003

Chapter 3

Ronan’s POV

The cold bite of the ice under my skates usually cut through whatever noise was cluttering my head. Today it did nothing.

A thick fog sat behind my eyes, refusing to clear no matter how hard I pushed.

“Again!” I shouted at the line, trying to sound like I still had control. Even I could hear the hollow edge in my voice.

We were running drills. My body moved on pure muscle memory while my attention stayed locked on the phone sitting face-up on the bench. The same message I’d already opened a dozen times still glowed on the screen.

Detective Harlan.

After weeks of thin leads, dead ends, and empty promises, he’d decided to walk away from the case. Just like that.

I’d called. Texted. Nothing. The frustration was rotting my focus. I shoved the puck forward and missed the pass by a mile.

“Goddammit, Ronan!” That was Tyler, our left wing. I barely registered it.

“Timeout!” Coach Brennan’s voice cracked across the rink like a slap.

I skated toward the boards, equal parts pissed off and numb. The second my blades left the ice I lunged for the phone, but Coach got there first.

“You planning on leading this team today, Captain?” he snapped, snatching the device off the bench.

“Coach—”

“No.” He held it out of reach. “You’ve been somewhere else for weeks. I let it slide because of what you’ve been through, but if you can’t be present, maybe you shouldn’t be out here.”

The words landed hard. I didn’t flinch. He wasn’t wrong.

“Locker room,” he said, voice quieter now. “Don’t come back until you’ve got your head straight.”

I took the phone, nodded once, and skated off without another word.

---

The locker room was empty by the time I reached it. Most of the guys had already cleared out—either annoyed or relieved I’d been benched for the rest of practice.

I slammed my locker shut hard enough to make the metal rattle. When the echo faded I pressed my forehead against the cool door and tried to breathe past the pounding in my chest.

I pulled the phone out again and stared at the five short lines that had derailed everything.

*Sorry, Ronan. I’m stepping away from the case.*

“Because my mother’s life isn’t important enough, is that it?” I muttered.

She’d been everything. Three jobs after my father walked out the day I was born. Every game—whether I was starting or riding the bench—she was there, rain or snow, no excuses. She used to call me her miracle, the reason she kept fighting. Now she was gone.

I’d left for practice that day. She’d promised my favorite meal when I got home. I walked through the front door already hungry… and found her body in the living room.

The official story was a random break-in. Nothing had been taken. Nothing about it ever made sense. Someone wanted her dead. That was the only truth that stuck.

Five years later the only detective who’d ever taken the case seriously was quitting.

A fresh wave of rage hit. I drove my foot into the bottom of the locker hard enough to dent it.

“Ronan.”

I spun around. Logan leaned against the doorframe, basketball tucked under one arm, sweat still shining on his forehead.

“Hey,” I managed, wiping my face with the hem of my shirt.

“You good?”

I gave him a look. He raised both hands.

“Stupid question,” he said, walking in and tossing the ball into the mesh bin. He sat on the bench across from me, elbows on his knees. “A mutual friend said you looked like hell at practice. What’s going on?”

I almost brushed it off the way I usually did. But Logan wasn’t just anyone. He was the one person who saw through every wall I built. He’d shown up at my house the night the cops did—before I even called him.

He moved closer and waited.

I pushed the phone toward him. He read the message once and cursed under his breath.

“Seriously?”

I nodded. My tongue felt too heavy to move.

“So that’s it? He just quits?”

“Said the case was going cold. Not enough evidence. Same bullshit we’ve heard for years.” My voice cracked. “She deserved better than that.”

Logan rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. She did.”

“I can’t let it go,” I said quietly.

He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched until I started feeling guilty for dumping my mess on him. Before I could apologize he stood, grabbed his keys and phone, and headed for the door.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“Airport.”

I blinked. “What?”

He gave me a half-smile. “We’re picking up Sabrina. She went with Mom and Dad to see them off. Remember the anniversary trip?”

Right. The four-week cruise.

“She’s staying with us?” I asked carefully.

“Yeah. I told you. She begged to stay off-campus instead of the dorms.”

I stared at the ceiling. The conversation from earlier that afternoon replayed in my head—her soft, steady voice asking me to be her boyfriend, the hopeful light in her eyes, and the way that light died when I said no.

Four hours later and I still hated how it made me feel. Like I’d crushed something fragile that never should have been hurt.

But what was I supposed to do?

She was Logan’s little sister. Off-limits by default. Too sweet. Too pure. Definitely not for someone like me.

The worst part? A piece of me had wanted to kiss her the second the words left her mouth. That scared me more than anything else.

“You coming or not?” Logan called from the doorway.

“Yeah.” I grabbed my jacket. “I’m coming.”

He nudged my shoulder as we walked out. “Don’t beat yourself up too hard. We’ll figure the rest of it out together.”