Page 52 of Twisted Shot
Before she can say more, someone calls them back for a group photo and a round of high fives. Theo turns without meeting her eyes, and Mila swallows the guilt.
Later, after the press has packed up and the volunteers start cleaning up, she finds herself standing by the juice table, a press packet in hand she’s not really reading.
That’s when she hears him.
Theo speaking quietly a few feet away.
He’s in an alcove near the edge of the room, crouched beside the same boy from earlier—the one in the wheelchair, the one who hasn’t stopped watching Theo, eyes round and shining, like he can’t quite believe he’s real.
The kid tugs at the hem of his jersey. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Theo chuckles, quiet and sheepish, the sound so gentle it doesn’t quite fit his frame. “Nah. But...there’s this girl who works with the team. Blonde. Real smart. P-p-probably way out of my league.”
The boy says something Mila can’t hear, but whatever it is makes Theo laugh again.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got it bad.”
She turns before she canhear another word, feeling the guilt for eavesdropping wash over her. Her steps are slow, aimless, her heart pounding.
Because this thing with Theo...it’s not a crush anymore. Not just fleeting glances and near-misses.
It’s starting to feel like it’s inevitable.
And that scares the hell out of her.
Because Theo’s good. Earnest. Steady in the way people never seem to value until it’s too late. And he looks at her like she’s magic.
And she’s afraid that if he ever musters the courage to reach for her, she’ll break him without meaning to.
And worse—worse than all of it—is that she still can’t get the Man in Black out of her head.
Her phantom in the dark. The stranger who touched her and dismantled her defenses, piece by piece. Who made her feel wild and wanted like no one ever has.
He’s still texting her. Still whispering into the quiet hours of her nights.
And she still answers.
Because deep down, she wants it to be Theo.
But another part of her—tighter, more guarded—worries what happens if it is.
So she floats between the two. Between fantasy and reality. Between the man who waits in daylight and the one who haunts her in the dark.
CHAPTER 18
THEO
Theo’s phone buzzes as he crosses the driveway toward his truck, gear bag slung over one shoulder, his freshly starched dress shirt itching his neck with every step.
Game day. His body thrums with contained energy as he breathes the way his trainers drilled into him—not to chase calm, but to sharpen focus.
His mind is at the rink already, as he mentally replays the tape from the Syracuse Storm’s last two games. They’re a good team. Top of their division. He can still see their top line cutting hard through the neutral zone, their captain’s wrist shot snapping off the rush like a whip. Theo catalogued the angles, pressure points, the way the winger favors his backhand when he’s trying to get cute in front of the net.
Stick low. Close the gap. No space.
His thoughts are interrupted when the buzz comes again.
He glances at the notification, jaw tight. Shit.
