Page 68 of Checks & Bonds

I stood there, feeling the weight of Richard's words pressing down on me. My fists clenched at my sides, but I kept my expression neutral. Morgan watched me carefully from his chair.

"This about Freya?" Morgan asked, leaning back and crossing his arms.

I stiffened, caught off-guard that he even knew about her. "How do you?—"

"Look," he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm the last person to impart advice, but..."

"You think I shouldn't let a woman come between me and my future?" I asked, my voice tight.

Morgan furrowed his brow, looking almost offended. "What? Fuck no. If she means something to you, you do anything for her. Shit, Mathers. You saw what I did at the fucking Masquerade Ball. To my own fucking son, no less. Fucking Liam Wolfe had to pick me up from jail."

I stared at him, taken aback by his bluntness. "You'd do it again?"

Morgan sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Shit," he muttered. "Of course I would. Fucking stupid, isn't it? She's the last person I should fucking want. And I haven't seen her in months, but..." He shook his head as if trying to shake off the memory. "Goddammit, I'm running my fucking mouth." He looked up at me then, eyes sharp and tired all at once. "Get the fuck out of my office, Mathers."

For a moment, I just stood there, processing everything he had said. Then my lips twitched into something that might have been a smile.

"Thanks," I said quietly before turning and leaving his office.

As I walked down the hallway back toward the locker room, Morgan's words echoed in my mind. Maybe there was more to this than just choosing between Freya and my future.

Maybe they were one and the same.

21

Freya

By the time I woke up, Henry was gone.

Morning practice, I remembered.

I sat up and stretched, the fabric of his shirt warm against my skin. His scent clung to me, and I breathed him in, letting it fill my lungs.

Last night came rushing back—the way Jensen had lunged at me, fury in his eyes. I could still feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the raw fear that had gripped me. Henry had saved me, appearing like a storm, fists flying until Jensen lay crumpled on the floor.

We’d ended up playing poker afterward. A ridiculous thing to do after such chaos, but it had felt strangely normal. The tension between us melted away with each dealt card and stolen glance. I won, somehow—against all odds.

My cheeks heated at the thought of Henry's expression when I laid down my winning hand. He’d been surprised, maybe even impressed. That memory brought a small smile to my lips despite everything.

And what I won…

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching again to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep. The room felt emptier without him, an odd sensation given how little time we’d actually spent together since our engagement.

The West Wing incident flashed in my mind—his anger, his possessiveness. Yet last night showed a different side of him, one that was protective and perhaps even caring in his own rough way.

With a sigh, I moved to the bathroom to freshen up. My reflection in the mirror showed someone who had been through too much in too short a time. Dark circles hinted at sleepless nights and stress. But there was also a spark in my eyes that hadn’t been there before—a determination to navigate this twisted path we found ourselves on.

The shower called to me, a necessity where I could wash away the remnants of the night. I turned the knob and waited for the water to heat up, steam beginning to fill the bathroom. I stepped in, letting the hot spray hit my shoulders and cascade down my body. The sensation was both soothing and invigorating, like shedding an old skin.

I stood under the stream, eyes closed, letting the water work its magic. My muscles relaxed, the tension of the last few days ebbing away with each drop. I reached for Henry's shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into my palm before massaging it into my scalp. The familiar scent of pine filled the air, mingling with the steam and creating a calming atmosphere.

As I rinsed out the suds, I thought about everything that had happened since Henry and I had become entangled in this mess. The engagement, Ravenwood, our arguments—each memory played out like a scene from a chaotic play. But here, under the steady flow of water, it all seemed distant, almost surreal.

I grabbed the soap next, since he didn't have conditioner, running it over my skin in slow circles. The act felt almostritualistic, a way to cleanse not just my body but my mind as well. I watched as the soap suds spiraled down the drain, taking with them fragments of doubt and fear.

I tilted my head back, letting the water run through my hair until it felt like silk between my fingers. For a moment, I imagined a different life—one where I wasn’t bound by contracts or engagements. A life where choices were mine to make freely. Would Henry still pick me without a contract? Would I still pick him? But reality pulled me back as quickly as it had let me wander.

With one last rinse, I turned off the shower and stood there for a moment longer, letting the final droplets fall from my hair and eyelashes. Wrapping myself in a plush towel, I stepped out onto the cool tile floor. The bathroom mirror was fogged up; I wiped it with my hand and caught sight of myself again.

---