Todos los capítulos de The Hockey billionaire's secret son : Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

POV: Daisy"You can't just brush this off," Emma pressed. "You know how powerful his family is. Victoria Kingston doesn't just write checks to small-town elementary schools for no reason.""It's probably just a local outreach program," I said, setting my paper cup down on the counter. "Foundations do these kinds of grants all the time.""It's not just a quick photo op," Emma said, stepping closer to me. "I was reading the regional education bulletin on Friday, while I was at the office."I held my hands together in front of me to keep them steady. "What bulletin?""The Kingston Youth Initiative," Emma said, keeping her voice low. "It's a new outreach program under the Kingston Global Foundation. They're expanding charity programs into public schools across the county—and Maple Grove is one of their target sites."A chill ran down my spine. "Target sites?""They're funding ongoing youth sports and art programs," Emma explained, leaning back against the counter. "Which means Jace won't

POV: JaceDaisy pulled the boy out of sight, ducking into the supply closet at the side of the room before I could say a word.I stood frozen in the center of the art class, the cool autumn morning air filling my lungs while my pulse hammered in my ears like a drumbeat.Blue eyes.The boy had my exact eyes—cold, pale blue, framed by soft dark-blond hair. He'd gripped that plastic hockey stick tightly against his small chest."Mr. Kingston, there you are." Principal Hayes stepped into the doorway holding a thick folder. "I wanted to catch you before you got too far into the building."I blinked, forcing my hands out of my coat pockets to adjust my collar."Sorry, I got here a bit earlier than planned and started looking around.""Not a problem at all," she said, gesturing toward the colorful drying racks and paint trays. "This is one of our stronger programs—the art budget goes a long way in this room. Shall we head down to the main office to review the grant distribution?""Actually,"

POV: DAISY The autumn wind rattled the loose windowpane in Oliver’s bedroom as I folded the old letter back into its envelope. I slid the paper deep into the desk drawer beneath a stack of lesson plans, shutting off the lamp, and went to bed to make sure I was rested for my second-graders in the morning.The next morning, our usual routine took over seamlessly. After a quick breakfast of peanut butter toast, I zipped Oliver into his red sweater and pulled his blue cap over his dark blond hair. We stepped out of the apartment building into the crisp morning air, taking our regular walk down the sidewalk—first dropping him off at his preschool, and then heading over to Maple Grove for my teaching shifts.The school day passed in a grounding blur of watercolor paints and chalk dust, completely free of any foundation visits or media cameras. When the final bell rang at Maple Grove, I stayed in my classroom until every last one of my second-graders was safely dismissed and handed off to t

POV: JaceI hit the power button on the truck's dashboard, killing the sports radio broadcast instantly. Silence rushed back into the truck, cold and heavy.I shifted into drive and pulled out of the television studio lot where I had just finished my live interview, heading straight back to my house in Silver Heights to grab my duffel bag and change out of my suit. The radio host’s final words echoed in my mind with every block I drove: The loneliest guy in professional hockey.They didn't know anything. They didn't know about that quiet art room in Willow Creek, or the boy with my exact icy-blue eyes holding a plastic toy stick. They didn't know about my mother's constant warnings to protect the Kingston name at all costs.After throwing on my team tracksuit and grabbing my gear, I drove over to Frost Arena for practice. Later that evening, long after the team had cleared out and the ice had been resurfaced, I still couldn't bring myself to go home. Driven by the lingering shock of w

POV: DaisyWe walked back down the sidewalk together as the streetlights began to click on, casting warm circles against the damp pavement. I held Oliver's hand on one side while my father walked steadily on the other, guiding us back to the modest apartment building where we belonged.When we reached the front porch, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Oliver immediately kicked off his play shoes, leaving them lined up neatly by the mat, and set his new wooden stick carefully against the wall right by the front door. My father hung his canvas work coat on the peg, letting out a soft breath as he sat down on our old armchair in the living room to rest. I walked straight into the small kitchen, turned the knob on the stove to light the burner, and set a pot of water on the flame to boil for pasta."I'll handle the sauce, Daisy," Thomas said, walking into the kitchen and taking a wooden spoon from the drawer. "You take care of the boy."While the water heated up, I set three ceram