Page 23 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

TWENTY-TWO

What’s that saying about going to hell in a handbasket? That pretty much sums up what happened tonight.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day on a loop. And one thing is painfully clear—I’ve got to get my shit together.

We head to Chicago in a couple of days for the family visit. Which means being around my dad, my friends… and Logan.

I cannot be walking around like some lovesick idiot mooning over his little sister.

His little sister, who, at this point, probably hates my guts.

Again .

I was finally off her shit list, and what did I do? Opened my mouth and landed myself back on it—right when we finally had something. A friendship, sure. But maybe even more. Or was that just me?

Even if she felt it, too, is that even possible? After tonight, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.

And if I’m honest, maybe it never was. Not with Mia. Not when she has been completely, undeniably off-limits from the start.

Thanks, Logan.

Which is why I need to figure this out.

Whatever this is, I’ve got a problem. A slight— okay, massive —one. But not a new one.

Mia Madonna Matthews has always been a problem. But now it’s for a completely different reason.

I think I like her.

Like, really fucking like her.

It used to be her sass. Her snark. The way she’d argue with me just for the hell of it. It drove me insane and entertained me in equal measure.

But now?

It’s her smile. Her laugh. The way her eyes soften when she’s not trying to be difficult.

Fuck , I even like when she is difficult.

It’s the way her voice lowers when she’s being honest. The little wisps of hair that escape her ponytail and float around her face in the breeze. The leggings that hug her long, strong legs. That T-shirt she wears that always slips off one shoulder.

She drives me crazy.

I’m screwed.

Out of all the beautiful, sweet, intelligent women this show has offered me, she’s the one I’m falling for. The one I can’t have.

Because, of course she is.

I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand. 3:30 a.m. Less than two hours until I see her.

The thought of our morning walk—my favorite part of every day—is the only thing that finally pulls me into a restless sleep.

The next morning, she doesn’t show up.

When she’s still not there the second day, I start to lose my shit.

Bodhi swings by to brief me on today’s date with Summer.

I try to get information about Mia out of him, but he only shrugs and continues on rambling about the itinerary.

I’m barely listening—something about making up for the time she missed while she was “sick”—until he mentions we’re meeting on location.

Which means no stopping at the mansion. No chance to casually check in.

That seals it. I need a plan.

The first excuse that comes to mind? Brunch and coffee for the girls. Thoughtful. Harmless. Totally reasonable.

Since I don’t have access to a car— God, I can’t wait to get back to Chicago and behind the wheel —I walk to the same café Mia and I went to earlier this week.

I’m the only person there. Probably because it’s barely past seven. As the barista swings around, I greet her, recognizing her from the last time Mia and I were here.

“Oh, hey, it’s you again. Where’s your girlfriend?” she asks, sounding cheerful.

I wish I knew , is my first thought. I don’t immediately notice anything off with the rest of her statement. But I don’t have time to dwell on it, too focused on getting to the house as soon as possible.

I rattle off the order: six coffees, assorted pastries, and one weirdly specific French toast latte. Plus, a lemon blueberry muffin.

I don’t realize I’ve ordered Mia’s separately until the cashier repeats it back to me.

Real smooth. Might as well wear a hat that says I have a favorite.

I add in a frozen hot chocolate, the same one I got last time. Maybe Summer really was sick and Mia caught whatever it was. Nice to have a non-caffeinated option. Just in case.

A little over an hour later, I step through the front door of the mansion with a tray of drinks and baked goods. Bodhi’s already there, chatting with a couple of the girls. I say hi to everyone… except the person I actually came to see.

She’s not with the group.

I scan the room again, just to be sure.

Nothing .

Summer’s the last person I greet. When I pull back from our hug, I lower my voice. “Where’s Mia?”

“Oh, she’s in bed. She’s been sick .” Summer adds finger quotes, but the word still twists something sharp in my gut. “I think she’s just in a funk. Hasn’t been sleeping well. So, she’s taking a nap.”

“All right. I’m going to check on her. I brought breakfast.” I hold up the latte, the chocolate drink, and the muffin like I need to prove my case.

Summer smiles, and I get the sense she knows more than she’s letting on. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. Upstairs, to the left. Last door on the right. I’ll try to keep everyone distracted out here, but you better hurry before they try to mic you up.”

“Shit. Good call. Thanks.”

I take the stairs two at a time, careful not to spill the drinks. Every step amps up my nerves.

She’s probably just tired. Or overwhelmed.

Or done with me.

By the time I reach her door, I half expect to get intercepted by the crew. But the hallway is empty.

I knock once.

Then again.

No answer.

I hesitate, then ease the door open.