Page 58 of Twisted Shot
She can’t stop the smile tugging at her lips, hope and nerves tangling until she doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins.
But then the question sneaks in, sharp and unwelcome—if itishim, why is he hiding? What’s stopping him from saying it out loud, from reaching for her in the open? The thought gnaws at her, a whisper she can’t quiet. Maybe he doesn’t want her the same way she wants him. Maybe this is as close as he’ll ever let her get.
CHAPTER 20
MILA
The score's locked 2–2 as the final period begins, and the energy in the arena could power the entire city of Hartford. The Storm push hard, getting chippy with their sticks, jawing at the Whalers at every turn. The ref lets a few borderline hits slide, and Mila feels her own shoulders tensing like she’s out there with them.
But the Whalers rally.
Carter scores a greasy rebound goal that makes the crowd lose its mind. Jesse nearly throws himself over the boards in celebration. Then, in the final three minutes, the Storm tie it again with a shot so fast even Tall couldn't catch it.
Overtime.
The lights dim briefly. The crowd leans in.
In the suite, the kids are vibrating—actually vibrating—chanting, “Whalers! Whalers!” while bouncing on the seats like caffeinated kangaroos. One of the nurses encourages them to use their inside voices, failing completely.
Three-on-three overtime.
Mila spots Theo hopping the boards, stops breathing.
The Storm barrel in with speed, hungry for thepuck. One risky pass arcs across the ice, and Theo snatches it out of the air as if he’s been waiting his whole life for that exact mistake.
He’s gone in an instant—long strides slicing up the middle, puck glued to his stick. The suite erupts, half cheers, half shrieks. Mila clutches the armrest because the children have started pogoing in unison.
Theo winds up—fakes the shot—the defenseman lunges, too eager. In one smooth flick, Theo switches to his backhand and slides the puck between the goalie’s pads.
The horn blasts. The arena detonates.
The kids lose their minds, jumping, cheering, screaming his name. She spots Richard in the corner, looking like he’s swallowed glass.
Naomi grabs her wrist, eyes shining. “Your man just won the game and didn’t even smile.”
Mila stares down at the ice as Theo skates calmly toward his rapturous teammates, face unreadable, helmet still on. But when he glances up—just briefly—his gaze finds the box.
And lingers.
Heat flashes across her skin.
Because in an arena full of screams and noise and joy, he still sees her.
By the time they return to the hotel, Mila’s feet hurt, her cheeks ache from too much smiling, and she’s dangerously close to needing a second glass of wine just to survive one more word from Richard.
Naomi steps into the lobby beside her, wincing as she adjusts her heels.
“You crushed that event,” she says, straightening then linking her arm with Mila’s for support.
“Those adorable kids, the smiles on their faces, and then that win.” She winks. “You’re going to be the lead story on the news. Jim Pearce will be thrilled.”
Behind them, Richard clears his throat in that passive-aggressive way that means he’s about to say something no one wants to hear.
“You could’ve done without the confetti cannons at the end,” he says, like a man who’s never felt joy. “It felt juvenile.”
“They were paper snowflakes,” Naomi says, not even looking at him. “And the kids loved them.”
Richard ignores her. “And the noise level in the suite—do you really think children yelling over the reporter is going to look good on the footage?”
