Chapter 141: One War At a Time

NORA’S POV

For several long, motionless seconds, the only sound in the SinBin kitchen was the low hum of the refrigerator.

Knox stared at me across the granite island, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite process the words that had just left my mouth.

Beside him, Jake blinked in complete bewilderment, while Bear stood frozen with his coffee mug suspended halfway to his lips.

Knox finally found his tongue. "You think I should do it?" he asked in a low, rough, and strained voice. "Nora, you heard what he’s doing. You know what he pulled with you."

"I know exactly what he pulled," I replied, resting my hands on the edge of the island. "And I know he’s trying to trap you."

Knox let out a sharp, bitter exhale, shaking his head. "Then why the hell would you tell me to put on a suit and smile for his cameras?"

"Because Garrison is banking on your pride," I told him, holding his gaze without flinching. "He designed this entire charity schedule hoping you’d boycott it."

Jake furrowed his brow, leaning in closer. "See? Same thing we were saying. Wait. How do you mean, Bennett?"

"Think about it," I said, gesturing toward the open laptop. "If Knox refuses to show up, what’s the headline? Garrison gets to play the heartbroken, benevolent billionaire whose selfish athlete son ruined the winter season for two hundred kids."

Bear’s eyes narrowed in grim understanding, his massive shoulders shifting.

"He makes you the villain, Knox," I continued softly, looking directly into his tense face. "He washes his hands of the sixty-thousand-dollar endowment, saves his company money, and tells everyone you’re ungrateful and unmanageable right before your NHL draft season."

Knox’s jaw remained rigid, but a flicker of awareness moved behind his gray eyes.

"Those kids need that equipment," I added gently. "Walking away doesn’t hurt your father. It hurts families who are counting on those grants."

The kitchen grew quiet, with only the clock ticking on the wall.

Knox looked down at the granite countertop, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge.

"I’m not telling you what to do, Knox," I said, softening my voice so it was just for him. "It’s your decision to make."

"If you decide you can’t stomach being in the same room with him, I will stand right beside you," I added gently. "But if you decide to go, you don’t go as his obedient son. You go as the captain of this team."

A long silence settled over the room as my words sank in.

Then Jake stepped forward, resting a firm hand on Knox’s shoulder.

"She’s right about one thing, Cap," he said quietly. "You don’t have to carry this entire burden by yourself. You’re our captain," Jake added with steady conviction. "Whatever you decide to do, we’re behind you one hundred percent."

"Jake’s right," Bear rumbled, setting his mug down on the counter with a solid thud. "If you want to boycott, the whole roster boycotts with you and we face the athletic director together. If you choose to go, we show up in our suits, we protect you, and we make sure every single kid in that rink gets their gear."

"No pressure from us, Knox," Jake added with a faint smile. "We ride with you. Always."

Knox looked between his two alternate captains, then lifted his gaze back to me.

The icy tension that had coiled around his posture slowly began to ease, his shoulders dropping as the knot in his chest loosened. "We don’t have to decide this second," he said quietly, running a hand over his dark curls. "We have time to figure out our angle. Right now, tomorrow morning with Pierce comes first."

"Agreed," Jake nodded with relief. "One war at a time."

"Speaking of survival," Bear said, his nostrils suddenly flaring as his eyes dropped to the butcher-paper parcel I had placed on the island. "What is that heavenly smell, and why haven’t we opened it yet?"

A small laugh bubbled up in my throat, breaking the lingering tension in the air.

"Test-bake number two," I announced, pulling back the foil to reveal the golden, four-strand braided brioche crown. "Honey-glazed sourdough brioche with spiced almond frangipane. A small token of appreciation for fifty pounds of bread flour."

Bear let out a low groan that sounded almost reverent. "Sweet mother of hockey."

He didn’t wait for an invitation. Bear grabbed a bread knife from the magnetic strip, slicing three thick, flaky wedges from the warm crown.

He handed one to Jake, passed one to Knox, and shoved the third into his own mouth.

For three seconds, Bear didn’t breathe. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling, his massive frame slumping against the cabinets in pure culinary ecstasy.

"Bennett," Bear mumbled around the bite, shaking his head in sheer awe. "You’re an angel sent straight from the pastry heavens. This is ridiculously good."

"Holy hell," Jake agreed, wiping a golden flake from his chin with wide eyes. "The layers are so light they practically melt. If Sugar and Spice doesn’t win this wildcard showcase, the judges need their heads examined."

Knox took a slow bite of his slice. His lips curved slightly as he looked across the island at me. "Told you she was a genius," he murmured.

"Well, genius or not," Jake said, dusting his hands over a napkin, "tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, we end Chloe’s little circus."

"Madison is completely locked in," I confirmed, leaning against the counter. "She has the forty-second voice memo saved in three different places. She’s meeting us outside Pierce’s office at eight-forty-five."

"Priya has the full timeline and the Wi-Fi logs," Knox added. "Tomorrow, we shut this down permanently."

We spent the next half hour running through the details, but the suffocating panic that had hung over the team on Saturday was completely gone. In its place was a calm, united front.

By five in the afternoon, the sky outside had turned a bruised violet as the early winter twilight settled over campus.

"Come on," Knox said softly, picking his truck keys up from the side table. "I’m driving you back."

I pulled on my coat and scarf, waving goodbye to Jake and Bear, who were already dividing up the remaining half of the brioche crown like scavengers.

The cold evening air bit at my cheeks as we walked down the porch steps to Knox’s truck.

Inside the car, the heater hummed softly, washing warm air over our knees as Knox navigated the quiet campus roads toward North Hall.

Neither of us spoke for several minutes, but it was an easy, comfortable quiet. Knox kept one hand on the steering wheel, while his other hand reached across the console, his fingers lacing firmly through mine.

When he pulled up to the front entrance of North Hall, he shifted into park and cut the engine.

I turned to unbuckle my seatbelt, but Knox was already stepping out of the driver’s side. He jogged around the front of the truck and opened my door, catching my hand to help me down.

"You don’t have to walk me all the way up, Knox," I said with a soft smile as the cold wind whipped between the brick buildings.

"Yes, I do," Knox replied simply, tucking my hand into the warm pocket of his jacket as we climbed the exterior steps.

We took the central stairs to the third floor. The corridor was quiet, smelling of clean laundry and the faint, sweet memory of last night’s baking.

Knox walked me all the way to Room 304, coming to a stop in the shadowed alcove beside my door. He turned to face me, stepping close enough that the breadth of his shoulders blocked out the fluorescent glare of the hallway lights.

"Thank you," Knox said quietly.

"For the brioche?" I teased gently.

"For telling me the truth in that kitchen," Knox murmured. "My whole life, Garrison taught me that power was about control. Being around him makes me want to burn everything down just to prove he doesn’t own me."

He reached up, his rough fingers gently brushing a stray curl behind my ear.

"You reminded me what actually matters," Knox whispered softly. "I’m still figuring out how to handle that photoshoot, but knowing you’re in my corner makes me feel untouchable."

My heart did a slow, warm flip in my chest as I reached up, resting my palms against the front of his jacket. "You’re always in my corner, Knox," I whispered softly. "It’s my turn to be in yours."

Knox’s gray eyes softened. "Once we walk out of Pierce’s office tomorrow," he murmured, his fingers trailing down the side of my jaw, "and this fake-contract garbage is dead and buried, you and I are doing something."

I tilted my head, looking up at him with a curious smile. "Doing what?"

"We’re going on a date," Knox replied. "It’s been a while."

A flutter of heat rushed straight to my cheeks. "A date... with no flashcards and no pounding butter?"

Knox let out a low chuckle, leaning down until his lips hovered just inches from mine.

"No economics," Knox promised, his warm breath ghosting against my skin. "No pastry flour. Just you, me, a real dinner, and whatever the hell you want to do."

"I think I can manage that, Captain," I whispered, my pulse racing with anticipation.

Knox smiled, closing the remaining distance between us.

The kiss was slow and tender. His lips were warm against the cool evening air, firm and reassuring as his hand settled at the small of my back, drawing me gently against his solid chest.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet space.

"Get some sleep, Bookworm," Knox whispered against my lips. "Tomorrow morning at eight-forty-five outside Pierce’s office."

"I’ll be there," I whispered back.

Knox pressed one last kiss to my temple, gave my hand a lingering squeeze, and turned back toward the stairs.