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"""""""I'm not on birth control,"""" she cried. But he still slamed into her...""" ***** "Prologue (Slade’s POV – 16 Years Old) I pushed open the front door with half my gear still on, breath still clouding in the air from the rush home. Practice had run late, and I had spent the entire drive tapping my knee, counting the minutes. I had promised Cory we would skate on the lake tonight. I promised we would play one on one until it got too dark to see. I wanted to keep that promise. I chuckled. My little brother wanted to be just like me. A hockey prodigy. The house was quiet when I stepped inside. Too quiet. “Cory?” I called out. No answer. I pulled off one glove, let my stick fall against the wall, and walked deeper into the living room. The silence felt wrong. My skin prickled with unease. “Mom?” “Dad?” Still nothing. A knot formed in my stomach. I headed toward the back of the house and pushed open the door to the porch. Snow had collected in soft piles across the wooden planks. The hooks along the wall held our winter gear. My skates were there. Cory’s skates were not. My heart slammed against my ribs. “Cory!” I shouted, louder this time. “Mom! Dad!” I didn’t wait for an answer. I ran down the steps and across the yard, my feet slipping in the snow as panic surged through me. The cold air burned my lungs, but I kept going. The lake came into view between the bare trees. My chest tightened when I saw it. A jagged hole cut through the ice. Shards pushed up at the edges. Dark water swirling underneath. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I jumped. The freezing water hit me like a punch to the chest. It was so cold my body seized. My mind went blank. I forced myself down, deeper into the dark, pushing through the shock and the burn in my lungs. My hands searched blindly until they brushed fabric. Cory’s jacket. I grabbed him and fought toward the surface, dragging him up with the last strength I had. We broke through the water, and I shoved him onto the ice, gasping for breath as the cold stole every thought I had left. “Cory,” I whispered, pulling myself halfway out. “Wake up. Come on.” His eyes were closed. His skin was pale. He didn’t move. I pulled us to the edge of the lake and dropped down on my knees. I pressed down on his chest, counting under my breath, my hands shaking so badly I could barely keep rhythm. My vision blurred. My breath hitched. Behind me I heard the back door slam open. “Slade!” Dad’s voice cut through the air. Mom screamed Cory’s name. They ran toward us, but the world was tilting. The cold was pulling me down again, dragging me into the same darkness I had pulled Cory from. My hands slipped. My body dropped back onto the ice. Dad swept Cory into his arms. Mom’s shouting had turned to screaming. Pained screams. The last thing I saw was my brother’s face against my father’s chest. Then. Everything went black. - - - - - - - - - I jolted awake in my bed, chest heaving, sweat soaking through my shirt. My hands trembled as I pushed them through my hair. It was the same dream again. The same memory. The same night that never stopped replaying no matter how much time passed. Twelve years had passed since that night. Cory was gone. And I still carried the weight of it. Every single day. And every single night. Every time December rolled around. The lights… the joy… seemed to pull me further into the darkness and the nightmares only got worse. I had become one of the best hockey players in the country. A man adored by millions of people. A hero on the ice. Those fans didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know that I was the villain in my own story and there was no escaping that fate. The world saw the star. They had no idea he was built on a grave. I lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady my breathing. Twelve years had passed since I had had a family. Since I had lost everything that mattered to me. I would never forgive myself for that. If I had come home sooner, my brother would still be alive. I had survived that night. And I’ve been paying for it ever since. Chapter 1 Slade Mercer (Slade’s POV) Roman Draeger slammed me into the plexiglass so hard the boards rattled under my shoulder. My vision jolted for a second, but I kept my stick tight, fighting for the puck as it skittered near the Seattle net. “Still terrible, Draeger,” I muttered as I shoved back. Roman sneered. “Go to hell.” He slammed into me again, but the puck slipped free and one of my wingers scooped it up. I caught the rebound off his skate and slapped it toward Mateo, who fired it clean into the corner of the net. The horn blared. The arena roared. I tapped Mateo’s helmet and bumped gloves with Ryder before heading to center ice for the face off. My jaw ached. My ribs throbbed where Roman had smashed me. I wanted to hit him again anyway. The puck dropped. My body reacted faster than my head. I swept it away from Roman’s reach and flicked it toward Ryder. He darted across center ice and picked up speed, weaving through two Seattle defensemen. Then Roman came out of nowhere. His stick rose too high. It cracked across Ryder’s nose. Ryder stumbled, blood running down his upper lip. My vision went red. I threw my stick to the ice and swung at Roman, grabbing his jersey with one hand and landing a punch straight to his jaw with the other. Roman hit back just as hard. We went at it, fists connecting, bodies slamming, the crowd screaming for more. “You still pissed about Jenny?” Roman taunted, breath hot and angry. “She begged for it.” I hit him again. Harder. I had not cared about Jenny in months. She had been nothing. But the fact that Roman had been involved with her while she was with me got under my skin. Not because I missed her. Because I hated losing even more than I hated him. I pulled him closer. “You only have your spot on the Wolves because I turned down that contract.” His face twisted. He lunged. The refs surged between us, dragging us apart. We were shoved into separate penalty boxes. I sat down, chest heaving, sweat dripping into my eyes. Four minutes. I had to sit here for four long minutes while Seattle led three to one. The game was supposed to be easy. But the team looked rough today. Sloppy passes. Zero focus. Dumb fights, including the one I just got into. Home arena advantage meant nothing when you played like you had no idea how to skate. I rubbed the side of my face and breathed out slowly. I was tired. More tired than I wanted to admit. And it did not help that my pregame ritual had been ruined. All I wanted was a burger from Slam Shack, the place I always hit before home games. But when I stepped out of the building, I bumped into someone. A girl. A puck bunny trying to fake a trip so she could fall into me. They always had some act. A dropped phone. A fake twist of the ankle. A giggle and a blush. This one had just muttered something, panicked, and fled. Whatever. I did not care for women who only wanted me because I was Slade Mercer, center for the Cyclones. It was exhausting. It also did not help that my personal assistant had quit. Again. The fourth one in six months. And my manager had been tied up in contract meetings and could not cover for him. The clock ticked down. As soon as the penalty expired, I leapt over the boards and hit the ice. We had fifteen minutes left in the last period. We needed two goals to tie and three to win. I skated to the bench the moment my shift ended. Coach Peters stormed toward me, face red. “Mercer, have you lost your mind? We are getting beaten badly, and you get thrown in the penalty box. You have fifteen minutes to fix this game.” I nodded once and drank half a bottle of water. My lungs burned. My muscles screamed. I ignored all of it. “How is Ryder?” I asked one of the assistants. “He will be out in a minute. Just cleaning up the blood.” Good. Ryder played better angry anyway. I jumped back onto the ice for my next rotation. “Lock in,” I yelled at my line. “Tighten the passes. No more mistakes.” Ryder returned, nose taped, eyes blazing. We exchanged a sharp nod. The next fifteen minutes vanished in a blur of adrenaline. Ryder passed. I shot. Goal. Crowd screaming. Another rush. Another assist. Another shot. Goal. The arena exploded so loud my ears rang. Three to three. One minute left. We pushed forward again. Ryder swept behind the net, drew two defenders, and flicked the puck toward the rookie, Cole Maddox. Maddox snapped it across the crease. The puck hit the back of the net with two seconds left. The entire arena lost its mind. We collided into a group hug at center ice. Ryder yelled something incoherent. Frasier grabbed Maddox and shook him like a ragdoll. I skated off the ice and threw a middle finger toward Roman, who glared knives at me from his bench. Felt good. Inside the locker room, laughter and curses echoed. “What a game,” Frasier said, slapping my shoulder. “That last goal was clean,” Ryder added. “Best you have played in weeks.” I nodded and walked toward Maddox, who was still buzzing. “You did good, man.” The rookie grinned. “Thanks, Mercer.” I peeled off my gear. My skin felt raw from the hits. Ryder walked by, tugging on a hoodie. “You coming to the after party?” “No.” “Come on. You never come.” Frasier chimed in. “You are going tonight. Even for five minutes.” I sighed. “Fine. A little bit.” We gathered our gear and headed toward the exit. My phone buzzed. A text from my manager. Personal assistant interviews tomorrow at noon. Great. Another round of pretending to care who follows me around. We stepped outside and security immediately surrounded us as fans crowded near the ropes. Some screamed our names. Some shoved posters forward. Others held their phones out for pictures. And then there were the puck bunnies. Always front row. Always reaching. Always loud. I ignored them all. But a small boy stood near the front, clutching a pen like it was the most important thing in the world. He wore a Cyclones jersey far too big for him. I stopped. “You,” I said, pointing. His eyes widened. “Me?” “Come here.” He ran over and held out the pen with shaking hands. “You want an autograph?” He nodded so fast his hair bounced. I signed the back of his jersey and handed it back. “Thanks,” he whispered. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Anytime.” As I walked to my car, the boy’s bright smile stayed with me longer than I expected. Something about him felt familiar. Something in the way he looked at me. He reminded me of… Cory. I shook it off, started the engine, and pulled into the night. Chapter 2 Breaking Point (Aspen’s POV) I once believed winter brought miracles. Christmas miracles. But lately, winter only brought fear. Fear of losing my job. Fear of losing my sisters. Fear of not being able to do everything I could for my family. And I didn't have time for fear. I had more important issues. I needed to for a home for my sisters and me to live in. I needed to give them safety and security. A door that locked. A door. A permanent roof over their heads. A heater. A place that was ours. I needed a home for them. “Aspen. Stop daydreaming and finish the order,” Scott snapped from across the kitchen. He was being more of a jerk than usual. And that was saying something. “I'm almost done,” I said quietly. “Move faster.” His voice sharpened. “People are waiting.” People were always waiting. My sisters were waiting for me to save enough money. Society was waiting for girls like me to fail. And Scott was always waiting for the chance to make my day just a little worse. My hands shook slightly as I placed the hot bag on the counter. My eyelids felt heavy. I had been on my feet for fourteen hours and still had another gig to get through before my head could – hopefully – hit a pillow. Scott stepped closer. A little too close. His cologne hit me first. A cheap scent that always made my stomach tighten. “You know,” he murmured, “I could make things easier for you.” “No, thank you.” I stepped to the side, pretending to grab а cup. Nausea rose in my throat. Scott could make me feel like ants were crawling up my skin. “You never let me finish,” he said with a small smile. “I could give you time off. Bonus cash. Extra pay for shifts you didn’t even work. I’ve done it for other girls.” “I'm fine,” I said quickly. I wanted to get away from this man as soon as possible. “I could help you out, Aspen,” he whispered. “All you have to do is say yes.” A burn spread through my chest. I kept my eyes on the register screen. “No,” I said again. His smile dropped. “You make this harder than it needs to be.” I swallowed and kept moving. “I need to clock out.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know I can make your life miserable. I may know things that affect you… things you probably don’t want to world to find out. My pulse stopped for half a second. He did not know everything… “Move,” I whispered, pushing past him. I couldn’t loose this job, but I hated Scott. I clocked out before he could say anything else and practically ran for the exit. My legs trembled, but I kept moving. I needed to breathe fresh air. I needed to be far from him. As I pushed the door open, my foot caught the edge of a mat. I stumbled forward with a gasp. Strong hands caught my waist before I could hit the concrete. “Watch it,” a deep voice muttered. I froze. My back was against a firm chest. His grip steadied me with surprising ease. “I am sor—” “Annoying as hangers-on,” he growled under his breath as he released me. I blinked. Puck what? He walked past me, and I didn’t see his face. I only heard the rumble of irritation. I didn’t know him. He was just another stranger in a world full of people too busy to see me. I checked the time. 4 pm. My heart jumped. I hurried toward my car. I needed to call my sisters and I prayed they made it back to the shelter safely. They had such a long walk after school. And I wasn’t there. I slid into the backseat of my car and grabbed my phone. I tapped the shelter’s number. It rang once before Winter answered. “Aspen,” she said softly. “Hi.” My shoulders relaxed a little at the sound of her voice. “You both got there safely?” “Yeah. Holly's eating a snack.” She paused. “And I was just about to start my homework. I’ll help Holly with hers after I’m done. We also have a sandwich for you.” “And what about the beds?” I asked quietly. There was a moment where everything inside me went still. Winter was only sixteen years old. Four years younger than me, but somehow, she was more mature than most adults. Holly was thirteen. She was the kind of girl who made paper snowflakes in July and believed wishes were real if you whispered them with enough hope. She was the baby of our family, the one we tried our hardest to protect from the full weight of our reality. A reality that I needed to change. “We got one,” Winter said. My breath left me in a soft rush. Relief hit so hard it made my eyes sting. “Vera is back,” Winter added quickly. “She saved us a space in one of family rooms for the whole week.” My throat tightened. “Thank goodness.” “She wants to talk to you,” Winter said. There was shuffling, then Vera’s warm voice came through. “Aspen,” she said gently, “you can relax, don’t worry about your sisters."" I closed my eyes. “Thank you.” “They're safe here,” she assured me. “You focus on your jobs. I am working on finding low-cost housing for you three. You know I'll do my best, but the waiting list is so long.” “Thank you, Vera. I’m so close to having enough money,” I whispered. “I almost had enough saved for the deposit and the first and last month’s rent. Then Holly needed warm clothes and the car needed a new battery. Half the money disappeared.” “You will get it back,” Vera said firmly. “Also, I found an open interview for a personal assistant. All experience welcome. The pay is… very good. And it’s tomorrow morning.” I let out a shaky laugh. “Vera, I don't have the right experience for something like that."" “You have everything you need,” she said. “Show up confident and do your best. Make them believe you are the best applicant, Aspen.” “I will think about it.” “No. You will go,” she said. “You deserve a real chance. And this will get you a chance to get out of the shelter. Just try it.” “I will try,” I said softly. “Promise.” We hung up, and I wiped my eyes quickly. Crying solved nothing. I needed to change. I pulled my catering uniform from a plastic bag and dressed as quickly as possible in the cramped car. I refused to change inside the restaurant again. Last time, Scott had made comments that still haunted me. Even in the safety of my car, I felt watched. It was probably nothing. Just nerves and exhaustion. I tried to ignore it and shoved the thought away. My hands shook as I started the engine. I had forty-five minutes to get across the city for my catering shift. I drove through traffic with heavy eyes. My limbs felt like lead. My chest felt tight. I needed sleep. I needed food. And I needed a miracle. I forced a breath into my lungs. I could do this. For Winter and Holly. Chapter 3 The Mess (Aspen’s POV) By the time I reached the catering hall, my feet felt like they were made of lead. I slipped through the back entrance, tied my apron, and grabbed a stack of menus, hoping I could blend in before Rachel noticed me. No such luck. “There you are,” Rachel snapped the moment she saw me. “Late again.” My stomach tightened. I glanced at the wall clock. I still had three full minutes before my shift started. “I am not late,” I said quietly. Rachel lifted her chin, looking down her nose at me. “You are late when I say you are late. Tonight is important, Aspen. Do not ruin this.” I swallowed the humiliation. “What is the event?” “It is for the San Diego Cyclones. They won tonight, so the owner is throwing a celebration. Very wealthy people here. Very important. Keep your eyes down and your ears shut. Do not get involved with anything you hear or see.” She stepped closer. “And try not to embarrass me.” Before I could respond, a group of servers strolled in behind me, all clearly late. Rachel did not say a single word to them. She only ever spoke to me this way. “Get to work,” she ordered. I nodded, grabbed a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and pushed through the swinging doors into the event hall. The sight took my breath away. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead. Women in shimmering gowns laughed with champagne glasses raised. Men in tailored suits talked loudly near the open bar. Everything gleamed. Everything radiated wealth. And then I saw them. The players. I could tell instantly who they were. Taller. Broader. Powerful in a way that had nothing to do with the suits they wore. Their presence filled the room like electricity. My father would have loved to see this. He loved winter. Loved hockey. Loved the Cyclones. The memory twisted inside me. I forced myself back to my job. I kept my eyes low as I walked the circle of guests, offering food without speaking. My heart pounded from the noise, the crowds, the pressure not to make a single mistake. Jack caught me between trays. “You look tense,” he said with a grin. “We should go out this weekend. The new Korean place downtown is amazing.” “I cannot,” I said. “You always say no. It will be on me. Come on. It will be fun.” Before I could decline again, Rachel’s voice cut across the kitchen. “Aspen. Stop flirting. Get back out there.” She said nothing to Jack. She never did. I lifted my tray again and headed back into the ballroom. I barely took three steps when a girl spun toward me, drink in hand. She crashed into me, the tray tilting violently before it flew from my grasp. It hit the marble with a loud crash, plates shattering, food scattering. Gasps rippled through the guests. The girl stared at the mess, then at me. “What is wrong with you,” she shrieked. “You ruined my outfit. Are you blind or just clueless?” Heat flooded my face. I stared at the floor. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Sorry,” she repeated, laughing harshly. “Pathetic.” I could feel eyes on me. Tons of eyes. My throat tightened painfully. I bent down to gather the broken pieces, trying to blink back tears, but Rachel stormed out of the kitchen first. “Aspen. What did you do,” she barked. “You created a scene. Do you know who that was? I have had enough of you. You are done here. Leave the building.” My mouth fell open. “Rachel, please, the girl bumped into me. It was an accid—” “I do not want excuses. Get out.” She pointed to the exit as if I were garbage she wanted removed. Tears blurred my vision. I placed the broken pieces on the nearest tray, untied my apron, and hurried out the back door. The cold night air hit me, and I finally let myself breathe. I leaned against the brick wall, trying not to cry too loudly. I could not afford to lose this job, but I had. Just like that. Just like everything else. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, but the tears kept coming. I felt like everything inside me was breaking. - - - - - (Slade’s POV) I saw the argument from across the room before I even heard it. Jenny, drunk again, was yelling at a server who was picking up pieces of a shattered tray. The girl looked too young, too scared, too exhausted to be dealing with Jenny’s theatrics. Jenny lifted her voice even louder, drawing attention to herself. I had reached my limit for the night. I walked toward them, ignoring the looks from guests who parted like I was a storm pushing through. “Get out,” I said to Jenny. She spun around, messy hair sticking to her cheek. “Slade. No. Wait. I did not mean to yell. She ruined my dress.” “I said get out.” Jenny blinked, trying to focus on me. Then she lurched forward and wrapped her hand around my arm. “Please. Come with me. We can talk.” I pulled my arm away. “Go home.” She moved closer. “Slade. Please. I miss you. I made one mistake. Roman tricked me.” I exhaled sharply, done with this conversation. “Leave me alone. There is no chance we are getting back together.” Her lips trembled. “But we talked about marriage.” A humorless laugh escaped me. “I would never have married you. Not before you cheated. Not after. Not ever.” Jenny froze. I looked past her for the server girl. The one with the dark hair and wide eyes. The one who looked like life had kicked her more times than she could count. But she was gone. I turned to Ryder. “I am leaving.” Ryder tilted his head with understanding. “See you tomorrow.” I walked out without another glance back. Cameras flashed behind me as I stepped into the cool night air. I had taken only a few steps toward the players’ exit when I saw something near the side of the building. A girl. Leaning against the wall, trying to hide her shaking hands as she wiped her face. The server. For a moment I paused. Something twisted in my chest. Something I didn’t want to acknowledge. She looked broken in a way I knew all too well. Part of me wanted to walk over and say something. Anything. But I didn’t even know how to comfort myself. I had nothing to offer her. And she was a stranger. I turned away and kept walking toward my car. But even as I drove home, the image stayed with me. The girl with the dark hair. The shining eyes full of pain. Chapter 4 The Interview (Aspen’s POV) I woke up with a heaviness in my chest that made it hard to breathe. The shelter’s dim lights glowed faintly. Winter and Holly were curled together on their narrow beds, the blankets pulled to their chins. They had not even seen me come in last night. I had been too ashamed to wake them and tell them the truth. I didn’t have it in me to tell them I had lost one of my jobs. The catering job was gone. I sat up slowly, trying not to make a sound. Winter had been trying to convince me she should start working. She was only sixteen, still a kid in so many ways, and yet life had pushed her into adulthood whether she was ready or not. I refused to let her cross that line. I wanted her to study. I wanted Holly to stay in school. I wanted college for them both. I wanted them to have the choices I gave up. I refused to let their childhoods be stolen the way mine had been. I forced myself to sit up and breathe, pushing away the memory. I had no room for regret this morning. My sisters needed me present. “Wake up,” I whispered gently. Winter opened her eyes first. Holly followed, rubbing her face and yawning loudly. I helped them get dressed, did their hair, and found two apples in my bag. I gave the apples to them and pretended I had already eaten breakfast. After we got dressed, I brushed Holly’s hair into a braid and tucked loose strands behind Winter’s ear. They looked so hopeful in the mornings, as if they believed a new day always meant things could get better. I wanted to believe that too. I walked them to school, telling them I would see them tonight at the shelter. Winter kept glancing over her shoulder until they disappeared inside the building. Once they were gone, I let out a slow breath and headed toward the car. Our car. The last gift my mother ever gave me. Old, dented, loud, and barely holding together, but it was ours. The backseat held blankets, clothes, two backpacks, and whatever pieces of our lives we could not bear to lose. I sat behind the wheel and closed my eyes. I had lost the catering job. I had barely fifty dollars left. And I had an interview for a job I was painfully unqualified for. But Vera had been so certain. This could change everything. I turned the key. The engine sputtered twice before catching. I exhaled in shaky relief and pulled out of the parking lot. The drive to downtown felt longer than usual. Every light seemed to turn red. Every passing minute made my nerves tighten more. What was I doing? Why would anyone hire me? What if I embarrassed myself again? I forced the thoughts away and kept driving. When I reached the towering glass building, I parked far away where no one would notice the rust on the car door. I stepped out, smoothed my cardigan, and walked toward the entrance. Inside, I froze. Every woman waiting looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. I watched as they brushed their long hair to perfection. Fix their already sharp eyeliner. They wore designer blouses. Their heels clicked across the floor like they owned the place. Some reapplied lipstick while others checked their reflections in tiny mirrors. They whispered to each other with excitement and confidence. And then there was me. Faded cardigan. Messy bun. Nerves trembling through my fingertips. I almost turned around. My phone buzzed. A thumbs up emoji from Vera. I swallowed hard and stayed. The receptionist called my name, and I followed her into a bright office where a man in his early fifties looked up from my resume. “Miss Hart,” he said. “This is your experience?” I nodded. “Yes.” “You have worked since you were sixteen. Fast food. Grocery store. Catering. No administrative experience. No office background.” “No,” I said. “But I learn quickly. I work hard. I can handle anything. I am willing to anything the job requires.” He raised a brow. “Do you know who you would be assisting?” “No,” I admitted. “But it does not matter to me. I just want to work.” Mark studied me for a long moment, something thoughtful in his eyes. “Most women here applied because they want a chance to flirt with Slade,” he said plainly. “Please tell me you are not one of them.” Heat rushed up my neck. “I am not. I do not even know who he is. I just need a job.” That was all he needed. “You are hired,” he said. “You start tomorrow.” I stared at him. “I am hired?” “Yes.” My eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. Truly.” He handed me a small clipboard of paperwork. I took it with shaking hands, thanked him again, and walked out of the room lightheaded with relief. As I stepped out of the building, sunlight reflected off the glass doors. At that exact moment, a man walked inside. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Those unmistakable green eyes. My breath caught. The man from the party. Humiliation burned through me, remembering the tray, the spilled food, the tears. I turned away quickly. I reached my car, leaned against it, and let out a slow breath to steady myself. Then my stomach dropped. My keys. I had left them in the interview room. I groaned softly, opened the car door to check even though I knew they were not there, then closed it quickly and hurried back toward the building. Halfway down the hall, I heard raised voices. My name. I froze. The door was open an inch. I pushed it gently. - - - - - (Slade’s POV) I stepped into the interview room and closed the door behind me. “Did you really hire someone without asking me first?” Mark looked far too calm. “We needed someone. You have run through assistants faster than I can hire them.” “That is not the point,” I snapped. “Let me see her resume.” He handed it to me. I scanned it quickly, irritation building with every line. Her name was Aspen Hart. “This girl has nothing,” I said. “No experience. No skills. Nothing useful for this job.” “She has work ethic. Integrity. Real drive,” Mark said. I ignored him. “I need someone who can actually get my work done, Mark.” I mind flew back to the girl I saw in the parking lot just now. The one who had cried alone on the side of the building last night. The one I should not have been thinking about. Absolutely not. “I cannot have someone like that working for me,” I said. “She is timid. Weak. She will fall apart in two days.” Mark opened his mouth, but something in his expression shifted. His eyes flicked over my shoulder. He shook his head. I turned. Aspen stood in the doorway. Her hand trembled around a set of keys. Her eyes glistened with hurt. She looked like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. Slowly, she stepped forward. She placed the paperwork Mark had given her on the table. “I am sorry for interrupting,” she whispered. “I came back for my keys.” She grabbed them from the chair, her fingers shaking, then turned toward me. Her shoulders lifted slightly, as if she were trying to make herself appear tall, steady, unbroken. “Thank you for the opportunity,” she said softly. “I understand.” She walked out of the room without waiting for a response. I did not say a word. Mark stared at me. I stared at the door she had disappeared through, something tight and uncomfortable twisting in my chest. Guilt. A feeling I hadn't had in a very long time. Chapter 5 His Mistake (Slade’s POV) I watched the door close behind her. There was something about her. The way she looked at me. I stared at the place where she had been standing. My chest felt tight in a way I didn’t want to analyze. I pushed it down. I had no business feeling anything for her. Mark rubbed his forehead. “You should not have said that in front of her.” “She was behind me,” I said. “How was I supposed to"