?

“It doesn’t matter,” I said finally. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

Lennox looked like he wanted to argue, but something in my expression must have convinced him to let it go. “Okay. But if you change your mind, if you decide you want to try fixing it, I’m here. We all are.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“And Rhett? Take care of yourself. You look like hell.”

I managed a weak smile. “I’ll work on it.”

That evening, I sat in my room, staring at my phone and trying to work up the courage to call my parents.

I’d been putting it off all week, not wanting to deal with their questions about school and hockey and whether I was eating enough vegetables.

But I missed their voices, missed the easy comfort of talking to people who loved me unconditionally.

My father answered on the second ring, his voice warm with pleasure at hearing from me.

“Rhett! How’s my favorite son?”

“I’m your only son, Dad.”

“Details. How are things? How’s the season going?”

We fell into our usual rhythm of conversation, him asking about practice and upcoming games while I gave him updates on my classes and teammates. It felt good to focus on normal things, to talk about hockey strategy and academic deadlines instead of the mess I’d made of my personal life.

“You sound tired,” Dad said after I’d finished telling him about our last game. “Everything okay?”

“Just the usual senior-year stress. Lots of pressure to perform well for scouts.”

“You’ve been performing well your entire career. Don’t let the pressure get to you now.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Good. Remember, hockey is supposed to be fun. Don’t lose sight of that in all the intensity.”

We talked for a few more minutes about lighter topics, but I could feel the weight of unasked questions building between us. Finally, Dad cleared his throat in the way that meant he was about to bring up something serious.

“I suppose you’ve seen the news about the Whitmore situation?”

My heart clenched, but I kept my voice carefully neutral. “Yeah, I saw the headlines.”

I braced myself for what I knew was coming.

The family meeting where they’d discuss stock prices and acquisition opportunities.

The strategic planning sessions about how to capitalize on a competitor’s moment of weakness.

The carefully calculated moves that would turn Richard Whitmore’s health crisis into Morrison Media Group’s advantage.

The nausea hit me like a wave as I imagined the conversation about to unfold.

Dad would lay out the plan, probably something elegant and ruthless that would leave the Whitmore empire in ruins.

He’d explain how this was the perfect opportunity for revenge, how Richard Whitmore’s own aggressive tactics were finally coming back to haunt him.

And I’d have to sit there and listen, knowing that every share we purchased, every strategic move we made, would drive another nail into the coffin of any possibility that Aiden and I could ever find our way back to each other.