Todos los capítulos de The Hockey billionaire's secret son : Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

POV: DaisyThe sharp beep of my phone alarm went off early in the morning. I sat up on my bed, pulled on thick wool socks, and walked down the cold wooden hallway to Oliver's bedroom.He was sleeping deeply, curled up under his favorite warm blanket."Olly, time to wake up," I whispered, rubbing his back gently.Oliver groaned and rolled away from me, burying his face deeper into his pillow. I tickled his tummy until his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. He slowly turned back around, squinting at the light and rubbing his eyes with tiny fists."We... we gonna paint today, Momma?" he mumbled, letting out a giant yawn."We sure are, sweetie," I said, gently pulling him up into a sitting position. "Let's go get you washed up."I led him into the small bathroom and filled the tub with warm water and bubbles. Oliver pushed his yellow plastic boat through the foam while I scrubbed his arms and belly with a soft washcloth, then washed his dark blond hair with berry soap. I dried him off

POV: JaceI woke up before my alarm went off. The penthouse in Silver Heights was quiet. I turned on my side and watched the clock turn to six-thirty.I had barely slept. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw yesterday's newspaper photo: Madison’s hand on my arm, the flashing cameras, and the fake smiles under the hotel chandeliers.I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands. The room felt cold. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and put on a gray hoodie. I grabbed my gym bag and car keys from the kitchen table. I skipped coffee and breakfast because my stomach was tied in knots.The drive from Silver Heights to Frost Arena was fast under the cloudy sky. Inside the arena, it smelled like damp gear, cold air, and rubber matting. In the locker room, my teammates were pulling on their pads, the room filling with the quiet thud of heavy equipment dropping onto benches and the metallic click of skate guards.I strapped on my pads, pulled my jersey over them, laced my skates tight, an

Daisy POV I stepped over to the kitchen counter and pulled a tub of cheap vanilla frosting out of the grocery bag. Emma walked up beside me, pulling a bottle of blue food dye from her tote bag, and squeezed three tiny drops into the tub."How are you doing?" Emma asked softly, keeping her voice low so Dad wouldn't hear from the armchair. "With everything?""I'm fine," I said, using a butter knife to swirl the dye into the frosting. Bright blue ribbons spread through the white cream. "We have chips, punch, a home-baked cake, and three of his friends coming over. It’s a good day."Emma looked around our small living room. The yellow paint on the walls was peeling slightly near the baseboards, and the floor beneath our feet was thin and worn."You did all of this yourself, Daisy," Emma said quietly, resting a hand on my forearm. "Look at this room. It's full of love.”"It’s not much," I said, pausing with the knife and glancing at the stack of cheap paper plates on the counter.Years ag

POV: JaceWaking up with that same heavy knot sitting in my stomach had become my normal.I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up, the hardwood floor cold against my bare feet. I walked into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and took a quick shower to wash off the sweat from the nightmare. After dressing in my athletic gear under a heavy grey sweatshirt, I poured a travel mug of black coffee and grabbed a plain piece of toast, though I could barely force myself to swallow a few bites.Outside, rain slammed against the high windows of my Silver Heights penthouse. Wearing my athletic clothes under a heavy grey sweatshirt, I grabbed my hockey bag and stick case from the front closet, rode the elevator down to the quiet underground garage, and loaded all my gear into the back of my pickup truck.The drive to Frost Arena was quiet and dreary. The windshield wipers slapped back and forth with a dull squeak against the glass. The city streets were empty, the streetlights cas

POV: JaceI snapped my eyes open, gasping for air.I sat up fast on the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Sweat was soaking through my grey t-shirt, sticking the cotton to my back. My breath came out in short, jagged gasps as I tried to ground myself.I reached out with a trembling hand and grabbed my phone off the nightstand.The screen lit up in the dim, overcast room:6:15 AM.Monday.I sat on the edge of the bed for five long minutes, resting my face in my hands, waiting for my racing heart to slow down. The apartment was dead quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator in the open kitchen.The grant presentation.The memo my mother's secretary had sent me last Friday was sitting on my kitchen island. The Kingston Global Foundation was donating fifty thousand dollars to Maple Grove Elementary School to upgrade their arts and athletic equipment.My mother had signed me up for the photo walk-through weeks ago. "Good publicity for the foundation," she h