Page 54 of Blitz
“You should send them a fruit basket,” Rebecca deadpanned and patted my shoulder.
Something about having her here made me smile. Despite my worries, she was part of my life now, and my father could do something to get to her, ruin her. She said she didn’t give a shit, happy with college, with a boyfriend called Colin, who was probably still recovering from my speech about what I’d do if he hurt my sister. Poor bastard because he had Tom backing me up.
She forgave me, though—said she was so happy to have a big brother—and at first, I couldn’t believe her, so deep in denial I could ever be someone who was a good person to know. I’d unpicked a lot since November, and with Christmas only a week away, I felt I could take on the world. Telling the Railers my truth was step one. Noah being right there beside me… a friend… and this morning, Cap gave a speech, and the rest of the team smiled and hugged me.
He talked about not listening to social media noise, about the clickbait shit that would be out there, and we all knew he was talking from experience. His divorce was final, his marriage gone, and it had been beaten to death,everywhere.
Still, he was the best at what he did, and somehow he led us to good things on the ice. We were at the top of our division now with room to spare, and from the next game against the LA Storm, Noah was moving to my wing for a trial, which he didn’t know yet, and I couldn’t wait for the coach to tell him.
Yes, Tom and I were a secret for now, tucked away behind closed doorsandcareful glances, but Tom’s love—quiet, constant, and fiercely loyal—had become my anchor. He didn’t just make me smile; he reminded me how to want happiness again. Whenever he pulled a laugh from me, it chipped away at the thick armor I’d built around myself. What he gave me wasn’t loud or showy, but it was steady, and it lit a fire in the dark corners I’d long forgotten. For the first time, I felt seen. Loved. Safe.
But as soon as the Temple of the Radiant Truth compound came into sight—those white towers rising like a false promise, ostentatious and gleaming, a twisted parody of a church—my gut twisted into knots. It wasn’t only the architecture, all gleam and grandeur with nothing real underneath. It was a memory, thick in my throat. That place had shaped me, broken me, convinced me that I was less-than unless I was exactly what they demanded. Seeing it again made my skin itch, my hands clench. It was like staring down a lie.
“Sure you want to do this, babe?” Tom asked as the gates loomed.
No. But I had to.
I stepped out alone.
Only, I wasn’t alone for long. Rebecca, cap pulled low and eyes sharp with purpose, climbed out and came straight to my side. She gripped my hand—tight, defiant—and I opened my mouth to tell her to get back in the car, to stay out of this, even threw Tom a look, but all he did was shrug. Rebecca knew her mind, and I guess I was lucky that Tom had agreed to back off and not go in with me. Bec stared at me with a stubborn tilt to her chin, and I knew I was wasting my breath.
“Don’t say anything,” I warned, low. “You don’t know him?—”
“He doesn’t knowme,” she shot back, so damn fierce.
There was fire in her—more than I’d ever had—and suddenly, it felt as though the roles had been reversed. As though she was the protector now. The strong one. The one who could keepmefrom breaking.
Security saw me coming. There were big gates and a bigger camera. I stood before the lens, and it clicked once; no one said a word. Access was granted. The prodigal son had returned.
The gate buzzed open, and I walked through with as much confidence as I could find. The building hadn’t changed;, all white stone and gold trim. Motivational scripture was painted ten feet high along the outer walls—salvation for sinners and discipline for the wayward. Every image came with a QR code to donate. Inside, it smelled like beeswax polish and judgment, and I headed straight past security, Rebecca gripping my hand, sending out a cheery morning to the woman at the desk.
The receptionist blinked as we passed. “Wait! You need a security pass?—”
We didn’t stop.
My footsteps echoed in the vaulted hallway, and the doors to the inner sanctum were exactly where I remembered. I pushed through, and there he was.
Cole Harrington II. Pastor Cole. Preacher. CEO of salvation—if you paid him enough.
He looked older. Fewer lines on his face than I expected, but the weight in his stare was the same—dense, heavy, like standing in front of a storm that hadn’t yet broken. My breath caught. A pulse of heat rose behind my eyes, that old instinct to shrink back, to disappear. The air between us thickened, and I swore I could still smell the cologne he used when I was a kid, sharp and cloying, tied to sermons and punishments. My heart pounded so hard it felt as if it echoed in my ribs.
“Cole,” he said. Not Trick. Never Trick. Then, he glanced at Rebecca, rolling his eyes. “Always the drama with you, son.”
“Hi, sperm donor,” Rebecca chirped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I tightened my grip to warn her, as the pastor’s lips thinned. What I wouldn’t give to have Tom defending us right now with his muscles and his bulk. I imagined him taking down Pastor Cole, forcing his face into the carpet, and crowing about how he’d freed everyone else to run. A bubble of hysterical laughter forced its way out, and my father swung his gaze to me.
He pressed the button on his intercom. “Get Sawyer in here,” he barked. The lawyer.
It had always struck me that Lawyer Sawyer should have chosen a profession that didn’t rhyme with his name, and yet another bubble of laughter tried to escape. I needed to be levelheaded, not hysterical. The side door opened, and Sawyer walked in—slick, smarmy, white suit, the whole thing—and he hovered at my dad’s right hand. That was some symbolic shit right there, and seriously, I needed to calm the fuck down with wanting to laugh.
“Out with it then,” Pastor Cole said.
I tossed the envelope onto his desk—my own symbolic gesture—because by now, Tom would’ve alerted my lawyer, and every document would already be in his inbox.
“You’re not getting any more money from me,” I said. “I’m not a revenue stream. And I’m done.”
He didn’t flinch, raised an eyebrow, and glanced from me to Rebecca. “Is this her doing?”
