Page 302 of Face Off

Then I stand outside the bridal-suite door and hear laughter moving through it.

My problems with Ryan remain real. They are painful, unfinished, and waiting for me on the other side of this wedding.

They can wait.

I straighten my shoulders, open the door, and leave them outside.

23

Ryan

The confirmation email arrives before I can convince myself to close the laptop.

My flight leaves tonight. Late enough for me to stand beside Cade through the ceremony, survive the reception, and fulfill every obligation that brought me here. Early enough that I won’t have to wake up tomorrow and spend another morning pretending this weekend hasn’t stripped me down to every exposed nerve I’ve spent fifteen months burying.

I stare at the departure time while the cursor hovers over the option to modify the reservation.

Last night, I told Charm I was leaving her. This morning, I stood in the hallway and told her the parts of herself she fought so hard to heal weren’t the only ones still broken. She asked me how she was supposed to fix something she couldn’t find, and I answered as her friend because being the man who loves her has made both of us dangerous.

Now I’m sitting in front of a choice that shouldn’t feel like another betrayal when I haven’t promised her anything.

Four days. That’s what she gave herself to change my mind about a decision that alters the rest of my fucking life. Four days to prove she can love me without controlling the terms, respect my pain without making it a referendum on hers, and stand beside me when fear tells her to protect herself first.

She’s changed. I would have to be blinded by my own anger not to see it. Charm fought her way out of a place I didn’t know she was falling into, built a life that belongs to her, and came here willing to say every ugly truth she once hid. She’s stronger, healthier, and more honest than the woman I left in that apartment.

She’s also still capable of making me bleed, then panicking because she has to see the wound.

I click confirm.

The page refreshes, and Milwaukee becomes real again.

I close the laptop, tuck it into my bag, and zip the compartment before I can look at the email a second time. My tux hangs from the wardrobe door inside its garment bag. I grab it, hook my dress shoes through two fingers, and leave the room without allowing myself to wonder whether Charm is somewhere nearby preparing for a future I may no longer be part of.

The van waiting outside takes us to the rink Cade rented twenty minutes from the estate. Most grooms spend the morning of their wedding golfing, fishing, or pretending cigars and expensive liquor count as personalities. Cade rented an ice sheet because none of us knows how to mark a major life event without skates, sticks, and the possibility of losing a tooth.

It also gives Briggs a plausible explanation for his eye before Bliss sees him.

His sunglasses stay on until we reach the locker room. The bruising has darkened since breakfast, the skin beneath his eye swollen enough that nobody will believe he walked into a door. A hockey game won’t erase what Lyric did, but it will provide enough confusion to stop Bliss from immediately hunting her down with a weapon.

Cade drops his bag onto the bench and looks at Briggs. “Their forward crashed the crease in the second period and caught you with an elbow when your mask shifted.”

Briggs lowers himself beside his gear. “What if nobody gets an elbow near me?”

“I’ll put one there myself,” Easton says.

“Make it convincing,” Rider adds. “Bliss knows what your face looks like after hockey. She studies injuries like crime-scene evidence.”

Briggs begins unlacing his shoes. “This feels like an unhealthy amount of planning.”

“You told us two hours ago that Lyric has hit you before,” Cade says quietly. “We passed unhealthy before we left the estate.”

The humor leaves Briggs’s face. His fingers pause against one lace before he jerks it loose and reaches for the other.

Nobody pushes him.

The players Cade invited begin filtering into the locker room before the silence can settle too heavily. A handful of guys from KFU arrive first, followed by several Detroit Devils and a few Inferno players Cade and Easton have stayed close with since Briggs and I joined. The room fills with shouted insults, slamming locker doors, and the unmistakable smell of hockey equipment that should have been destroyed by fire several seasons ago.

By the time we take the ice, nobody looking at Briggs would question how he got hurt.