Page 297 of Wild Card 13

Alois swallowed once. I had seen that man take hits that would fold other guys in half. I had seen him skate off bloodied and furious and silent. But standing in front of the people who loved him, with Bea tucked against him and his hand spread carefully over the curve of Bea’s belly, he looked wrecked in a way I understood too well.

“I was very good at being alone,” he said. “I thought that made me strong.” He looked down at Bea, and something in his face shifted. “Then you came into my life and ruined that completely.”

Bea let out a wet laugh.

Alois brushed his thumb beneath her eye. “Thank you.”

Rafa covered his mouth with his fist. Ezra looked down at his glass. Lo blinked fast. Arlo suddenly became very interested in adjusting a candle that did not need adjusting.

Lucy watched Bea and Alois with her face open. No careful smile. Just love for them, plain and unprotected.

After the toast, people started moving again. Chairs scraped softly. Conversation rose. Dessert plates appeared. Frozen Bento continued his slow, judgmental decline near the sweets.

I stood because sitting still had become impossible.

I made it three steps toward the bar before Ezra appeared beside me.

“Buzz,” he said.

My spine straightened before I could stop it. “Mr. Thomas.”

He looked me over once, taking in my wrinkled shirt, damp sleeve, and probably the fact that I had been staring at his daughter like a man with no survival instincts. “Walk with me.”

There were a lot of things a guy did not want to hear from the owner of his team.

Walk with mewas high on the list. Especially when that owner was also the father of the woman I loved and had nearly kissed only minutes ago.

“Sure,” I said, because apparently I wanted to live dangerously.

Ezra led me out of the mezzanine through a side door and up the short private stairwell to the rooftop terrace. The summer air hit cooler up there, threaded with the city sounds below and the faint glow of Talon Arena in the distance.

North Line’s rooftop looked nothing like the chaos downstairs. String lights crossed overhead. Planters overflowed with summer greenery. The gas fireplaces burned low near clusters of lounge seating, their flames shifting blue and gold behind glass. The outdoor bar was closed for the private event, polished and empty.

Ezra stopped near the railing.

I waited.

Finally, Ezra said, “You think I brought you up here to tell you to stay away from my daughter.”

I kept my eyes on the skyline. “That crossed my mind.”

“Smart.” Ezra exhaled through his nose. Almost a laugh, but not generous enough to fully become one. “I’m not going to do that.”

He rested both hands on the railing, his posture relaxed in the way powerful men could afford to look relaxed. Expensive suit. Controlled expression. Gray at his temples catching the terrace light. He looked less like the owner of the Frosthawks up here and more like Lucy’s father.

“I promised Lucy I’d keep her away from you,” he began. “When you came back to Minnesota, when the trade went through, when it became clear this wasn’t going to be a clean situation for either of you, I told her I would make sure she didn’t have to deal with you more than necessary.”

I swallowed.

“I meant it at the time,” he said. “Mostly.” Ezra turned his head enough to look at me. “Then I watched both of you act like professionals while bleeding all over my organization.”

The words landed sharp and quiet. “Mr. Thomas?—”

Ezra cut me off. “I stopped keeping the door closed. I gave her some assignments that involved you. Operations issues. A few things here and there.”

My hand tightened on the railing. “Why?”

“Because my daughter has spent years proving she can survive things she should have healed from. And you,” he said, “have spent years taking punishment like it was the same thing as accountability.”