Page 34 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)

The apartment was smaller than anywhere I’d ever lived before, but it was perfect in ways that had nothing to do with square footage or expensive finishes.

The living room doubled as my home office, where I spent most days building my hockey consulting business from a secondhand desk we’d found at a thrift store.

The kitchen was barely large enough for two people, but somehow, we’d managed to create some of our best memories there, cooking terrible pasta and burning toast while we figured out how to live together.

Tonight, the bedroom was scattered with discarded ties and cufflinks as we prepared for an evening I’d been dreading for weeks. The Morrison-Whitmore Peace Summit, as Rhett had started calling it, though neither of us was particularly optimistic about how peaceful it would actually be.

It had been a year since everything changed. A year since I’d walked away from my family’s empire and chosen love over legacy. Twelve months of building something real with someone who saw me as more than just a Whitmore heir, who loved me for who I was rather than what I could become.

The year had been a roller coaster of ups and downs that made my old life look sedate by comparison.

My father’s health scandal had only been the beginning of the family’s troubles.

The media attention had been relentless, with reporters digging into every aspect of Whitmore Entertainment’s business practices.

By spring, the board had lost confidence in my father’s leadership entirely, and he’d quietly resigned as CEO while barely managing to avoid the devastating lawsuits that could have destroyed everything.

It should have been his worst nightmare, but in a strange way, the forced retirement had been exactly what he needed.

Without the constant pressure of running a media empire, he’d focused on his recovery and started examining some of the choices he’d made over the years.

He’d thrown himself into charity work and angel investing, rebuilding his reputation one good deed at a time.

The change in him had been remarkable. The driven, ruthless businessman I’d grown up fearing had been replaced by someone more thoughtful, more present. He still called me regularly, but now our conversations were about my happiness rather than my corporate potential.

Graduation had been bittersweet. Walking across the stage to receive my diploma felt like closing a chapter of my life that had been defined by other people’s expectations.

But watching Rhett graduate summa cum laude, seeing the pride on his parents’ faces as he accepted his degree in economics, had been one of the best moments of my life.

The goodbyes with our teammates had been harder than I’d expected. These guys who’d started as strangers had become family, and scattering to different cities and different futures had felt like breaking up something sacred.

But the hardest part had been saying goodbye to the certainty of our old life. College had been a bubble where our biggest concerns were practice schedules and exam dates. The real world was messier, more complicated, full of decisions that didn’t come with syllabi or clear right answers.

Rhett had been drafted by a lesser-known team here in Chicago, which had made the decision to stay together easier but hadn’t eliminated all the uncertainty.

Professional hockey was a different beast entirely, with longer seasons and more pressure and the constant awareness that one bad injury could end everything.

But watching him play now, seeing the joy on his face every time he stepped onto the ice, I had no doubt that he’d make it to the NHL within the year. He was playing at a level that made scouts take notice, and his team’s profile was rising with every game they won.

More importantly, he was happy. Genuinely, radiantly happy in a way that made everything else feel secondary.

As for me, I was still figuring things out.

My NHL dreams had been put on hold after my extended absence from the team, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted them back.

The time away from hockey had given me perspective on what I actually enjoyed about the sport versus what I’d been chasing for external validation.

Instead, I’d started a consulting business focused on helping young players navigate the transition from college to professional hockey. It was rewarding work that used my business education and my understanding of the sport, and it felt like something that was entirely mine.

I still had access to my trust fund and the family wealth, but I tried not to rely on it. Our modest apartment was paid for with money we’d earned, furnished with things we’d chosen together, decorated with photos from our travels and mementos from our shared life.

“You’re brooding again,” Rhett said from the bathroom doorway, adjusting his cufflinks with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of formal events. “I can practically hear the gears turning from here.”

I turned to look at him and felt my breath catch the way it still did after all this time.

He was devastatingly handsome in his charcoal-gray suit, the tailored lines emphasizing his lean build and broad shoulders.

But it was his hair that made my pulse quicken.

He’d let his usual buzz cut grow out over the past few months, and now it was long enough to curl slightly at the ends, giving him a softer look that made me want to run my fingers through it.

“Just thinking about the year,” I said, abandoning my own tie to cross the room toward him. “How much has changed.”

“Good changes or bad changes?”

“Mostly good,” I said, reaching up to straighten his tie even though it didn’t need straightening. “Though I still can’t believe your parents agreed to attend the same event as mine.”

“My dad’s curious about your father’s transformation. Mom’s just hoping for some good gossip.” Rhett’s hands found my waist, pulling me closer until there was barely any space between us. “What about you? Ready to face the music?”

“With you? I’m ready for anything.”

He smiled, the expression lighting up his entire face in a way that made my chest tight with affection. “You say that now, but wait until my mother starts asking when we’re getting married.”

“Is she going to do that?”

“Probably. She’s been dropping hints for months about how nice it would be to have another wedding to plan.”

The mention of marriage sent a little thrill through me that I tried not to examine too closely.

We’d been living together for eight months now, and the domestic routine felt so natural it was easy to forget we were still technically just boyfriends.

But talking about forever, about making this official in the eyes of our families and the law, felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“What would you tell her?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

“That we’re in no hurry,” he said, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. “That we’re taking things one day at a time.”

“Very diplomatic.”

“I have my moments.”

I leaned up to kiss him, intending it to be brief and sweet, but the moment our lips touched, something ignited between us. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I could taste the mint of his toothpaste and something darker, more complex that was uniquely him.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing harder, and I could see the desire darkening his brown eyes.

“We could skip it,” I said, my hands already working at the buttons of his shirt. “Stay here instead. I could show you exactly how much I’ve missed having you to myself lately.”

“Aiden,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction as I pressed open-mouthed kisses to his throat.

“I could start by getting you out of this suit,” I murmured against his skin, tasting the salt and soap scent that made my head spin. “Take my time with every button, every piece of fabric.”

His breathing hitched, and I felt his hands fist in my shirt. “That’s not fair.”

“Then I could spend an hour just touching you, learning every place that makes you make those sounds I love.” I demonstrated by finding the sensitive spot just below his ear, earning a soft gasp that made me smile against his skin. “Remember what you sound like when I take my time with you?”

“Jesus, Aiden.” His voice was rough now, and I could feel the tension building in his body. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“What a way to go,” I said, pulling back to look at him. His hair was already mussed from my fingers, his lips swollen from our kiss, and the sight of him like that made something possessive and hungry unfurl in my chest.

“We could call in sick,” I continued, my hands sliding down to toy with his belt buckle. “Tell them we came down with something contagious. The flu. An urgent case of needing to remind each other why we’re perfect together.”

“Tempting,” he said, but I could see him struggling to maintain his resolve. “But this is important, Aiden. It’s a chance for our families to be in the same room without all guns blazing.”

“They’ve managed to coexist for a year without a formal peace treaty.”

“Barely. And only because we’ve been carefully avoiding situations where they’d have to interact.” He caught my hands before I could make any more progress with his belt. “This could be the beginning of something better. A chance for them to see that we’re serious about this, about each other.”

I knew he was right, but the rational part of my brain was being drowned out by the part that wanted to spend the evening reacquainting myself with every inch of his body. “One more year of family drama won’t kill them.”

“But it might kill us,” he pointed out. “Do you really want to spend the rest of our lives navigating around this tension?”

He had a point, much as I hated to admit it. The careful dance we’d been doing to keep our families separate was exhausting, and it would only get more complicated as our relationship deepened. If we wanted a future together, we needed our families to at least tolerate each other’s existence.

“You’re being very mature about this,” I said with a miserable sigh.

“One of us has to be.” He leaned forward to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Besides, think of it this way. The sooner we get through tonight, the sooner we can come home and pick up where we left off.”

“Is that a promise?”

“That’s a guarantee.”

The heat in his voice sent electricity straight through my nervous system, and I had to take a step back before I completely abandoned my good intentions. “In that case, I suppose I can suffer through a few hours of small talk and passive-aggressive family politics.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I finished getting dressed while Rhett fixed his hair, both of us moving around each other in the easy choreography we’d developed over months of sharing the same space.

It was one of the things I loved most about living with him, the way we’d learned to exist in each other’s orbit without getting in each other’s way.

“Ready?” he asked, offering me his arm with exaggerated formality.

“As I’ll ever be.”

We took one last look around our apartment, this space we’d built together with secondhand furniture and careful budgeting and more love than I’d known it was possible to feel.

In a few hours, we’d be back here, probably tipsy from champagne and full of stories about whatever drama had unfolded at the gala.

But for now, we were heading into the unknown together, ready to face whatever came next as long as we could face it side by side.

“I love you,” I said as we headed for the door, the words feeling as natural as breathing.

“I love you, too,” he replied, squeezing my hand. “Whatever happens tonight, remember that.”

“Always,” I promised, and meant it with every fiber of my being.

We stepped out into the Chicago evening, ready to write the next chapter of our story together. Whatever the future held, whatever challenges our families or careers or life in general decided to throw at us, I knew we could handle it.

After all, we’d already survived the worst thing I could imagine: losing each other. Everything else was just details.

And details, I’d learned, were much easier to manage when you had the right person by your side.

The end.