Page 87 of Unleashed

I’d spent months angry about the playoff episode, about how it had exposed my weakness. But this version? This showed my real strength. Not in spite of the injury or the loss, but because of how I’d handled everything the game threw at me. How I’d helped others handle it too.

The whiskey sat forgotten as emotion crashed through me. Pride. Gratitude. The profound relief of knowing that even without that final trophy, I’d built something that mattered. Something that would outlast any championship banner.

My legacy wasn’t etched in silver after all. It lived in the players I’d mentored, in the lives I’d touched, in the way the game would be played long after I’d hung up my skates.

And somehow, Lily had seen that. Had found a way to show not just what I’d done, but who I’d been. Who I still was.

I stood, moved to the window. The mountains rose dark against the star-filled sky, solid and unchanging. Like they’d been here forever, waiting for me to find my way to them.

To her.

All this time I’d been carrying the weight of my last season—the injury, the loss, the bitter taste ofalmost. But watching myself through Lily’s lens, seeing how she truly saw me... Something inside my chest loosened. Expanded.

She hadn’t cut together some overproduced farewell. She hadn’t just captured my career. She’d seenme. The man behind the C. The leader who put everyone else first. The teacher who found satisfaction in others’ success.

And maybe this had been her goodbye. The story she chose to tell instead of the one Malone wanted.

She’d told me she was turning him down. At the time, I hadn’t cared. But now? Seeing this—what she made, where she ended up—it felt like she meant it. Like she walked away from a fight she’d spent years trying to win.

My head said to be cautious. To remember how much it hurt when she’d betrayed me. But leading with my head had never worked when it came to Lily Sutton. Maybe because what we had was never about what should be—it was about seeing each other clearly, even when we tried to hide.

I felt stronger now. Ready for whatever came next. Not just the coaching or the partnership with Hoss, but everything else too. The next chapter was mine to write, and for the first time since hanging up my skates, that felt like freedom instead of loss.

The mountains stood silent, offering no answers. But they didn’t need to. I already knew what I wanted.

Time to stop playing defense.

Time to start on my tomorrows.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lily

Hockey Rule #101: Let your next move speak louder than your last shift

Media Rule #101: Endings don’t sell.

IshovedthroughSugarSquared’s heavy wooden door at 5:30 a.m., desperate for my first cup of dirty chai. I’d given up on sleep around three in the morning. Frustrated by the process of analyzing every micro-expression that had crossed Jack’s face yesterday at the hockey center. Every subtle shift in his jaw. The way his shoulders had tensed when he’d spotted me.

Here. Real. Close enough to touch.

I inhaled a small breath. Counted to three. Released.

Behind me, Bright rumbled from his backpack. My boy was definitely not a morning cat. But even my grump had a price—specifically the plain croissant Rae always saved for him. Working from the bakery didn’t just fill the time. It gave the day shape, made this new life feel like something I could actually keep.

The aroma of butter and caramelized sugar drifting out of Rae’s kitchen triggered my own taste buds, so I had no room to gripe. And Rae’s place was the sort to have an Instagrammer drooling and even my filmmaker mind could see the appeal. When the sun rose in a couple hours, perfect golden light would spill across century-old floorboards. The vintage copper espresso machine would throw off honeyed reflections under the Edison bulbs. The bakery made a great place to sit and people watch as the world woke up.

My gaze swept the early morning crowd, cataloging faces and dynamics with the precision born from years of reading rooms. Pre-dawn regulars dotted the tables. By the counter, a woman in a designer suit that whispered old money chatted with Rae. Tablet tucked under one arm, Louboutin pumps that probably cost more than my monthly rent... She navigated the space with the practiced ease of someone who belonged, despite the power suit’s stark contrast to Three Corners’ usual casual vibe. Someone to know, clearly.

“The usual?” Rae’s perpetual scowl softened as I approached the counter. “You’re early today.”

“Please. Dirty chai. Maybe an extra shot, though.” I managed a smile that felt only slightly brittle around the edges. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with our newest resident NHL legend, would it?” Rae’s eyes narrowed with entirely too much perception. My fingers tightened around the strap of Bright’s pack—small-town gossip apparently moved faster than TikTok trends. Before I could deflect, she gestured to the power suit beside me. “Miller Pendleton, meet Lily Sutton. Millsy is one ofthosePendletons, but she actually works. An attorney in the family firm. Lily here runs Three Corner’s first ever production company.”

“Sutton? The Sutton behindAcesUnleashed?” Millsy’s perfectly shaped brows lifted. “That tribute episode was absolutely brilliant.”

The mention of my final work with the Aces sent my pulse skittering. That she knew I was involved at all caught my attention—my name had been buried, not splashed across the opening sequence like Malone’s. I pressed my thumb against my wrist, steadying myself. “Thank you. Though I didn’t expect anyone around here to have seen it.”

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