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Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lily

Hockey Rule #101: Let your next move speak louder than your last shift Media Rule #101: Endings don’t sell.

I shoved through Sugar Squared’s heavy wooden door at 5:30 a.m., desperate for my first cup of dirty chai. I’d given up on sleep around three in the morning. Frustrated by the process of analyzing every micro-expression that had crossed Jack’s face yesterday at the hockey center. Every subtle shift in his jaw. The way his shoulders had tensed when he’d spotted me.

Here. Real. Close enough to touch.

I inhaled a small breath. Counted to three. Released.

Behind me, Bright rumbled from his backpack. My boy was definitely not a morning cat. But even my grump had a price—specifically the plain croissant Rae always saved for him. Working from the bakery didn’t just fill the time. It gave the day shape, made this new life feel like something I could actually keep.

The aroma of butter and caramelized sugar drifting out of Rae’s kitchen triggered my own taste buds, so I had no room to gripe. And Rae’s place was the sort to have an Instagrammer drooling and even my filmmaker mind could see the appeal. When the sun rose in a couple hours, perfect golden light would spill across century-old floorboards. The vintage copper espresso machine would throw off honeyed reflections under the Edison bulbs. The bakery made a great place to sit and people watch as the world woke up.

My gaze swept the early morning crowd, cataloging faces and dynamics with the precision born from years of reading rooms. Pre-dawn regulars dotted the tables. By the counter, a woman in a designer suit that whispered old money chatted with Rae. Tablet tucked under one arm, Louboutin pumps that probably cost more than my monthly rent... She navigated the space with the practiced ease of someone who belonged, despite the power suit’s stark contrast to Three Corners’ usual casual vibe. Someone to know, clearly.

“The usual?” Rae’s perpetual scowl softened as I approached the counter. “You’re early today.”

“Please. Dirty chai. Maybe an extra shot, though.” I managed a smile that felt only slightly brittle around the edges. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with our newest resident NHL legend, would it?” Rae’s eyes narrowed with entirely too much perception. My fingers tightened around the strap of Bright’s pack—small-town gossip apparently moved faster than TikTok trends. Before I could deflect, she gestured to the power suit beside me. “Miller Pendleton, meet Lily Sutton. Millsy is one of those Pendletons, but she actually works. An attorney in the family firm. Lily here runs Three Corner’s first ever production company.”

“Sutton? The Sutton behind Aces Unleashed ?” Millsy’s perfectly shaped brows lifted. “That tribute episode was absolutely brilliant.”

The mention of my final work with the Aces sent my pulse skittering. That she knew I was involved at all caught my attention—my name had been buried, not splashed across the opening sequence like Malone’s. I pressed my thumb against my wrist, steadying myself. “Thank you. Though I didn’t expect anyone around here to have seen it.”

“Oh, honey.” Her eyes sparkled with the kind of insider knowledge that set off every warning bell I’d developed since leaving LA. “Everyone in hockey has seen it. Especially after word spread about Jack Vignier joining Hoss’s operation here. You know, you did his tribute show. Viggy has a reputation that puts him in the hockey elite. Hoss is damn lucky to get him. “

My mind glitched, panic skirting the edge of my thoughts. Was this my life now? Hearing Jack’s name in every corner? Dealing with the man himself with one of our most important clients?

But then, I’d chosen to come here. Knowing very well I might not be the only one moving into town.

The bell over the bakery door jingled. Bright meowed a greeting and I turned to catch Adele’s whirlwind entrance, all flying red curls and manic energy, even at the crack of dawn. “Lily! You are not going to believe—oh!” She pulled up short, professional mask sliding into place as she registered Millsy’s presence. “I didn’t mean to interrupt...”

Rae made quick introductions while I mapped exits and angles, survival instincts kicking in. I needed to escape any more talk of Jack.

“Perfect timing actually.” Millsy’s smile carried the practiced warmth I recognized from countless pitch meetings. “Adele Doherty, I take it? The other half of 3CP? I was just about to discuss some interesting developments with Ms. Sutton. Developments that might interest both of you, given your partnership.”

Rae set my drink order on the counter and I grasped it like a life-preserver, wrapping both hands around the warm mug and inhaling the sweet scent of a blonde roasted coffee blended perfectly with a spicy chai. I focused on the minutiae and not the disaster unfolding around me. Disaster because somehow I just knew this was going to involve hockey and Jack and my future and just the idea made me want to run and hide and curl into a ball.

I wanted to be proud of what Adele and I had built with Three Corners Productions—a company focused on lifting people up rather than manufacturing drama. We’d spent months proving we could create compelling content without Malone’s toxic influence.

Because I was proud. Adele and I were building a company that built people up. That didn’t tear them down, and I was proud.

But as devastated as I’d been after the Sydney fiasco, it paled in comparison to the way I felt now. Sadness a constant overlay on my life. Coloring the gorgeousness of my day to day with a haze I couldn’t wipe away, no matter how hard I tried.

I missed Jack. I loved the man. Losing Jack had carved out pieces of my soul I wasn’t sure would ever heal. Turned out I was one of those ridiculous people who believed in soulmates, and I was also the idiot who’d thrown mine away.

Adele’s shoulder bumped mine, a subtle nudge back to the present.

Millsy studied a blinged-out tablet, glittering beads and fluffy balls dangling from the case. “The tribute episode hit Stanley Cup Final viewer numbers. The league owners and PR gurus are in a feeding frenzy to capitalize on this new interest in the sport. Mark Malone flies in today to pitch season two to Jasper.” She paused, eyes sharp beneath her perfectly styled bangs. “But now I’m wondering if you two might have a counter-proposal worth considering.”

The possibilities ricocheted through my mind like pinballs. A chance to tell authentic stories without Malone twisting them into clickbait drama. To capture the kind of raw, honest moments I’d glimpsed during Jack’s tribute episode—stories of dedication and sacrifice that deserved telling. The sort of content that had earned me Emmy nominations before Sydney’s betrayal had derailed everything.

But Jack would be here. Living and working in this town I’d carved out as my refuge.

My thumb found my pulse point. Five steady beats. Inhale. Hold. Release.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Adele asked, practically vibrating with excitement beside me.

“Meeting’s at eleven,” Millsy said, claiming a chair at my usual corner table like she belonged there. “Jasper’s coming to check his investment in the Precision Hockey Development Center. Lord, what a mouthful. Anyway, my cousin is determined to avoid hosting Malone on Pendleton property.” Her lips curved with an amused smirk. “Can’t have just anyone on hallowed ground, I guess.”

Adele bounced in her seat as I swung Bright off my back and claimed the fourth chair at our little table. “Eleven today? We’re scheduled to be there today, anyway! We’re looking for some transition shots to use in the youth sponsor package.”

I fussed with Bright’s backpack, mind whirling. “Maybe we shouldn’t impose on Jasper’s time, though? We weren’t originally part of his schedule and the sponsor footage is important...” My voice trailed off as I calculated angles and implications. Showing up uninvited to meet with someone of Jasper Pendleton’s caliber could backfire spectacularly.

“Actually,” Millsy cut in. “You wouldn’t be imposing. I’m part of the meeting, sweetcheeks, which means I can invite whoever I damn well please—and Jasper won’t bat an eye. Not that he would, anyway.” She adjusted the strap of her bag, casual but deliberate. "Jasper was impressed with how you handled the youth hockey segments in the tribute episode. He’s already running numbers, weighing the PR benefits of sponsoring the Three Corners team. It’s not a matter of if —it’s when. And having him see your current work with the development program?" She shot me a knowing look. "That’s a win for both you and the kids."

The pieces aligned in my mind like a perfect camera setup. Making Jasper aware of our work with the youth team could showcase everything we’d built since leaving Unleashed —our focus on community stories, our technical excellence despite the budget constraints, our ability to capture genuine moments without manufacturing conflict.

I gave Bright a pat before settling back into my chair and meeting Millsy’s gaze. “We’re only shooting bonus footage today, but we can load up some video to demonstrate what we’re doing here.”

The youth hockey footage would highlight exactly how far we’d come from Malone’s “bleed it for drama” approach. No more betraying confidences or manipulating narratives for views. Just pure, honest storytelling that actually served the community.

Millsy narrowed her eyes at Bright. “Is that cat staring at me?” She tapped the top of her tablet with a bedazzled stylus. “I swear he’s cursing me out in silent cat.”

Adele snorted. “Don’t feel special. That’s his default look.”

“Please don’t be offended,” I added with a side eye at Bright and Adele. “He’s a good boy, just his expression is a little grumpy. He’s just built that way.”

“And he’ll sit there? In that backpack? Not try and escape?”

“He’ll come out for some of Auntie Rae’s flaky goodness, won’t you, Bright, baby?”

Rae scooted my cat’s chair closer to the table, setting a small plate at the edge of the table within reach of my boy. Sure enough, he moved up to rest his paws on the top of the backpack and leaned closer to nibble the croissant.

“Raelynn Hossman, you are not baby-talking that cat? Does Hoss know?” Millsy fussed with her tablet. “I need video of this business, right flippin’ now. Nobody’s gonna believe me. Rae babyin’ a cat. Seen everything now, I have.”

Adele and I laughed until we caught Rae’s scowl. But I couldn’t wipe the smile away entirely. Rae could give Bright a run for his money in the grumpy expressions department.

“Mind your own, Miller Pendleton.”

As the two women bickered about grumpy looks and the use of Millsy’s full given name, I exchanged a look with Adele. My bestie grinned, her eyes sparkling. She mouthed, “We can do this,” and I nodded. I’d have to put my personal worries aside. I needed to do this for my friend.

“Don’t you have muffins to bake, Raelynn?” Millsy added a sweeping motion toward the back of the bakery.

Rae’s eyes burned with hell fury. “I sure do. And don’t you bother coming in tomorrow, Miller . We’re gonna mysteriously run out of peanuts come tomorrow.”

Millsy muttered something under her breath about being saddled with a damn, stupid boy’s name, shoving her tablet into her designer bag with a sharp, efficient motion. Then she stood, all cool confidence, like she hadn’t just been bickering with Rae two seconds ago.

“I’ll see you both at eleven,” she announced. A formal invitation wrapped in command.

The filmmaker in me cataloged the details—the way she controlled the moment, the calculated ease in her stance, the unspoken expectation that we’d follow her lead. A power play, subtle but undeniable. “The development center. Don’t be late.”

I pressed my thumb against my wrist, steadying my pulse while my mind raced through implications. Showing up uninvited to pitch Jasper Pendleton could torpedo our careful reputation-building. But having Millsy shepherd us in? Not showing up was unthinkable.

Beside me, Adele wiggled with uncontained excitement. I shot her a warning look— maintain composure —before turning back to Millsy. “We appreciate the opportunity.”

“Darlings, this isn’t charity.” Millsy paused at the door, those shrewd eyes missing nothing. “Your work speaks for itself. Just make sure you’re ready to show Jasper exactly what Three Corners Productions can do.”

The bell chimed her exit, leaving us to process the seismic shift in our morning plans. I held a piece of croissant up to Bright while my brain kicked into analytical mode. Having our youth program footage in front of Jasper Pendleton wasn’t just about proving our technical skills—it was about reinforcing what he’d already seen in the tribute episode. Showing him our commitment to honest storytelling rather than manufactured drama.

“If Millsy knows we did the tribute episode...” Adele’s voice trailed off meaningfully.

“Then Jasper definitely knows.” I finished her thought, the pieces clicking into place. “The youth footage isn’t about proving ourselves—it’s about showing consistency. That we can maintain quality without resorting to Malone’s tactics.”

If I could just keep my professional mask in place when facing both Jack and Malone in the same room.

Bright headbutted my chin, grounding me in the present. Right. One crisis at a time. First, we had a highlight reel to curate - one that would draw a clear line between Malone’s vision and ours.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist, counting heartbeats while Mark Malone worked his magic behind the conference room’s glass walls. His Armani suit and slicked-back hair looked as out of place in Three Corners Development Center as I felt right now. But unlike me, Malone wore his displacement like armor—every pristine inch screaming “I belong wherever I say I belong.”

“Stop fidgeting,” Adele whispered, though her own fingers drummed against her tablet. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m not fidgeting.” But I forced my hands to still. Through the glass, Malone’s practiced smile flashed as he gestured to something on the screen behind him. Even from our spot in the hallway, I could see the Hollywood polish that had once dazzled me as he showed film from Unleashed . Film that we had created. He claimed responsibility, as we’d always known he would.

The conference room and a number of offices circled the main ice rink from above, with glass windows allowing sight down below. Movement on the ice caught my eye. Jack worked with two adults, demonstrating something that had them nodding and grinning. Even from this distance, his presence commanded attention—that quiet authority that had first drawn me to him evident in every controlled movement.

My throat tightened. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

“Don’t you dare.” Adele’s voice dropped low, fierce. “We earned this shot. And Jack Vignier doesn’t get to derail our future just because you broke his heart.”

“Pretty sure it was mutual heart-breaking.” The words scraped my throat raw. “But he could sink this deal with one word to Jasper. You saw how he looked at me yesterday—like I was something disgusting stuck to his skate.”

“Oh, honey.” Adele’s tone softened. “That man couldn’t take his eyes off you. Trust me, I was watching.”

“That’s worse.” I swallowed hard, forcing my attention back to the conference room. Millsy caught my eye through the glass and winked, her designer suit a stark contrast to Malone’s LA flash. Old money versus new, playing out in fabric and attitude.

The conference room itself screamed money too—all gleaming wood and leather chairs. One wall opened completely to overlook the ice surface below, while another displayed vintage hockey memorabilia in custom cases. The kind of space designed to impress without trying too hard. Hoss had pulled this place together with every intention of it being a success, and it showed. He already had a good business going. Adding Viggy just cemented a good thing.

On the ice, Jack’s laugh carried faintly through the glass. The sound hit me like a body check, memories ambushing me before I could brace against them. That same laugh rumbling against my neck in my tiny Austin kitchen. His hands sliding around my waist as I burned another grilled cheese...

“Earth to Lily!” Adele’s elbow connected with my ribs. “Now who’s staring?”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I wasn’t—”

“Save it.” But her eyes held understanding rather than judgment. “Just remember why we’re here. What we promised when we left Austin. No more manufactured drama. No more compromising for a paycheck. Real stories.”

“Right.” I squared my shoulders, professional mask sliding into place. “Real stories.” I snorted. “That’s what we should have called our company instead of Three Corners Productions. ‘Real Stories’ sounds so much better. And maybe I need the constant reminder.”

“Stop it. You don’t need the reminder. Take a deep breath. I should have poured half a bottle of wine down your throat before we came.”

“Right.” I squared my shoulders, ignoring her wine comment. “Real stories about real people. Not clickbait.”

Like the one I’d tried to tell about Jack in that final episode. The one he hadn’t even watched.

Through the glass, Malone’s presentation seemed to be winding down. Jasper Pendleton—imposing even when seated—nodded along while Etienne Trasier, the Renegades’ head coach, scribbled notes. I shivered. The kind of men who could make or break careers with a single decision. If we disappointed them, word would spread fast and work would dry up in a heartbeat.

My pulse kicked up again. Everything we’d built in Three Corners came down to the next few minutes. Our reputation for honest storytelling versus Malone’s glossy manipulation. Real stories versus manufactured drama.

Except, I reminded myself, we were doing okay without this deal. Would doing a program for the Renegades move us along faster? Absolutely. Was it integral to our future? No. I shoved away the insidious little whisper that said, if he wanted, Jasper Pendleton could wreck any project we set our mind to, hockey or otherwise. It’d taken 3.2 seconds to understand that in the Three Corners region, what the Pendletons wanted, the Pendletons got.

Assuming Jack didn’t torpedo the whole thing just by existing in the same zip code.

“Ready?” Adele asked as Millsy motioned us toward the door.

I inhaled a small breath. Released. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Ladies.” Jasper Pendleton’s voice carried that particular timbre of old money—the kind that never needed to raise its volume to command attention. “Miller speaks highly of your work.”

I forced my fingers to steady as I connected our equipment to the room’s display system. The gleaming conference table stretched between us like a hockey rink, with Jasper at the head of the table, Etienne and Millsy on one side, Malone slouched on the side near the windows.

“We appreciate the opportunity to meet with you,” I said, my voice steadier than my fingers. Adele pulled up our presentation while I launched into our opener. “Three Corners Productions focuses on authentic storytelling. Real moments, real emotion—”

“Yes, yes.” Malone’s smooth interjection scraped against my nerves. “We’re all familiar with your particular... artistic vision.” The pause before ‘artistic’ carried enough condescension to fill an arena.

But Etienne leaned forward, his weathered face intent on our footage of Hoss’s youth team. On screen, boys and girls worked through drills, their determination evident in every movement. We’d captured the quiet moments too—the fist bumps, the celebrations, the pure joy of improvement.

“You understand the process,” Etienne said, his Quebocois accent thickening with approval. “You’re not giving just a highlight reel, but the work it takes to get there. The foundation.”

The compliment settled something in my chest. This was what we did best—capturing the quiet dedication of a kid staying late to work on his skating, the way a coach’s eyes lit up when explaining a drill, the pure satisfaction on a player’s face when muscle memory finally clicked. The moments between the moments, where real growth happened. Where passion for the game took root.

We’d spent time embedded with the youth program, learning their rhythms. Understanding why a particular drill mattered, what victory looked like in the small steps. The footage showed it all—not just the goals and celebrations, but the determination, the setbacks, the community that formed around shared dreams.

Jasper’s eyes never left the screen as we cycled through more footage. “Impressive production value for a small operation. I understand that you’re on a shoestring budget.”

“We believe quality matters. So, we’ve opted for the best equipment we could afford with minimal bells and whistles.” The words came naturally now, my earlier nerves fading as I walked them through our vision. “These kids deserve their stories told right. No manufactured drama, no—”

“Like the drama you manufactured with Jack Vignier?”

Etienne’s question slammed into my chest and stole my breath. Spots flickered in front of my eyes. Was I going to faint for the first time in my life? In here? In front of these men? In front of Malone ?

“That situation was... complicated.” My mouth went dry, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. In my peripheral vision, Malone’s smile turned predatory—the same smile he’d worn while demanding more controversy, more drama, his name splashed across the credits while I did his dirty work.

“Complicated.” Etienne’s tone stayed neutral, but his eyes held a challenge. “The most revered captain in hockey, and you used his injury to turn that episode into a smear piece. Made him look weak. Selfish.”

“Actually—” Adele started, but Malone cut her off.

“You raise a fair concern,” he said, sliding closer to the table. The absolute gall of him, positioning himself as the protector of player welfare when he’d been the one pushing for more dirt, more exposed vulnerabilities. “Given the, ah, sensitivity of these matters. The league’s reputation.” Each word landed against me like a carefully aimed shot.

Beside me, Adele’s fingers tightened on her tablet until her knuckles went white. She trembled with barely contained rage, the kind of protective fury that made her an incredible friend but could torpedo a business meeting. One sharp glance from me and she pulled back. We’d learned the hard way that in this industry, sometimes silence was the smartest strategy.

I inhaled slowly through my nose. Counted to three. Let it out. “That episode aired under Malone Productions, but I accept full responsibility for my part in it. For compromising my principles. It’s why we left—why we started our own company. To tell stories the right way.”

“Respectfully, Jasper, don’t believe that. I fired her. That’s why she’s here, trying to scrape something together.” Malone’s voice dripped false concern. “You think anyone believes you care about integrity? You’re here for the paycheck.” He gestured to the screen where our youth footage still played. “Pretty pictures and noble intentions don’t erase past choices, Ms. Sutton.

The hypocrisy of him questioning my integrity while pretending he hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing made my blood boil. But I’d learned the hard way that in this industry, the truth mattered less than perception. And right now, every eye in the room saw me as the villain of this story.

Movement beyond the glass caught my eye. Jack stood in the hallway now, his expression unreadable as he watched our presentation implode. The sight of him knocked the air from my lungs more effectively than any accusation.

Millsy cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should focus on their current work—”

“No.” Jasper’s quiet command silenced the room. “I think this is exactly what we need to focus on.” His sharp gaze pinned me in place. “Tell me, Ms. Sutton. Why should I trust you with my organization’s reputation when you’ve already proven willing to sacrifice someone else’s for ratings?”

The question hung in the air like a puck about to drop. Beyond the glass, Jack’s presence felt like a physical weight. Everything we’d built, everything we’d walked away from Malone to create, balanced on my next words.

“So these pretty pictures are meant to make us forget what you did to Jack Vignier?” Malone pressed, gesturing again to our youth footage. “Make us trust you with more players’ careers?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Mr. Malone.” Jasper’s voice cut through the tension like a skate blade on fresh ice. “I watched both episodes. The smear piece with your name on it, and the tribute that aired during playoffs.” His sharp gaze shifted to me. “The difference in tone was... notable.”

Movement in the hallway drew my attention again. Jack had moved closer to the glass, his presence magnetic even through the barrier. Our eyes met for a split second before I forced my attention back to Jasper.

“And Lily Sutton was responsible for both,” Malone said.

“The first episode was a mistake,” I said, my voice steady despite my racing pulse. “One born of fear and compromise. The tribute was the story I should have told from the start.”

“The story that tanked your career, you mean.” Malone’s smooth interjection carried just enough venom to sting. “Let’s be honest about what happened after that aired, shall we? The industry blacklist. The exile to small-town obscurity—”

Adele sprang to her feet. “That’s not true. You’re flat out exaggerating. We were on our way out the door. We did that episode on the sly after you forbid Lily from doing any ‘wholesome shit’—in your stupid words. You didn’t even know about it, you lyin’ sack of—”

“Del!”

“Okay, let’s rehash.” Trasier lit up his own tablet. “I have the episode transcript right here. What was it you said about player welfare? About the ‘toxic culture of playing through pain’?” He read directly from the screen—from the audio from that episode. “The captain’s stubborn pride threatens not just his future mobility, but the team’s playoff chances.”

The quote hit like a gut punch. I remembered writing those words, crafting them to please Malone while my conscience screamed. Behind the glass, Jack’s jaw tightened.

“You took private team business and turned it into entertainment.” Trasier’s accent thickened with each word. “Made spectacle of a man’s pain. And now you want access to my players?”

“The tribute episode—” Adele started.

“Was damage control.” Malone’s smooth voice oozed false sympathy. “A desperate attempt to salvage what was left of her reputation. Ask yourself—which version represents who she really is? The ruthless producer who exploited a man’s career for views? Or this...” He waved dismissively at our youth program footage. “Small-town documentarian preaching integrity?”

My throat closed up. Every carefully crafted response, every professional defense I’d prepared, evaporated under the weight of my past choices.

“You want to know who she really is?” A new voice joined the fray. Deep. Familiar. The sound sent electricity arcing through my veins.

Jack pushed through the conference room door, his presence filling the space like a storm front. “Then let me tell you.”

Silence fell, smothering and heavy. In my peripheral vision, Malone’s smile turned sharp. Predatory.

When Jack’s eyes found mine, for the first time since that night in Austin, I couldn’t read what lay behind them.