Page 28 of Trade It All

“Where is Maddie?” My words cut through everything else. Clean. Sharp. Tyler’s expression changes.

It’s small. Barely there. But it’s enough. My body reacts before my mind catches up, something in me tightening, locking in place. Luka sees it too.

I know he does by the way his posture shifts, by the way something darker settles into his voice when he speaks next. “Go get her.”

It’s not a request. It’s not loud. But it carries weight in a way that doesn’t need volume to be understood. Tyler straightens slightly, pushing back against it, his grip tightening around the beer in his hand.

“I know who your family is,” he says, his tone shifting, something defensive slipping into it. “You’re not coming into my place carrying a weapon.”

Luka doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. There’s something in his expression now that doesn’t belong to the rink. Something older. Sharper. The kind of presence that doesn’t need to be explained for it to be felt. And it’s not him that answers.

It’s me.

I step forward, closing the space between us without hesitation, without giving him time to adjust or rethink whatever position he thinks he’s holding.

“You can pat him down,” I say, my voice low enough that he has to focus to hear it, steady enough that there’s no mistaking what sits underneath it. “You can search every inch of him if that makes you feel better.” I take another step. Close enoughnow that he has to tilt his head back slightly to keep eye contact. “But I’m telling you right now—” There’s no rush in the words. No raised voice. No wasted movement. “—you’ve got three seconds to bring Madison out here.” The space between us tightens. Everything else fades. “Or I will walk into your house,” I continue, holding his gaze, not giving him anywhere to go with it, “and I will use my bare hands to make sure you understand exactly why that was a mistake.”

The music is still pounding behind him. People are still moving. But right here—nothing else exists. “Three,” I say quietly.

“I’m here.” Her voice threads through the space behind him, quiet but steady in a way that cuts through everything else. It doesn’t rise above the music. It doesn’t have to. It reaches me anyway, finding something in my chest that tightens and releases at the same time, like I’ve been holding my breath longer than I realized.

“Madison…” Tyler grinds out, the words pushed through clenched teeth, his focus still locked on me like he thinks looking away will cost him something.

I don’t give him anything. I hold his gaze. Let him feel exactly what he’s standing in front of. And then she moves. I catch it in the edge of my vision first, the way she slips past him instead of around him, her body angled inward like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Her head stays down. Her shoulders pulled in just enough that it doesn’t read as obvious to anyone who isn’tlooking for it. But I am. I always am. She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t look at me. She just moves. And something in me tightens further.

“Fuck it,” Tyler mutters, and then the door slams hard enough that the sound cracks through the hallway.

She’s already halfway down the hall. Luka and I move at the same time, falling into step behind her without saying a word, the distance between us closing quickly as she reaches the elevator and hits the button. The doors slide open. She steps in immediately, her hand bracing against the side wall like she needs something solid to steady herself.

Luka’s voice breaks the silence first. “Maddie—”

“Not right now.” She doesn’t look at him when she says it.

Her voice is low. Controlled. Stripped of anything that would give away what’s sitting underneath it. And that’s what sets something off in me. Because she’s never like this. Not with us. The doors close, sealing the three of us into a space that feels too small for everything pressing in around it. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just watch her.

The way her shoulders stay slightly curled inward. The way her hands hang at her sides like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them. The way she keeps her face turned just enough that I can’t fully see it, like she’s holding something back and doesn’t trust what will happen if she lets it show.

The elevator hums as it descends, each second stretching longer than it should, the air inside it thick in a way that doesn’t belong to the space itself.

Something is wrong. Not small wrong. Not something that gets brushed off or explained away. Something deeper. Something I can feel sitting just under the surface of her, even without her saying a word. The doors slide open. She moves immediately. Fast. Like she needs out. Like she needs air. She steps into the garage without looking back, her pace uneven in a way that doesn’t match the way she normally carries herself, like her body is trying to keep up with something her mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

And that’s where I break. Not loud. Not explosive. Just… done. My hand closes around her wrist before I think about it, firm enough to stop her, careful enough not to hurt her, the contact grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed until it’s there.

She stills. The movement stops. The space between one breath and the next stretches. Then she turns. And looks at me.

Everything inside me goesred.

Not a flash. Not a spike.A flood.

Her cheek is already marked, the skin flushed and angry, the edges darkening just enough that I know what it’s going to look like later. Her lip is split, the smallest break, but enough that it pulls something violent through my chest that doesn’t haveanywhere to go. I don’t hear the garage. I don’t hear the echo of our footsteps or the distant hum of engines or anything else that should be there.

All I see is her.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” Luka’s voice cuts through somewhere behind me, low and dangerous in a way that belongs to a part of him most people never see, a part that runs deeper than the rink, deeper than the game.

But I don’t answer him. I don’t say anything at all. Because everything in me is too tight. Too controlled. Too close to snapping. I’ve fought my entire life. I know what anger feels like. I know how it moves through my body, how to use it, how to direct it, how to keep it from crossing lines that can’t be uncrossed. This isn’t that. This isn’t something I can shape. This is something that wants out.

My hand lifts before I think about it, my fingers brushing against her cheek, light enough that it shouldn’t hurt, careful enough that I don’t add to what’s already there.