Chapter 140: It’s an Ambush

NORA’S POV

The pale Sunday morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Room 304, casting soft stripes of gold across my duvet.

For the first time all week, I woke up without a spike of panic tightening in my throat.

On the desk beside my laptop, the browser tab was still illuminated with the official green banner from the baking committee: Sugar & Spice Bakery, Wildcard Entry Number Fourteen Registered.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand to check the time. It was just past ten in the morning, and the lock screen showed two unread messages.

The first was from Knox, sent at seven-fifteen: Rest today, Bookworm. You earned it.

A warm feeling rushed through me, and I couldn’t help but smile. Then my gaze fell on the second notification banner, and my breath caught.

The sender name read: Drew Miller.

My thumb hovered over the glass for a long second, my pulse picking up an uneven rhythm before I tapped the thread open.

Drew: Hey Nora. I’ve been sitting with this since yesterday afternoon, and I need to apologize.

I was way out of line with how I spoke to you on that call. When the guys in our locker room started passing around those Briar Buzz screenshots, I reacted without thinking. Seeing that note about Sheridan giving your mom’s shop money made my head spin, and I let my pride get the better of me.

I had no right to accuse you of selling out. You’ve worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known to keep Sugar & Spice afloat, and you don’t owe me an explanation for how you manage your life. I let my temper talk, and I said things that were unfair and cruel.

I know Sheridan answered at the end, and I know where you stand. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I handled it. I hope your mom’s shop makes it through.

I sat up against my pillows, staring down at the glowing screen as I read the paragraphs a second time.

Across the room, Priya was sitting at her desk with a steaming mug of green tea.

"Who died?" Priya asked without looking up, her pen pausing over her legal pad. "You have that specific look on your face like someone just handed you a subpoena."

"Drew texted," I said quietly.

Priya’s head snapped up, her eyebrows arching over the rim of her glasses. "Miller? After Knox threatened to bury him in the ice yesterday?"

"He texted to apologize," I replied, tossing the phone onto the corner of her desk.

Priya picked up the phone, her sharp gaze scanning the screen. Her expression shifted from suspicion to a dry, unimpressed scoff as she read.

"Well, well," Priya drawled, tossing the phone back onto my mattress. "Look who finally realized he acted like a self-righteous jerk."

"It seems genuine," I murmured, staring at the message.

"Oh, it’s genuine remorse, all right," Priya agreed, leaning back in her swivel chair and crossing her arms. "Because for the first time in his life, he realized he couldn’t play the shining savior swooping in to rescue the diner girl from the big bad hockey captain."

She picked up her tea, gesturing at me with the mug. "I think Drew would have loved the idea of you needing him, Nora. I don’t know him that much, but there’s this... ego he carries himself with. Maybe because he saw himself as your protector back in Oakhaven."

"You think?" I asked softly.

"Yuppp... And now he realizes Knox didn’t buy you," Priya said with quiet conviction. "Knox stood in an apron for four hours pounding fifty pounds of cold butter with a rolling pin just so you could save yourself."

I took in a deep breath to digest that.

Priya was right. Drew’s apology was decent, but it didn’t stir any ache in my chest or make me second-guess where I belonged.

I picked up the phone and typed a calm, composed response:

Apology accepted, Drew. Thank you for reaching out. Good luck with the rest of your season.

I hit send and locked the screen, feeling a final, clean door click shut on my past.

"Good," Priya nodded, turning back to her textbooks. "Now that our emotional docket is cleared, what are we doing with that second brioche crown sitting on the dresser?"

I looked over at the wrapped pastry. When Knox and I had baked the test batch on Saturday night, we had produced four identical braided crowns. Two were stored in North Hall’s communal fridge, one had been sliced for portfolio photos, and the fourth sat right before us, wrapped in butcher paper and foil.

"I’m taking it to the SinBin," I said, swinging my legs out of bed. "Bear donated fifty pounds of premium King Arthur flour and blocks of European butter. The least I can do is deliver breakfast to our sponsors."

"Tell Bear if he wants to send over more butter, my door is always open," Priya laughed.

An hour later, I was bundled in my wool coat and scarf, walking across campus under a gray November sky.

Briar University was quiet on Sunday. Dry maple leaves blew across the pavement as I carried the warm, wrapped brioche crown in a sturdy canvas tote bag. When I reached the gravel driveway of the SinBin, Knox’s black truck was parked near the porch alongside Jake’s sedan.

The front door was unlocked, as it always was on weekends. I pushed it open, stepping into the heated entryway.

The familiar scent of woodsmoke and leather filled the foyer, but something was distinctly off.

Usually, Sunday afternoons at the hockey house were filled with the thunderous bass of video games, someone yelling about fantasy leagues, or pots clattering in the kitchen.

Today, the living room was completely empty, save for tense, heated voices echoing from the kitchen.

I paused on the hardwood floor of the hallway, holding the canvas tote close to my side.

"I don’t care what his PR people emailed, Jake," Knox’s voice cut through the air. "Tell them to take my name off the call sheet."

"Knox, be realistic for five seconds," Bear replied in a stressed tone. "Sheridan Global has sponsored the Youth Hockey Meet and Greet for eight straight years. It’s already printed on the athletic calendar for next week."

"My father cut me off three weeks ago," Knox fired back sharply. "He tried to bribe Nora, he tried to strip my captaincy, and he tried to run my life into the ground."

"I am not playing dressup to stand under flashbulbs so Garrison Sheridan can pretend he’s a devoted father," Knox spat.

"Nobody is asking you to kiss his ring, Knox," Jake pleaded, leaning over the granite island. "We’re telling you that walking away gives him the exact ammunition he wants before tomorrow’s compliance hearing with Pierce."

"It’s an ambush," Jake added, running a hand through his hair. "Garrison’s PR team sent an explicit schedule demanding you smile for corporate donors and sign calendars with Harold Orwell sitting in the front row."

"And what happens if Knox boycotts?" Bear’s deep voice rumbled. "Did you read the fine print attached to the foundation schedule, Jake?"

A tense silence fell over the kitchen.

"Yeah, Bear," Jake muttered, his shoulders slumping. "I read it."

"If Knox doesn’t show up," Bear explained, "Garrison’s PR foundation cancels the youth charity endowment. That’s sixty thousand dollars in hockey equipment and free winter ice time for two hundred underprivileged kids across the entire state."

My heart stopped in my chest.

Sixty thousand dollars in youth equipment. For kids across the entire state.

"That’s his play," Knox replied. "He weaponizes charity to force me into his corporate cage. He knows I can’t walk away without screwing over those kids."

"Can’t we pool team funds?" Jake suggested, frustration bleeding into his words. "We could ask alumni, run an emergency booster drive, pass the hat."

"An emergency booster drive takes months, Jake," Bear pointed out quietly. "The youth league gear orders will be due by the end of the month if I’m not mistaken. And if that Sheridan Foundation grant isn’t approved at the photoshoot, those kids don’t get on the ice this winter."

"So what do we do, Cap?" Jake asked, sounding completely torn. "Do we tell them to shove the photoshoot, or do we swallow the poison?"

"We don’t swallow a damn thing," Knox snapped, the sound of his palm slamming against the granite counter echoing down the hall. "I’ll find another way to fund the gear. I am not letting that man use me as a prop."

I stood frozen in the shadowed doorway, my pulse pounding against my ears.

The memory of Knox’s phone buzzing on the stainless prep table in North Hall flashed in my mind. He had silenced it, slipped it into his pocket, and lied, telling me it was just team or group banter.

He had carried this heavy burden in silence all night, just to keep my baking safe and untouched.

I took a deep, steadying breath, shifted the canvas tote in my grip, and stepped through the doorway into the bright kitchen.

The floorboards creaked softly beneath my boots.

Instantly, all three players froze.

Knox snapped his head toward the entrance, his eyes widening in stunned shock. Jake’s jaw dropped, and Bear nearly dropped the coffee mug in his massive hand.

On the granite island, the laptop screen flickered with the open Sheridan Global call sheet.

The room went so silent you could hear the low hum of the refrigerator.

Knox stared at me, color draining from his cheekbones. "Nora..."

I walked steadily across the tile, set the wrapped brioche crown onto the island right beside the open laptop, and looked directly into Knox’s eyes. "You should do it."