SCORED HER HEART, NOT THE PUCK. のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

THANE'S POV:The cold from the concrete bench seeped straight through my bones. This was new territory for me—the inside of a holding cell, complete with the smell of piss and industrial bleach that my life before had always shielded me from.There'd always been someone to make my problems disappear. Lawyers on speed dial. My manager who handled the ugly stuff while I slept off my hangovers on silk sheets.Those days were buried six feet under with my career.My back screamed against the unforgiving surface, every vertebra protesting. But it was my foot that really had me gritting my teeth—that slow, creeping fire that started in my toes and crawled up my ankle like molten lead. The pain pills were sitting in my apartment, mocking me from thirty miles away. Without them, this was going to get ugly fast."You get one call," the officer grunted, sliding the phone through the slot like he was feeding a zoo animal.My fingers found Julian's number from muscle memory. He was my last lifeli

MADISON'S POV:I knew something was catastrophically wrong the moment his face turned the color of old parchment.Not just pale—ghostly. Like someone had drained every drop of blood from his veins and replaced it with milk.At first, my cynical brain kicked in. This had to be theatrics. Maybe seeing that official document had triggered some kind of melodramatic breakdown, or this was his latest attempt to prove how unbearable my presence was."Okay, enough theatrics,” I muttered—but I couldn’t ignore the gnawing in my gut that something wasn’t right. Still, I stood my ground afraid to make a fool of myself like last time.I picked at the chipped edge of my manicure like I wasn't tracking his every micro-expression from my peripheral vision. "You need to get ready. Your first appointment isn't going to be rescheduled just because you're having a moment."No answer.Then a sound that made my blood freeze—a wheeze came.My head snapped up.His body had gone rigid in all the wrong ways. H

THANE'S POV:As I buttoned my burgundy shirt slowly, methodically over my navy-blue briefs, the memory of her face wouldn’t leave my head.“How the hell does one woman barely five-foot-two—have me this twisted?” I muttered, scowling at my reflection like it owed me answers. My voice bounced off the marble. I might as well have been yelling into a void.Julian had already shut me down when I called him upstairs, still fuming from her stunt with the flower jar. “She stays,” he said flatly. “I’m not jumping through hoops to find you another nurse just because this one doesn’t cower at your tantrums.”The nerve. And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.I ran a hand through my hair, then reached for the silver comb on my vanity.I’d grown it out recently, long enough to change how my face looked from the version the media and everyone was used to. Same jaw, same eyes… just a new surface. One I barely recognized.I stepped into the bathroom, turned the tap to its coldest setting and plunged my

THANE'S POV:Something was wrong with me. Had to be. Because here I was, rushing to finish dressing like my life depended on it.I stumbled downstairs like a man being summoned. No idea why I was hurrying. My back protested every step, and the ache in my leg didn’t make it any better. But somehow, it was like my mind was being controlled by a smart-mouthed nurse who had given me a five-minute ultimatum.It wasn't even midday, and I was already exhausted by her existence.Madison stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, wearing a satisfied expression."Perfect timing," she said, gesturing to the dining table where different meals had been laid out. "Marie made everything on the list I gave her. Eat. "I glanced at the plate. Eggs. Avocado. Whole grain toast. A side of quinoa salad. Who the hell eats salad in the morning? A green smoothie that probably tasted like lawn clippings."I'm not hungry," I lied, my stomach choosing that moment to growl like a betrayed animal."Your stomach disagrees

MADISON’S POV:The sirens hadn’t stopped since I rushed into the hospital.Fifteen hours. That's how long I'd been on my feet since the emergency alert had shrieked through every hospital in the city. Code Red. All hands on deck. I hadn’t taken a breath in hours. I’d barely left the trauma wing since the moment I left Thane. One school shooting. One lunatic with a machete. And now dozens of lives in our hands.The images still burned behind my eyelids—children with eyes too wide, too knowing. The machete wounds that looked like abstract art painted in crimson. The way silence had settled over operating rooms like a heavy blanket, broken only by the steady beep of monitors fighting to keep hearts beating.I’d lost count of how many patients I’d triaged today. How many shaky mothers I held, how many bloodstained gloves I changed, or how many times I swallowed the sting behind my eyes just to get through another procedure.Some made it. Others… didn’t.I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to