Page 114 of Goalie's Obsession

I squint. “Okay… whatexactlyis happening here?”

Emma winces and flashes me a sheepish smile.

“Nothing! Forget I said anything. Just... enjoy the vibes. Buy some coffee. Maybe don’t wander too far down the west tunnel unless you want to get run over by a zamboni.”

“Wait, what—”

I turn. And freeze.

Because stepping out of the shadows at the end of the concourse, flanked by a wall of warm stadium light spilling in behind them, are the last two people I was prepared to see today.

Ethan and Connor.

My stomach instantly knots as they approach, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

Connor’s in a fitted charcoal hoodie rolled to the elbows, sleeves tugged up over his forearms like he just finished doing something frustrating and physical and—ugh, of course—he looks stupidly good doing it.

He's also wearing that damn smirk. The one that says he knows exactly what he's doing, exactly how it affects me. The one that reminds me of rooftop dates and champagne kisses and sheets tangled around our bodies in LA.

No. I'm still angry. He doesn't get to just swagger down this hallway and expect everything to be fine.

But God, the way he moves... Like he owns the place, like he knows I'm watching.

I rip my gaze away from him before I do something embarrassing, like melt into the linoleum.

Ethan, on the other hand, is standing taller than I’ve seen in weeks. Shoulders squared, jaw clean-shaven for once. He’s wearing a clean Icehawks hoodie and the hesitant hope of someone who’s trying. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't look like he's drowning.

But that doesn’t mean I’m letting them off the hook.

"What the hell is going on?" I cross my arms, aiming for stern but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

Connor stops a few feet away. "Come with us?"

Oh, sure. Just like that. Like we didn’t have a massive fight. Like he didn’t decide to “protect me” byexcludingme from my own brother’s downfall.

“No thanks,” I say sweetly, a slight flutter of my lashes adding to the sarcasm. “I’ve already got a front-row seat to the ‘Keep Lucy In the Dark’ show."

Ethan winces. Connor… smirks. Of course he smirks. Like he’s proud of me for fighting him on it.

“Luce… we just want to show you something,” Ethan tries, his voice earnest, unsure. “It’s... important.”

“Oh, is it a visual aid? A pie chart, maybe? One that explains why the two men who claim to love me both decided I was toodelicateto participate in my own family drama?” My voice cracks, just enough to sting. “I’ve been holding this family together since I waseight. And now you decide I need protecting?”

Connor takes a slow step forward. I catch the twitch of his jaw again because he’s fighting a grin now. The asshole likes it when I’m mouthy.

“You’re not delicate,” he says, voice low, like it’s sacred truth. “You’re the strongest person I know. That’s why this—” he gestures toward the shadowy arena “—is for you.”

I blink. My brows draw together.

“For me?” I echo, stomach tightening. “What’s for me?”

Connor and Ethan guide me through the corporate suite doors, and my breath catches at the view below.

The Icehawks Arena isalive.

Kids in brand new jerseys skate circles around Blake, their laughter echoing up to the box seats. Volunteers string banners across the glass while others arrange tables with pamphlets about gambling addiction resources and youth hockey programs.

And there, blazing across the jumbotron in brilliant green and white:"ICEHAWKS LEGENDS CHARITY GAME: Tonight only, feat. Eli Thompson!"

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