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Chapter twenty

Katarina

T he PR meeting keeps replaying in my head like a broken record. Three hours later, and I’m still dissecting every word, every glance, every shift in Liam’s expression when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Something shifted today. The cocky hockey player routine? Gone. In its place was a man who didn’t just show up—he took the wheel. Controlled the room like he owned the oxygen in it. Like he finally realized how much power he had if he’d just stop pretending he didn’t give a damn.

I pour my favorite cabernet syrah blend into a chipped stemless glass that’s survived three moves and one regrettable situationship.

It’s barely five, but I’m over it. I didn’t eat lunch. Didn’t return calls. Haven’t been able to focus on anything because my brain is still short-circuiting at the way Liam looked at me when I backed his dinner idea in front of Riley and the team.

Like I’d handed him more than agreement. Like I’d given him something that mattered.

God help me, it did.

My phone starts buzzing on the counter.

Griffin. Of course.

I stare at his name flashing across the screen. I could let it ring. Pretend I’m elbow-deep in meal plans or supplement research. But Griffin doesn’t take hints. He’ll keep calling until I pick up or until my phone dies from exhaustion.

I swipe to answer.

“Hey, Griff.”

“Katarina.” His voice carries that edge I’ve learned to dread. “Starting to think you were avoiding me.”

“Just busy. You know how it is.” I sink deeper into my couch cushions, wine in hand, preparing for battle.

“Right. About that busy schedule.” His voice gets that edge that means he’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. “Word is Steele’s been sniffing around your office like a dog in heat.”

My stomach drops to my toes. If Griffin only knew I’m not the innocent little sister he thinks I am. I’m sitting here lying through my teeth while remembering exactly how it felt when Liam pressed against me. My hand drifts to my neck automatically—muscle memory I wish I could forget.

“I’m the team nutritionist, Griffin. I meet with everyone multiple times a week. It’s literally my job.”

“Don’t give me that corporate bullshit. This is different and you know it.”

I take a long sip of wine, buying time. “Different how?”

“Different like you’re forgetting who you’re dealing with. Liam Steele isn’t some harmless guy asking for meal prep advice. He’s a hothead with a reputation longer than his stick.”

There it is. The same lecture I’ve been dodging for weeks.

“I can handle myself.”

“Can you?” His voice gets sharper. “Because from where I sit, you’re about to get played by a guy who collects women like hockey cards.”

The wine suddenly doesn’t taste as good.

“I’m not getting sucked into anything. We keep it professional.”

“Professional?” Griffin growls. “Sure. Look, I know you think I’m being a pain in the ass, but I’ve watched this guy I know how he operates. He chews up woman like you, and spits them out for sport.”

“Wow….a woman like me. Thanks for the ringing endorsement of my intelligence.”

“Your intelligence isn’t the problem, Kat. It’s your heart. You see a stray dog and think you can turn it into a house pet.”

“Liam’s not a stray.”

“Isn’t he?” Griffin’s voice gets harder.

“Kid bounced around foster homes until he was fourteen. No family, no stability, nothing. If Coach Dawson hadn’t pulled him off the streets and into junior hockey, he’d probably be dead or in prison by now.

And you know what…some people can’t be saved, no matter how hard you try.

He’s wired wrong, Kat. Always has been.”

I feel something twist in my chest. “That’s a pretty fucked up way to talk about someone’s childhood Griff.”

“Harsh? It’s reality. The guy’s been given more second chances than anyone deserves, and he keeps screwing them up. His publicist works harder than a single mom with three jobs just to keep his reputation from completely tanking.”

I open my mouth to fire back, then close it. Because damn it, he’s got a point.

“Just... stay away from him, okay?” Griffin’s voice goes softer. “I’m not trying to run your life. I just don’t want to scrape you off the pavement when he’s done with you.”

God, if only he knew how backwards he has this whole thing.

“Yeah, got it…I’ll be careful.”

And there it is.

That Novak loyalty. Sharpened to a point and always aimed at the heart.

I set the glass down and press my fingers to my eyes, exhaustion sinking deeper into my bones.

“He’s not who you think he is,” I say quietly.

“And you think you know him?” Griffin asks, voice rougher now. My throat tightens. “You don’t get to weaponise someone’s trauma just because you don’t like the way they skate.”

“Drop it… I told you, he’s wired wrong,” Griffin snaps. “Always has been. You weren’t there when he lost his shit on our goalie mid-practice. The damn dude needed twenty stitches to the side of the head…had to be pulled off him. That’s who he is.”

“He’s also the reason that goalie still plays pro.”

Griffin doesn’t respond.

And that silence says everything.

“I’m not stupid,” I add. “I know this is messy. But you don’t get to rewrite the guy’s entire life because you’re afraid. I might be able to handle more than you think.”

His breath crackles through the line. “Just stay away from him, Kat. Please.”

Too late.

“I told you I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” He sighs. “Oh, and Mom’s been texting me about getting together, She thinks we’re both wasting away without her cooking.”

His voice softens, but the damage is done.

“She’s not wrong. I had cereal for dinner last night.”

“Christ, Katarina. You literally counsel people on nutrition for a living.”

“What… it was organic, Weetabix—besides, what’s the saying, do as I say, not as I do.”

We spend another few minutes talking about normal stuff—Mom’s latest sour dough obsession, his disaster of a Tinder date last week, whether Dad’s actually going to retire this year or just keep threatening to until he keels over mid-round of golf.

When I hang up, my space feels too quiet.

I’m lying to the one person who’s always had my back. The brother who taught me how to throw a punch and how to change a tire. The one whose opinion actually matters no matter how twisted it may be.

And for what? A fake relationship to protect a man who doesn’t even remember what he did to me, only to blow up and take my career with it?

A man who wrecked me once and is dangerously close to doing it again—and I’m smiling for the cameras while I let it happen.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

Unknown number:

Hope you liked the flowers. –L

A flutter. Low and hot. Damn him.

I stare at the message.

I don’t delete it, but I don’t answer either.

Griffin’s wrong about a lot of things—but he’s right about one.

I do have a soft spot for strays.

And Liam Steele?

He’s the most dangerous one I’ve ever wanted to keep.