Page 22

I wake up with one thought.

No more running. No more distractions. No more avoidance. No more pretending that I don’t already know what I want.

Because I do.

I want him. All of him.

And I’m done fighting it. I push back the covers, sitting up, stretching my legs out in front of me.

This is new. This feeling of certainty. Of knowing exactly what I need to do. Of not trying to talk myself out of it.

I’ve spent my entire life avoiding attachment. Keeping everything surface level, fleeting, easy.

Grant? He was never easy.

And maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about him from the second I walked out of that damn rink.

Because he didn’t chase me.

Didn’t let me off the hook.

Didn’t let me fall into old patterns.

He made me choose. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I grab my phone off my nightstand, tapping through my contacts.

Talia picks up on the first ring. “Oh, this should be good.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t even know why I’m calling.”

“Please. I’ve known you for years. If you’re calling me before noon, it means you’re either having a crisis or doing something reckless.”

I grin, because she’s not wrong.

“No crisis. Just reckless.”

A pause. Then, “Oh, I like this already.”

I don’t hesitate. I tell her my plans. She squeals like she’s my personal cheerleader. I grin, ending the call.

Then, I don’t second-guess myself. I just go.

Straight to the rink, straight through the hallways I’ve walked a hundred times before—except this time, I have one goal.

Find Grant. Make him listen. Make him believe me.

I push through the doors into the locker room like I belong there.

Technically, I don’t.

But that’s never stopped me before.

The guys are scattered around the space, some getting out of their gear, some slouched on benches talking, all looking vaguely amused when they see me.

Gator lifts his head, grinning. “Well, well, well. Look who’s gracing us with her presence.”

I wave him off. “Where’s Grant?”

Jake—who’s sitting on a bench, lacing up his skates—snaps his head up like I just announced I’m moving to Antarctica.

His eyes narrow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ignoring him. That’s what.

I scan the room, but no Grant.

Damn it.

The universe owes me a win here.

The guys exchange looks, and I don’t miss the way Kingston leans in to Gator, whispering something. Jake notices it too. His glare sharpens.

I do not have time for whatever testosterone-fueled nonsense is about to go down.

I sigh, leveling Jake with a look. “Seriously. Where is he?”

And then—like the universe is actually listening for once—

A voice rumbles behind me.

“You lost?”

Shit.

A slow shiver dances down my spine.

I don’t even have to turn around. I know that voice. I take a breath, then turn. And there he is.

Standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed, gaze cool and unreadable.

Grant Maddox.

Not moving.

Not reacting.

Not making this easy for me.

And for once?

I don’t want easy. I hold his stare. I don’t blink. I don’t fidget. I don’t let my nerves show. Because I know what’s at stake here.

And if I back down now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my damn life.

Grant tilts his head slightly, arms still crossed, expression unreadable.

“What do you want, Kenzie?”

His voice is even. Controlled.

And that pisses me off so much more than if he was actually mad.

I shift my weight, my pulse pounding at my temples.

“You.”

The second the word is out, I feel the shift.

Something thickens in the air between us.

Like a held breath. Like a moment waiting to explode.

Grant watches me.

And that? That’s worse than yelling.

Because it means he’s thinking.

It means he’s testing me.

Seeing if I’ll crack.

Finally, he exhales, slow and measured.

“You sure about that?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?”

My stomach tightens. Because I sort of knew this was coming. I knew he wasn’t going to just believe me right away.

Not after everything. Not after how many times I’ve pushed him away.

So now? Now, I have to prove it.

I step forward. So close to him that I can feel the heat coming off him.

“I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear.” My voice is steady. Sure. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”

He still doesn’t move. Still doesn’t break.

But something flickers behind his dark eyes. Something I can’t quite place.

And I know—I’m getting through. He doesn’t speak right away.

Doesn’t move.

Just stands there, watching me, measuring me, waiting to see if I’ll fold.

And maybe the old me would have.

Maybe I would have laughed it off, made a joke, shrugged like none of this really mattered.

But I don’t.

Because it does.

And this time, I refuse to run.

I hold his stare.

“I’m not walking away this time.”

Grant’s jaw ticks. His hands flex at his sides.

But his expression? Still unreadable.

“And when it gets hard?” His voice is low. Controlled. Like he’s bracing for my answer.

I swallow. Then straighten.

“Then I fight.”

The silence stretches.

The weight of it thickens the air.

Then, finally—

Grant exhales. Slow. Measured. Like I just said something that shouldn’t be a relief. But somehow is.

And then—he moves. Not fast. Not sudden. Just deliberate. Like he’s making a choice, too.

He stops in front of me in that way he has and I have to tilt my chin up to keep eye contact.

His gaze searches mine. For doubt. For hesitation. For any sign that I don’t really mean this.

I don’t blink.

Because I do.

And then—he speaks.

“You better mean that, Flight.”