Before I knew it, the week had flown by in a blur of classes, newspaper, dinner with Zara and Noelle, and trying to squeeze in some time with Chase. Emphasis on trying, because the universe seemed perpetually determined to make our schedules as incompatible as possible. If we didn't have sleepovers, we'd never see each other.

Getting ready for the gala consumed a good half of my Saturday. I don't know how, it just did. Maybe because Siobhan made an entire event out of it. We ordered takeout for lunch, we pre-gamed—in my case, that consisted of only one drink, because I had zero alcohol tolerance—and listened to music while we got ready. I even curled my hair, which was a momentous twice-a-year event. Shiv had to swoop in and help me with my makeup because I still hadn't mastered the fine motor skills necessary to make a straight line with liquid eyeliner. Probably never would.

When it was time to leave, Chase strolled through the door and his jaw literally dropped. "I definitely should have tried to squeeze in a quickie with you earlier, because now I might die waiting."

"Well, hello to you too."

Do you think there is any chance we still—"

His phone chimed and he glanced down, brow furrowing. "Guess not. Ward's timing strikes again."

*

I was unprepared for the level of formality of the event. When Chase said it was "nice," that was a massive understatement. It was by far the most lavish event I'd ever attended. To be fair, that list was fairly short and mostly consisted of family weddings, which, in my middle-class suburban circle, meant they were held at a community center and were sometimes potluck. They were nice in their own way, but they weren't high-end like this.

It was also hard not to be a little starstruck. The banquet hall was stacked with college players, AHL players, NHL players, and management from teams at all levels. I had to stop myself from fangirling multiple times.

And the food? It was freaking filet mignon. Siobhan had the salmon because she didn't eat red meat. It looked amazing too, though I would pick steak over seafood any day.

After dinner wrapped up, Chase excused himself to go to the bathroom and get us more drinks, leaving me behind with Siobhan, Zoe, and Kristen. Siobhan and Zoe were immersed in a heated debate about purse designers, which left me and Kristen to our own devices.

Awkward.

We sat in silence for a few moments, and I scanned the hall for anyone I knew, hoping I could find an excuse to make an exit. To my dismay, the only people I recognized were Luke and Paul. Luke's eyes collided with mine from across the room. I quickly looked away, a jolt of nausea shooting through my stomach, but I could still feel his eyes linger on me.

Guess I was out of options. Something about Kristen made me uneasy, but she was still better than Luke. Given the circumstances, I was going to make an effort to be friendly.

"Kristen, right?"

She glanced up at me and the slightest frown grazed her face before she assumed a more neutral expression. "Yeah. You're Hailey? Hannah?"

"Bailey." I'd met her multiple times. At this point, it was starting to feel passive-aggressive.

"Right."

"So, you go to Boyd with the guys?"

"Yup."

Unfortunately, the rest of my attempts to make conversation followed in kind, which is to say it was stilted as heck. I'd have been better off talking to the orchid centerpiece at our table.

Siobhan and Zoe wrapped up their fashion chat a minute after and started a table-wide conversation about the guys' last game, which I had unfortunately missed. From there, the conversation flowed much more smoothly and eased most of tension that lingered.

Then Shiv started recounting the guys' funniest and most noteworthy hockey moments. There were some real gems, like the time a guy from an opposing team tried to pick a fight with Chase, then tripped and fell flat on his butt before the fight even started. Another time, Dallas's shot hit the backboards, rebounded back, and bounced into the net against the other team's goalie. And Ty got himself thrown out of a game last season after getting into a shoving match with a player who took a dirty hit on Dallas.

The skin on the back of my neck prickled and I glanced up, expecting to see Chase somewhere nearby looking at me. But it was Luke. Again. I immediately dropped my gaze, pretending I hadn't seen him. Because I wish I hadn't. I couldn't wait for him to graduate this spring and never see him again.

Halfway into the evening and so far, I'd successfully avoided any run-ins with Morrison. Things were moderately weird with Kristen, but she was being friendly enough to Bailey. I had hopes that things would continue smoothly.

On my way back from the bathroom, I got roped into a conversation with some guys from the Bulldogs—Palmer and Reed, plus a few others who weren't total pieces of shit like the rest of the team. We started talking stats and it quickly turned into a lively debate about which NHL player was the biggest disappointment so far this season. It was Hancock, obviously. But try telling that to those guys.

By the time I excused myself to go get some drinks, Bailey was back at our table talking to Shiv and Kiara. Shiv tilted her head back, howling, while Bailey covered her mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. They seemed to be having a good time, which was nice to see. Bailey was more than nice to look at in that black dress, too. Damn. Who knew backs could be so sexy? I sure didn't. But the way it dipped low, revealing all that bare skin, made me think very dirty things. Then again, she always made me think dirty things.

Maybe I could get her to keep those heels on later.

My gaze lingered on Bailey for another beat. Then I remembered I was supposed to be getting us both drinks. Stay on task, Carter.

I continued past the clusters of tables, heading over to the corner bar. As I drew closer, I noticed Morrison standing there with a drink in his hand, watching my girlfriend like some kind of fucking stalker. He was angled away from the counter, pretending to look at his phone and fooling absolutely no one because his gaze was blatantly glued to Bailey.

You've got to be kidding me.

Didn't he have a date? Where was that Sophie or Sophia chick he was with? Then again, Morrison was such a creep I doubted that would stop him. He'd probably ogle James right in front of his own girlfriend.

I caught the bartender's eye and ordered our drinks, stuffing a couple bills in the tip jar.

Then I decided to set a motherfucker straight.

"Don't even think about it." I leaned against the wooden countertop, facing Morrison's back.

He swiveled in my direction, giving me a haughty once-over. "What are you talking about, Carter? Are you a psychic now or something?"

Didn't need to be a psychic to know he was a creep.

"My girlfriend." I nodded at Bailey. "Do yourself a favor and stay the hell away."

"Last I checked, it was a free country."

I shook my head. "Not for you, it isn't."

"Calm down, psycho." He scoffed, but there was a hint of fear in his pale blue eyes. Glancing down, he pretended to brush off his navy suit to avoid my searing glare. "Maybe I just want to make things right with her."

"And maybe I'm Mary fucking Poppins."

He only wanted one of two things: to hurt Bailey or to hoover her back in. The first one wasn't happening on my watch and the second one wasn't happening in this lifetime or the next. Which meant he had zero reason to interact with her ever again.

Luke's eyes darted over to the left, where Paul was standing with a few other guys from the Bulldogs—dirtbag ones. His posture straightened, shoulders squaring. Right. He was feeling brave now that he knew there were reinforcements nearby. Too bad I didn't care about that.

"Why don't you mind our own business?"

"Bro." I laughed. "Bailey is the definition of my business."

The bartender returned with my beer and Bailey's vodka seven, handing them to me. I thanked him before turning back to face Morrison again.

"Just pretend she has a restraining order against you. Because she really should. Do you follow?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "I know you're a little slow, so I want to make sure."

He took a sip of his dark brown drink, which looked like rum and coke or something similar. I suspected the alcohol was making him even more obnoxious than usual. Hard to say, I guess, when that bar was already set so high.

"Bailey doesn't need you to make her choices. Last I checked, she was an adult who could make her own decisions." His voice oozed with arrogance, which matched his smug face. I'd bet good money that was the way he spoke to servers at restaurants, too. He was that guy.

"And she has made her own decisions. Repeatedly. You just don't respect them." My grip tightened on the drinks I was holding, knuckles turning white.

He was always such a punk in settings where he thought he was safe from my wrath. With every word he uttered, every breath he took, every second he continued to exist, my constant low-level anger towards him crept closer to incandescent rage.

Having him within grabbing distance wasn't helping my self-control. I wanted to pummel him. Had wanted to pummel him for some time now. But I needed to keep it in check until the next game. It would be sweet satisfaction to demolish him like I did last time.

I took a step closer and lowered my voice. "I know about your little car stunt, you piece of shit. I should drag your ass outside right now for that alone."

"You know, your whole tough guy act is really low-brow," Luke said. "But I guess it matches your cheap suit."

Pretty sure he wouldn't know a Brioni if I strangled him with it. Morrison was a walking example of how money couldn't buy taste—or class. But whatever. I wasn't about to quibble over designer clothing with him. I wasn't going to let him ruin my night, either. Or hers. I would keep it on a leash for now. As long as he didn't go near Bailey.

I drew in a breath, steadying myself. "Just be smart and steer clear of her. Neither of us wants a scene. After all, we're here for the kids."

"Exactly." Luke smirked, taking another pull of his highball. "Even you wouldn't be crass enough to start something tonight."

"See, that's where you're confused," I said, turning to leave. "I don't start things. I finish them."

He made a face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Fuck around and find out."

Kristen seems to be carrying a torch for Chase still... and Luke, well, continues to be the worst.