As we walk up the pathway to my apartment door, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out to read, expecting an update from Trent on what time he wants to get to the rink for pregame. He likes to get there before everyone else, and I usually join him. I hold the door open for Emma and glance at my phone as she passes, my mind not understanding the message at first until I realize who it’s from. It’s Harley. And that fight he had scheduled for me for a few weeks from now—it’s been moved up.

Rich boy wants to show off what he’s got Sunday night. I can’t get a venue, so it’ll be here. The money line is trending big on your favorite round if you know what I’m sayin’.

My stomach rolls when I read his message, and I slow as I trail behind Emma toward my room. My eyes stay on my phone as I follow her through my door, closing it behind us, and my heartbeat is drumming out every other sound as I realize I’m going to have to tell her. I will never lie to Emma—ever.

“So can I wear one of your Tech Hockey shirts? I want to look like I fit in…” She stops talking the instant she turns to face me, the joy from moments ago sucked away into the black hole of doom that I can’t seem to avoid when it comes to all things me-and-Emma-Burke.

She never asks. I don’t wait for her to. She deserves to know, and my gut told me the second she asked me not to fight Graham that I would tell her the minute I got the call. There’s also no way I’m letting her near him—she’ll be safe, here, in my home with Trent, when I fight.

“That was my guy…at the gym. Graham set a date,” I say, glancing back at my phone, sort of hoping that there’s a follow-up saying everything’s been cancelled. I won’t back out—but I wouldn’t exactly be upset if he did at this point.

“When?” she asks, falling to my bed, pulling her knees up and hiding her mouth behind the tops. Damn, I hate that she’s stressed over this or worried. I hate that she’s thinking about Graham. And I hate that bruise on her face. That’s the one thing justifying what I’m going to do.

“Sunday,” I say, my jaw flexing as I swallow. The part of me that wants to protect her hates to tell her any of this.

But I will never lie.

“That’s in two days,” she says, her eyes staring at her kneecaps, her fingers gripping her jean-covered shins.

I move closer, slowly, lifting one foot in my hand, pulling her leg from her grip and taking her shoe off. I rest that foot on the floor and do the same with her other leg. The entire time, her eyes never quite make it to mine. She’s afraid to look at me, and I know it’s because she’s afraid to show me she’s afraid.

I step in between her legs and kneel down, running my hands along her thighs and then around her, hugging her to me, my head resting on her lap.

“I will be okay, Emma. I won’t let him hurt you, and he won’t hurt me. I’m stronger than he is,” I say, and deep down I know I am. He may have me in size, but my heart beats for this girl, and when I have that in my corner, there’s nothing I can’t defeat.

“I don’t trust him, Andrew,” she says, and I feel her body shake once beneath me, but she holds it in, not wanting to cry in front of me. I stand to my feet, taking her hands to pull her to hers, and the second she rises, I sweep her into my arms, sitting with her on my lap. She folds into me, her fit perfect, like everything I’ve ever been missing.

“I’m scared,” she says, her eyes closed, her face pressed into my chest. Her breathing slows, but I feel every rise and fall.

“I’m so scared. I can’t lie to you. I won’t,” she pauses, her voice trailing off. She rolls her head against me, her forehead pressed against my heart, her face still shielded from my view. “If you’re going to stand in a ring with him…I want you to kill him.”

I hold her tightly, and I feel her muscles tense. I feel her anger, and I feel her worry. I kiss her head and run my hands down her back, wanting nothing more than to make her worries disappear and her wishes come true. After a few minutes, I sway her playfully, but when it doesn’t produce a smile, I stop. We are at a depth too deep for small gestures. What she needs now is love, protection, and a guarantee. I promise her the world, but the voice in the back of my head also reminds me who I am.

Good doesn’t usually come to the Harpers.

* * *

Emma

Andrew is amazing on the ice. He’s always been beautiful to watch out there—the grace with which he skates, such a contrast to the force he can deliver when he wants something badly enough.