“But it won’t?” We’d gone around this too many times, but I wanted his reassurance one more time.
“It binds us tighter.”
The truth of that pulsed between us. His mouth found mine slowly. The kiss deepened with quiet intention, his hand firm at my waist, mine fisting lightly in the fabric of his dress shirt. The ocean roared approval behind us, wind whipping around our bodies as if trying to test our balance.
When we finally pulled back, our foreheads remained pressed together.
“A promise,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“Beginning,” he added.
The word expanded in my chest, crowding out the remnants of panic. Behind us, the boardwalk remained mostly quiet. Ahead of us, the tide kept advancing. We stood in between—barefoot, exposed, unhidden. Not running. But finally choosing each other in the open.
CHAPTER THREE
LUKE
My alarm went off at five, though I’d been awake long before it. Sleep had come in intervals—Mila’s mouth against mine, Dunn’s eyes beyond the glass, Elise’s smug smile beneath crystal light. Every time I closed my eyes, I recalculated angles. I couldn’t let anything go wrong that would hurt Mila—or give them a way to take her from me.
By five-thirty I was already at the rink. The arena lights buzzed overhead, harsh and clinical against the untouched ice. The air held that familiar bite—clean, edged with steel and sweat soaked deep into rubber mats and wooden benches. It centered me. Always had.
My phone vibrated just as I finished lacing my skates.
Mila:Edwardo moves in Monday.
A second bubble appeared before I could respond.
Mila:I like him. Mom’s… lighter. I haven’t seen her this relaxed in a long time.
The tension I’d been carrying between my shoulders eased a fraction.
Me:Good. I’ll talk to Claire about the scholarship board this week. If Dunn tries anything public, we make sure your funding is untouchable.
Her response came fast.
Mila:Using your elitist connections already?
I huffed a quiet breath. Claire—Drew’s fiancée—sat on the scholarship board as the King family representative.
Me:I’d rather you owe me one.
Mila:Dangerous game, King.
My jaw tightened automatically at the name, though warmth threaded through it.
Me:I don’t lose games.
Mila:I know. I wasn’t talking about hockey.
Me:Good. I’m not playing about you.
The words looked simple on the screen. They weren’t. Playing implied options. Exits. A version of this where I stepped back if it got ugly.
There wasn’t one. Not anymore.
I stared at her name at the top of the thread, and something unfamiliar pressed into my ribs. Not anger or strategy, but fear. Not of Dunn. Of losing her because I underestimated how far this could go.