Page 126 of The Assist
He nudges my shoulder. “You’ve been home twelve hours and already going feral. Proud of you.”
I manage a weak smile. “Is this where you tell me I’ve ruined the family legacy?”
“Please. I’m still the golden child. You can’t ruin anything.”
I laugh, even if it’s brief. Ben always knew how to push buttons and defuse bombs at the same time. “Actually,” he adds, opening a folder on his phone screen, “I came bearing legal vengeance.”
I blink. “What?”
“Your GM. Mike, was it? He referenced the no-fraternisation clause, right?”
“Yeah. Implied I might’ve breached it. Even though the actual rule is vague and never directly enforced.”
Ben turns the screen toward me. “So, I’ve drafted a formal response. Not aggressive, but assertive. Clarifies the timeline, the lack of direct supervision or conflict of interest, your proactive disclosure, and that there’s no actual breach based on how the clause is written.”
“You drafted that in, what, an hour?”
He shrugs. “You’re my sister. And it pissed me off. They’re punishing you for being human.”
I swallow hard. “Thanks, Ben.”
“You want me to send it?”
“I…” I hesitate. “Let me sit with it. I’m not sure what I want yet.”
He nods like he understands. “Well, it’s ready if you do.”
When he leaves, I sit staring at my phone, at the letter he forwarded for me to read, for a long time. The legalese is comforting in a way, it’s structured, clean, and solid. Proof that someone has my back. That I have options. But it still doesn’t fix the hollow ache under my ribs. It doesn’t make me feel less alone.
It’s nearly nine when I finally open my messages again.
There’s one from Dylan. I hesitate as my finger hovers.
Then I tap and read.
“I know you said not to come after you, so I won’t. Not with cars or flowers or grand speeches.
But I’m here, Mia.
I’m here in every way I know how to be.
I get it now; the pressure. The noise. The way it feels like the walls are closing in and everyone’s waiting for you to mess up. I used to think I was used to it. That it didn’t touch me. But watching you get dragged through it? Watching them twist this thing between us into something ugly? That wrecked me.
Because what we have isn’t ugly.
It’s the only thing in my life that feels real.
I love you.
Not in a flashy, “shout it from the stands” kind of way. I love you in the way I breathe. Quiet, constant, necessary.
You make me better. Not just at hockey. At everything. At being a man I can live with.
And if this is where we fall apart, if this is the line you need to draw, I’ll respect it. I won’t come knocking.
But I’ll still be here.
Still loving you.
