I had three client presentations due tomorrow and a marketing strategy that was nowhere near finished, but all I could think about was Cole coming home in two weeks.
It had been two months since I'd seen him in person. Two months of video calls and texts that came later and later each night.
Grayson would tell me I was overthinking again. My stepfather had been the steady one since Mom remarried ten years ago—the kind of dad who actually showed up, who remembered what mattered.
I pulled my laptop onto the bed, staring at the half-finished campaign for Hopkins Company.
Pathetic.
I shoved the laptop aside and reached for my nightstand drawer.
The feeling of having my vibe pressed right where I needed it, imagining Cole in his blue practice jersey, hair slicked back, hands braced on the headboard above me…
Close. So close.
The door slammed open.
My mother stood in the doorway like she hadn't just walked in on something she definitely shouldn't have seen. When I scrambled to sit up, tangled in my sheets and trying to shove the vibe under my pillow, she smiled.
Actually smiled.
"Oh darling, I'm so sorry I interrupted. But playtime's over."
"God, Mom, knocking is a thing adults do." My face was on fire. I shoved the vibe into my nightstand drawer so fast I almost broke my finger.
"Your door was wide open, Olive. Be grateful it was me and not Hunter."
God, if my stepbrother had walked in on that I'd have to move to another state.
"Mom, stop. Please just stop talking."
She pressed her lips together, but amusement danced in her eyes. I wanted to die right there.
Living in the renovated space above the garage was supposed to give me independence, but it didn't stop my mother from barging in whenever she felt like it. Still, it beat paying two grand a month for some shoebox apartment in Seattle.
"We need to talk to you." Her voice changed, got serious. "Grayson and I have some exciting news."
Exciting news in this family usually meant something that benefited everyone except me.
"Olive Monroe, I want you downstairs in five minutes or I'm dragging you out of that bed myself."
The second the door closed I grabbed my phone. I needed to hear Cole's voice, needed something good to balance out whatever disaster my parents were about to drop on me.
I hit his contact. One ring. Two rings. Three.
Cole always answered. Always picked up when I called.
The screen flickered—video call accepted—and suddenly I was staring at a shaking camera propped up on something, angled weird.
I could see him.
Cole.
Not alone.
"Oh god, yes—Cole, right there—"
A woman's voice hit me first, high-pitched and breathless. For a second my brain couldn't process what I was seeing.
Cole on his back, head thrown against the pillow, mouth open as he groaned. A girl on top of him, blonde hair spilling down her back as she moved.
"Fuck, you feel so good—"
"Sophia—Christ, Sophia—"
His name for her. The way he said it like it was something precious. The phone jolted with every thrust.
I should've hung up.
Should've thrown my phone across the room and pretended I'd never seen this, never heard this.
I just sat there like an idiot. Frozen. Watching my boyfriend of two years moan another woman's name.
"God, I'm close—Cole, I'm so close—"
His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down harder. That deep groan I thought he only made with me—
The phone slipped from my fingers.
It clattered onto my bed face-up. I could still hear them—the wet sounds, her moans, his name in her mouth over and over.
Two years.
Two years of standing in freezing arenas watching him play. Two years of driving three hours just to see him for a weekend. Two years of wearing his jersey like any of it mattered.
The entire time he'd been with someone else.
Someone named Sophia.
I grabbed the phone and stabbed at the screen until the call ended. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hit the right button.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry over him.
But my throat was tight and my eyes were burning and I hated that I could still hear her voice in my head.
I pressed my palms against my eyes hard enough that it hurt.
He wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth a single tear, wasn't worth the two years I'd given him or any of it.
But my face was already wet.
*******
I didn't bother fixing my hair or washing my face before heading downstairs. What was the point.
The main house smelled like coffee and whatever my mom had baked earlier that week.
The second I opened the door both my parents' heads snapped toward me.
"I was about to come drag you out of—" Mom stopped mid-sentence. "Olive, what's wrong?"
I tried to say something, anything, but the second she asked, it was like a dam broke inside my chest.
I sobbed, ugly and gasping.
Grayson was already moving. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled me against his chest, one hand going to my hair and the other to my back, holding me while I fell apart.
"Shh, hey, it's okay, you're okay."
"I caught him cheating." My voice sounded wrecked.
Silence.
Complete silence.
I watched Mom's mouth fall open. Watched Grayson's jaw get tight.
"That Buffalo pretty boy with the perfect hair?" Mom's voice came out sharp now. Angry.
"Diane," Grayson warned.
"You deserve better than him, Olive. You always have."
I wanted to believe him. Right now all I could think about was Cole's face, about the way he'd looked at me the last time and said I love you right before asking if I could pick up his dry cleaning.
"We actually had something we wanted to tell you." Mom's voice softened. "Hunter got the call. He's officially playing for the Chicago Wolves."
My stomach dropped. "He got called up?"
The promise I'd made eight months ago, ‘when you make the NHL, I'll be front row at your first game’ crashed into the reality of Cole's face, Cole's team, Cole's city.
Hunter had been there for me through everything. Every breakup, every bad day, every moment I needed someone who understood what it felt like to be the spare part in someone else's story.
"The game is next week," Grayson added quietly. "I know the timing is complicated."
"Cole is on that team." My voice cracked. "I can't—I can't see him right now."
"Then don't look at him," Mom said sharply. "You made a promise to your brother."
Guilt twisted in my chest because she was right. I had promised. Back when it seemed like a far-off dream, something sweet and hypothetical, we'd joked about over pizza and bad movies.
Now it was real and the timing couldn't be worse.
"We have tickets to his first game. Exclusive access—"
"I don't know if I can do this."
Grayson squeezed my shoulder. "Hunter would understand if you couldn't make it. But he really wants you there, sweetheart."
Mom grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and dropped it into my lap. "That's your brother right there. Front page of Sports Illustrated."
I looked down at Hunter's face staring back at me.
The headline read NEW BLOOD: The Wolves' Secret Weapon.
Pride swelled in my chest despite everything. He'd worked so hard for this.
I flipped to the next page, trying to focus on anything other than the thought of seeing Cole again.
What I saw made my entire body go still.
An ad for some energy drink. But I barely registered what the product was.
The man in the photo had his shirt half-unbuttoned. Abs so defined they didn't even look real. The energy drink tipped against his mouth, liquid spilling over his bottom lip, dripping down his jaw and his throat.
His eyes were piercing. Cold blue. Staring directly at the camera like he could see through the page.
Like he could see me.
My thighs clenched.
"Olive?"
Grayson's voice snapped me back. I'd been staring at the photo for way too long.
"Yeah, sorry, I just—" I cleared my throat. "Who's this guy?"
Grayson's entire expression changed. Got dark and tight. He gripped his coffee mug hard enough I thought it might crack.
"Zane Mercer."
The way he said the name made it sound like it physically hurt him.
"Who?"
"My nemesis." His voice was completely flat.
"Your nemesis? What are you, a supervillain?"
"He's the NHL's top player," Mom said, her voice careful now. "And he's made Grayson's life hell since he started coaching. That man did things that forced him to leave the game entirely."
I'd heard stories over the years. Vague references about someone who'd ruined everything, someone powerful and untouchable who'd destroyed his coaching career. But I'd never heard an actual name.
Zane Mercer.
Top player for the Chicago Wolves.
And apparently the last person Grayson wanted me thinking about.
I stared at the photo again. At those cold blue eyes, that dangerous jaw, the body that looked like it had been carved from stone.
At least if I had to spend a week in Chicago watching my ex-boyfriend pretend I didn't exist, there'd be something worth looking at.
I closed the magazine and stood up, tucking it under my arm before either of them could take it back.
"Fine. I'll go to Chicago."
Mom blinked at me. "Really?"
"Really." I met Grayson's eyes. "I promised Hunter I'd be there for his first game. I'm not breaking that promise because Cole turned out to be a piece of shit."
Grayson's expression softened. Relief mixed with something that looked like pride.
"Besides," I added, trying to be casual even though my heart was racing, "maybe watching some hockey will help me move on."
