COLE'S POV
I replayed the moment with Mia in my mind for as long as I could.
Everything about her was driving me insane. Her beautiful eyes, her sweet scent, her soft voice. We had narrowly escaped her father, and I wanted to make sure that situation never presented itself again.
Mia had already been through too much.
I made a mental note to speak to my lawyer the next day.
True to my word, I was at my lawyer's office the next day. The smell of old paper lingered in the air. I sat across from him in a back room with the blinds drawn. Eighteen months of keeping my head down, and now I was here, crossing lines I swore I wouldn't touch.
"I want you to get it done," I said quietly. "Sealed records, juvenile stuff, restraining orders, anything you can get without lighting the whole league on fire."
My lawyer was a sharp-eyed man named Reyes who'd handled my contracts since I was twenty-two. He leaned back and studied me. "This is about the Vance girl, isn't it?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. He slid a thin folder across the table.
"Marcus Webb. He had two restraining orders before he turned eighteen. One girlfriend dropped the charge after a big payout. The other one had hospital visits. The pattern is clear if anyone's bothered enough to actually look at it, but it's buried deep. Some powerful friends of his made sure of that."
I stared at the folder. "How deep is it?"
"Deep enough that your head coach should want to see it. And from what I've heard, he doesn't."
Of course he didn't. David Vance had already chosen his winning horse.
I took the folder and stood, ignoring the pain in my knee. "Keep digging. Quietly."
Reyes nodded once. "You know this could blow up in your face, Cole. You're playing with fire and should be very careful."
"Fire's the only thing keeping me warm these days," I muttered, and left before he could talk me out of it.
There's no going back now, not when Mia's life is on the line.
"Welcome back, Coach — we hadn't seen you since we arrived. Thought you took the day off," one of the boys greeted me.
"I'm good. Y'all better get rested to begin your drills," I said, and they nodded.
As I watched the boys slide through the ice, my eyes kept drifting toward the opposite end. Marcus was laughing with a couple of forwards like he already owned the place. A smile on his face, his snake tattoo peeking above his collar. Every time he moved, I pictured Mia's face — pale, shaking, terrified.
I blew the whistle harder than necessary. "Webb! You're with me. Conditioning. Now."
He jogged over, still wearing that smug grin. "Whatever you say, Coach."
"Get to work, Webb."
I worked him like a dog. Ladder drills, heavy bag work for his hands, suicide sprints until his shorts were soaked through. Every time he slowed down, I was in his face.
"Problem, Webb?"
"No," he panted, wiping sweat from his eyes. "Just wondering why an old cripple like you is so invested in my conditioning."
My jaw tightened. I stepped closer, my voice low enough that only he could hear. "Keep pushing, and I'll make sure every practice feels like this. Touch her again, and I won't stop at conditioning."
His eyes burned into mine, the mask slipping just enough to show how angry he was. Then he smiled. "Didn't know you had a thing for used goods, Ryder."
I nearly hit him. Again. The only thing that stopped me was the sound of soft footsteps behind me.
Mia.
She stood at the edge of the ice in scrubs, her hair tied in a messy bun that made my heart race. Her green eyes flicked between us.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
The last thing either of us wanted was to start a work rumor.
"Perfect," Marcus said, skating backward with a wink in her direction. "Just getting some extra attention from the coach here."
I watched him glide away before turning to her. "What are you doing down here?"
"Checking on the stubborn man who probably reinjured his knee yesterday," she said, crossing her arms. That sharp tongue of hers was back, but her eyes were soft. Worried. "You look like shit."
"Charming," I muttered.
We stared at each other a beat too long. The kind of look that said too much in a room full of people who weren't supposed to notice. Players were already heading to the locker room, staff filing out.
"Come with me," I said.
She didn't argue. Smart woman.
I led her through the back hallway to the old equipment storage room, the same one where she had broken down and told me everything. The door clicked shut behind us.
It was dimly lit, and we were both painfully aware of each other's presence. The air between us felt charged, like the whole day had just been a slow walk toward this exact moment.
For a second, neither of us moved. I could hear her breathing change. Then she was in my arms.
I kissed her like a man drowning. Hard. Hungry.
Weeks of pretending I didn't want this were catching up to me all at once. My hands gripped her waist as she rose up on her toes to meet me. Her fingers twisted in my shirt, pulling me closer, like she was afraid I'd disappear.
"Cole," she gasped against my mouth.
I backed her against the shelves, careful even as my body screamed for more. Her messy bun came half undone under my fingers. She tasted like coffee and something warmer underneath it, something that was just her. My knee protested as I pressed closer, but I didn't care. I'd take the pain if it meant feeling her like this, warm, and choosing me, even for a moment.
"This is crazy," she said between kisses, her voice breathless.
Her hands slid under my shirt, tracing the scars on my abdomen like she was memorizing them, like she wanted to know every part of what the game had taken from me. "We shouldn't," she whispered, even as she kissed me harder.
"I know." My voice was rough. "Tell me to stop."
She didn't. Instead, she nipped at my bottom lip, and I groaned into her mouth. The world narrowed to the feel of her against my body, the little sounds she made, the way her breath hitched when my hand slipped under her scrub top and found bare skin. Every point of contact between us felt like static, like we'd both been waiting weeks to finally touch.
I wanted to devour her. I wanted to lock the door and never let the outside world back in. I wanted.
Footsteps coming down the hallway broke my train of thought.
"Mia?" Coach Vance's voice boomed, irritated. "Mia, where the hell are you? I need those medical reports."
We froze.
Her eyes went wide with panic. This was the second time her father had nearly caught us together.
My hand was still under her shirt. I pressed a finger to her lips. She nodded once, eyes locked on mine. Trusting me. That look hit harder than any check into the boards ever had.
The footsteps paused right outside the door.
My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear for myself, but for her. If Vance found us like this.
"Mia!" he called again, louder. The handle rattled.
I pulled her tighter against me, shielding her body with mine as if that would somehow make us invisible. Her fingers dug into my arms.
The door didn't open.
After what felt like forever, the footsteps moved on, followed by muttered curses under his breath.
We stayed locked together long after the sound faded. Her forehead dropped to my chest. I could feel her trembling.
"Cole," she whispered. "This is going to destroy us."
I tilted her chin up, brushing my thumb across her swollen lips. "Not if I have things under control."
Her eyes searched mine, looking for the lie.
I kissed her again, softer this time, like I was making her a promise.
But as we slipped out of the room separately, I knew the truth.
Vance's voice calling her name wasn't just a close call.
It was a warning. We were running out of time, and the clock was already ticking.
