(Danica)
The bouquet sat on my desk like a live wire — white lilies and blue accents wrapped in simple brown paper, impossible to ignore.
I hadn’t meant to keep them. When Kane stepped out of the shadows near the practice path and held them out, every instinct told me to shove them back at his chest and walk away. But something in his eyes stopped me. Not the usual cruelty. Not the calculated menace. Just raw, conflicted honesty that made my fingers close around the stems before my brain could catch up.
Now they were here, in my room at the hockey house, filling the space with a soft floral scent that felt completely out of place among hockey gear and tension.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at them. Kane’s words kept replaying: You fight like her. I don’t want you broken. The sam
