(Slade’s POV)
We lost.
Not the kind of loss you could explain away with bad calls or unlucky bounces. It was ugly. We played like s**t and deserved the score that followed us off the ice.
By the time the plane touched down, my jaw was locked tight and my hands ached from gripping the armrests too hard. I didn’t talk on the ride home. I didn’t check my phone. I didn’t want noise. I wanted quiet.
I wanted control.
The house lights were on when I pulled into the drive.
It was late into the night. Maybe Pippa was still up.
I slammed the door harder than necessary and stepped inside, already rehearsing the things I needed to do tomorrow.
Then I saw the living room.
I stopped so abruptly my body jerked forward like I’d hit an invisible wall.
Lights.
Warm white lights woven along the b
