Page 7 of Well That Happened

She was off-limits.

So I locked it down.

Hard.

And I’ve been trying to keep it that way ever since.

And now she’s going to live here?

No. Absolutely not.

Except—

It’s Fletcher. And I owe him everything.

My phone buzzes again. Different name this time.

Grayson:Caleb just told me Rilee’s moving in.

You good?

I stare at that one too.

Grayson’s newer to the team. Transferred in last year from out west—something about a toxic program, a hazing scandal no one talks about but everyone heard rumors about. Never got the full story, and he doesn’t offer it.

But he’s solid. Quiet, dependable. Keeps his head down. Doesn’t chase drama.

Damn good in goal. Unshakable under pressure. Which, coming from me, means something.

Good guy, too. One of the few I’d trust to have my back when shit goes sideways. I’m not surprised he’s checking in.

Am I good?

Hell no.

Having Rilee under the same roof is like tossing a lit match into a room soaked in gasoline.

I’ve wanted her since the night Fletcher got hurt, and I hate myself for it.

Because wanting her feels like betrayal. And letting her in—even a little—would be a huge distraction.

And that’s not a door I’m ready to open.

It’s my senior year. My last shot to get noticed by the pros. I’m already carrying this team on my back, trying to get us to the Frozen Four again.

I don’t have room for distractions.

Especially not ones with big eyes, sharp comebacks, and a habit of invading every corner of my focus without trying.

Rilee Jameson is chaos in a five-foot-four frame, and I need quiet.

I need control.

And she’s the exact opposite of both.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m out of the shower, half-dressed, and still trying to convince myself that this isn’t the worst idea in the history of ideas.

Caleb’s in the kitchen making pancakes like he’s blissfully unaware of the chaos that’s about to invade our lives.

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