Page 71 of Twisted Shot
His voice sharpens. “They never came to my games as a kid. Hockey’s too blue-collar for them, too beneath them.”
He lets out a tight breath. “The week I got my scholarship to Boston College, they gave me brochures for Princeton.”
He glances at her, something almost rueful in his expression. “That’s a Division I program at a New Ivy. I thought they’d be proud.”
A beat.
“I should’ve known better.”
Mila stays quiet, the lump in her throat throbbing. This is the most she’s ever heard him speak—reallyspeak. And she doesn’t want him to stop. She wants to wrap her arms around every word, hold them somewhere safe.
“I chose this. A life where I prove I belong every day. In the locker room. In front of cameras. And now,” his voice cracks slightly, “with you.”
Mila flinches. Just slightly.
His face twists with regret.
“I didn’t mean that like it’s your fault,” he says, quieter now. “You’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m not taking up space. And that makes it worse.”
“Why?” she breathes.
“Because I want you so bad it scares me. And the second I start to think I could be worthy of you...I remember who I am. What I sound like. What I can’t do. And I don’t think I could survive watching you look at me like they do.”
God help her, she wants to tell him he’s wrong. That she doesn’t need him to be smooth. She doesn’t need him to be perfect. She needs him to be himself.
“Theo, I don’t want easy,” she says gently. “I want real.”
His eyes flash, but then dull again.
“You deserve better,” he says simply. “I’m a mess. I can’t be what you need.”
He turns and walks away, shoulders squared but weighed down, like he’s carrying the burden of every word he didn’t say.
And Mila doesn’t follow.
Because for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t know how.
CHAPTER 24
MILA
The plane’s engines drone beneath her, a steady, numbing white noise. Somewhere over upstate New York, Mila stares out the window, forehead resting against the cool glass, watching clouds drift below them like slow-moving ghosts.
Naomi is beside her, legs tucked up in her seat, a glass of airplane rosé in one hand, gesturing animatedly with the other.
“Honestly? We crushed this week. Donors were happy. Kids were happy. Pearce is practically ready to give you the deed to the arena.”
Mila hums noncommittally, still looking out the window.
Naomi continues, undeterred. “And the footage from the shoot? So good.”
She sips the rosé and makes a face, setting it down on the tray table and turning to Mila.
“Did you see how well the AV team handled the highlight reel? Like, shockingly competent. No weird music choices, no typos. It was borderline supernatural.”
Another hum.
Naomi finally pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Wow. I can literally feel your enthusiasm radiating off of you.”
