Page 88 of Twisted Shot
After a quick scan of the room, she heads for her assigned seat at Jim Pearce’s table near the stage. He’s already there, beaming like he built the event himself, talking animatedly to a hospital board member about the silent auction items.
Mila slides into her chair and takes a sip of sparkling water to cool her dry throat.
She glances toward the wings near the stage, where she last saw Carter, and allows herself a tiny moment of relief. He’s not her first choice. Not her ideal. But he’ll manage.
She’s halfway through mentally reviewing the timeline when Naomi appears at her side, ducking down slightly to speak over the music.
Her expression is…off.
Amused, but tight.
“What now?” Mila asks, already bracing.
Naomi glances toward the stage, then back to her. “There’s been a change of plans.”
Mila sighs. “I know. Carter’s going to emcee.”
Naomi shakes her head. “Not exactly.”
Before Mila can respond, movement catches her eye.
She turns toward the stage in time to see Carter and Jake stepping out from the wings.
Her pulse spikes.
She turns fully toward the stage to see Theo walking out, cue cards in hand—unmasked.
Mila’s mouth drops open. Her heart kicks hard, a full-body jolt like someone pulled a ripcord in her chest.
Sweet merciful fuck, what is he doing?
He’s supposed to avoid the stage. Avoid the spotlight. She knows how much he hates this. How talking in front of strangers ties his throat in knots and leaves him coiled in silence for hours afterward. He told her. Showed her.
And he’s walking into it, anyway.
For her.
The thought hits like a sledgehammer to the ribs. Her breath won’t come right. All she can see is Theo’s tall, ridiculously handsome profile as he reaches center stage and turns toward the room.
He looks calm, but she knows better. She knows how much this costs him.
With her heart in her throat, she watches Theo on stage, his broad shoulders lit in silver, cue cards in hand. The ballroom is hushed. No forks. No whispering. Just the quiet rustle of attention shifting.
He clears his throat gently, voice low but steady.
“Good evening.”
A beat.
“Welcome to the Hartford Whalers’s Winter Gala in support of the Connecticut Children’s Hospital. There’s been a slight change in the program tonight.”
He glances at the card in his hand, then looks back up with a crooked smile.
“Our star forward Jesse Mitchell was supposed to be here to kick things off,” he says. “But he got a call-up to the Mavericks earlier tonight. Which is great for him. We wish him well. But not so great for me, since I’m apparently the backup plan.”
There’s a ripple of polite laughter.
“My name is Theo Tilbury and I’ll be your host this evening. I’m the alternate captain of the Hartford Whalers.”
