Page 116 of Twisted Shot
Janet’s lips twitch in a faint smile. “Surely Canadians still enjoy champagne and lobster rolls?”
Mila feels that pang again—equal parts frustration and sympathy.The woman across from her is calculating, yes, but not cruel. But it doesn’t change what Theo’s endured.
He wouldn’t like this. Her meeting his mother behind his back. She knows how deep the wounds run when it comes to his family. How careful he is, how much he’s chosen distance over damage.
“If Theo wants to see you,” Mila says, her voice quiet but firm, “that will be his decision. I won’t push him.”
Janet inclines her head. “I understand.”
Mila pauses, then softens, the edge in her voice giving way to something gentler.
“You can’t rewrite the past, Mrs. Eagan-Tilbury,” she says. “But you can meet him halfway.”
Janet blinks, as though startled by the clarity of that.
Mila reaches into her bag and pulls out a small envelope. Plain, unmarked. She slides it across the table with a quiet finality.
Janet glances at it but doesn’t open it. Her fingers rest on top, perfectly still.
“This is what I can offer,” Mila says. “You can take the next step, or not. That’s your choice.”
Janet looks at her for a long moment, the silence thick between them. And then, finally, she nods once.
Mila stands. She buttons her coat but leaves the coffee half full on the table. As she walks away, she doesn’t look back.
Behind her, Janet sits motionless, the envelope still clutched in her hand.
CHAPTER 44
THEO
Theo rolls his shoulders until his neck gives a satisfying crack, his gaze fixed down the long tunnel that leads to the ice like a predator locking eyes on prey. The walls are painted a tired, scuffed shade of Whalers green, and the narrow passage hums with the ghosts of every blade that ever cut across that matted floor toward battle.
The air’s heavy, thick with anticipation that makes Theo’s skin buzz. He’s wound tight, hungry. The roar of the crowd filters in from beyond the concrete, a dull, rolling ocean waiting to break.
This is it. The final game of the regular season. One shot left to secure their place in the playoffs. Win and they claw their way in. Lose and the entire year collapses under the weight of wasted effort, shattered bones, clenched jaws, and bloodied fists. That future does not exist in his mind.
Jesse brushes past him with a smirk, shoulder checking him, mouthguard clenched between his teeth. He’s back in the lineup, sent down by the Mavericks, and Theo’s not sorry about it. They need him lighting the lamp tonight. “Let’s go, bud. You ready?”
Theo tips his head, eyes narrowed. “You think I’m gonna choke?”
“Nah,” Jesse says, grinning. “Just checking how many bodies I need to drag off the ice when the Storm start throwing elbows.”
Theo doesn’t answer. He flexes his fingers inside his gloves, in a slow, methodical rhythm. One-two. One-two. Breath in. Breath out. Violence on a leash.
Jake steps in beside them. He’s in coach mode now. His voice is calm on the surface, but Theo can see it in his stare, that edge sharpened by memory and time, the same look he wore back when he’d drop gloves before the anthem’s final note. “They’re going to play dirty. They’ve been waiting for this. You know they’re coming straight at you.”
“Let ’em,” Theo says, voice like gravel. “I’ll keep my head.”
He lifts his chin then, eyes steady and flat, the stillness before the strike.
“Take theirs.”
Jake chuckles, the sound short and rough, and smacks a hand against the back of Theo’s helmet. “That’s my boy.”
The horn screams through the arena with its deep, aggressive wail. Lights flare, shifting from dim to stage-bright. Showtime.
Theo pushes forward and the world breaks open. The chill of the rink bites his skin, sharp and clean. The crowd erupts, the roar flooding in like a wave crashing hard and fast.
