Page 61 of Price of Victory
It had been a year since everything changed. A year since I’d walked away from my family’s empire and chosen love over legacy. Twelve months of building something real with someone who saw me as more than just a Whitmore heir, who loved me for who I was rather than what I could become.
The year had been a roller coaster of ups and downs that made my old life look sedate by comparison. My father’s healthscandal had only been the beginning of the family’s troubles. The media attention had been relentless, with reporters digging into every aspect of Whitmore Entertainment’s business practices. By spring, the board had lost confidence in my father’s leadership entirely, and he’d quietly resigned as CEO while barely managing to avoid the devastating lawsuits that could have destroyed everything.
It should have been his worst nightmare, but in a strange way, the forced retirement had been exactly what he needed. Without the constant pressure of running a media empire, he’d focused on his recovery and started examining some of the choices he’d made over the years. He’d thrown himself into charity work and angel investing, rebuilding his reputation one good deed at a time.
The change in him had been remarkable. The driven, ruthless businessman I’d grown up fearing had been replaced by someone more thoughtful, more present. He still called me regularly, but now our conversations were about my happiness rather than my corporate potential.
Graduation had been bittersweet. Walking across the stage to receive my diploma felt like closing a chapter of my life that had been defined by other people’s expectations. But watching Rhett graduate summa cum laude, seeing the pride on his parents’ faces as he accepted his degree in economics, had been one of the best moments of my life.
The goodbyes with our teammates had been harder than I’d expected. These guys who’d started as strangers had become family, and scattering to different cities and different futures had felt like breaking up something sacred.
But the hardest part had been saying goodbye to the certainty of our old life. College had been a bubble where our biggest concerns were practice schedules and exam dates. The realworld was messier, more complicated, full of decisions that didn’t come with syllabi or clear right answers.
Rhett had been drafted by a lesser-known team here in Chicago, which had made the decision to stay together easier but hadn’t eliminated all the uncertainty. Professional hockey was a different beast entirely, with longer seasons and more pressure and the constant awareness that one bad injury could end everything.
But watching him play now, seeing the joy on his face every time he stepped onto the ice, I had no doubt that he’d make it to the NHL within the year. He was playing at a level that made scouts take notice, and his team’s profile was rising with every game they won.
More importantly, he was happy. Genuinely, radiantly happy in a way that made everything else feel secondary.
As for me, I was still figuring things out. My NHL dreams had been put on hold after my extended absence from the team, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted them back. The time away from hockey had given me perspective on what I actually enjoyed about the sport versus what I’d been chasing for external validation.
Instead, I’d started a consulting business focused on helping young players navigate the transition from college to professional hockey. It was rewarding work that used my business education and my understanding of the sport, and it felt like something that was entirely mine.
I still had access to my trust fund and the family wealth, but I tried not to rely on it. Our modest apartment was paid for with money we’d earned, furnished with things we’d chosen together, decorated with photos from our travels and mementos from our shared life.
“You’re brooding again,” Rhett said from the bathroom doorway, adjusting his cufflinks with the kind of practiced easethat came from years of formal events. “I can practically hear the gears turning from here.”
I turned to look at him and felt my breath catch the way it still did after all this time. He was devastatingly handsome in his charcoal-gray suit, the tailored lines emphasizing his lean build and broad shoulders. But it was his hair that made my pulse quicken. He’d let his usual buzz cut grow out over the past few months, and now it was long enough to curl slightly at the ends, giving him a softer look that made me want to run my fingers through it.
“Just thinking about the year,” I said, abandoning my own tie to cross the room toward him. “How much has changed.”
“Good changes or bad changes?”
“Mostly good,” I said, reaching up to straighten his tie even though it didn’t need straightening. “Though I still can’t believe your parents agreed to attend the same event as mine.”
“My dad’s curious about your father’s transformation. Mom’s just hoping for some good gossip.” Rhett’s hands found my waist, pulling me closer until there was barely any space between us. “What about you? Ready to face the music?”
“With you? I’m ready for anything.”
He smiled, the expression lighting up his entire face in a way that made my chest tight with affection. “You say that now, but wait until my mother starts asking when we’re getting married.”
“Is she going to do that?”
“Probably. She’s been dropping hints for months about how nice it would be to have another wedding to plan.”
The mention of marriage sent a little thrill through me that I tried not to examine too closely. We’d been living together for eight months now, and the domestic routine felt so natural it was easy to forget we were still technically just boyfriends. But talking about forever, about making this official in the eyes of our families and the law, felt both terrifying and inevitable.
“What would you tell her?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
“That we’re in no hurry,” he said, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. “That we’re taking things one day at a time.”
“Very diplomatic.”
“I have my moments.”
I leaned up to kiss him, intending it to be brief and sweet, but the moment our lips touched, something ignited between us. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I could taste the mint of his toothpaste and something darker, more complex that was uniquely him.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing harder, and I could see the desire darkening his brown eyes.
