Chapter 159: Unfinished Business

NORA’S POV

The hot shower at North Hall washed away the deep chill of the ice arena.

Steam filled the small bathroom, smelling of lavender body wash. I stood beneath the water for a long time, letting the heat work the stiffness out of my shoulders before wrapping myself in a thick towel.

Back in Room 304, Priya was sitting cross-legged on her bed, carefully applying a coat of burgundy polish to her fingernails.

"You look entirely too relaxed, Bennett," Priya said, blowing softly on her wet nails. "Where is the stressed-out honors student who used to chew on her pen caps until midnight?"

"Buried under eighty-four thousand dollars in charity donations," I said, a soft smile touching my lips.

I pulled on a soft cream-colored knit sweater, a pair of dark fitted jeans, and my favorite brown leather ankle boots. As I sat at my desk to dry my hair, my gaze landed on the thick navy economics binder resting beside my laptop.

I unzipped the heavy three-ring binder and flipped straight to the back plastic sleeve.

Tucked neatly inside was a single folded sheet of lined notebook paper.

The creases were worn soft from weeks of being tucked away. Across the top, my own neat handwriting spelled out the title: Nora’s Terms. Both of our signatures sat at the bottom in dark ballpoint ink.

Priya glanced over from her bed, eyeing the paper in my hands. "Still keeping the original evidence?"

"Not for much longer," I said, folding the paper into fourths and slipping it into the front pocket of my coat.

A sharp double-tap of a truck horn sounded from the driveway two floors below.

I walked over to the window and pushed aside the curtain. Knox’s black truck was idling beneath the bare oak trees, exhaust curling into the dark November evening.

"Have fun, Bennett," Priya said, giving me a supportive wink. "And don’t worry about curfew. I’ll lock the door."

"Thanks, Priya," I laughed, grabbing my coat and heading down the stairwell.

The cold evening air bit at my cheeks the second I stepped out of North Hall.

Knox was already standing by the open passenger door of his truck. He wore a dark charcoal crewneck sweater that hugged his broad chest and shoulders, paired with clean dark denim.

When he saw me walking toward him, his eyes softened with an appreciative warmth that made my stomach flutter.

"You look beautiful, Bookworm," Knox murmured as I reached the truck.

"I wish I could say the same for you, Captain," I replied with a teasing smile.

Knox raised a dark eyebrow, a mock scowl tugging at the corner of his lips as his hands settled on my waist. "Ouch, Bennett. Brutal."

"You’re more handsome than beautiful," I added quickly, stepping into his space.

A slow smirk broke across his face. "Nice save, Bookworm."

He lifted me easily onto the heated leather seat, leaned in to press a warm, lingering kiss to my lips, and clicked the door shut.

Ten minutes later, we pulled up outside Lucca’s, a small, family-owned Italian trattoria tucked away in a quiet neighborhood a few miles off-campus.

The restaurant was warm and dimly lit by amber sconces along exposed brick walls. Red-and-white checkered tablecloths and the rich aromas of roasted garlic, simmering marinara, and fresh rosemary filled the air.

There were no college athletes here, no students gossiping over hockey rosters, and no campus drama.

We took a small corner booth near the back.

The waiter brought over a basket of warm, crusty garlic focaccia with olive oil, followed by two plates of handmade pappardelle with slow-braised short rib ragu.

Knox tore a piece of bread in half and dipped it into the seasoned oil. "How’s your mom holding up with the showcase news?"

"She’s thrilled, but definitely nervous," I answered, swirling a forkful of pasta. "Hearing that Chef Marcel Moreau from L’Étoile is in the competition gave her a scare. That man has two Michelin stars and three television shows."

Knox swallowed his bite, shaking his head with quiet conviction. "Television shows don’t mean a damn thing when the dough hits the oven. Your dad’s sourdough starter has thirty years of history. People can taste honesty in food, Bennett. You’re going to hold your own."

Hearing him say it with so much casual certainty made the tight knot in my chest uncoil completely.

"What about you?" I asked, watching him across the candlelit table. "Any more calls from Garrison’s lawyers?"

"Not a single one," Knox said, taking a sip of his water. "Monday’s hearing with Hastings and Pierce shut that door for good. My father knows pushing any harder will only cause a public PR mess for Sheridan Global. For the first time in four years, I’m just playing hockey."

We sat in that booth for two full hours.

We talked about everything and nothing... funny stories from Knox’s rookie season on the team bus, my childhood memories growing up in the bakery, and Bear’s absurd obsession with classic rock.

Sitting across from him, laughing over shared bread and good food, I loved how light and uncomplicated everything felt. Our date at The Cellar on Monday had been wrapped up in the emotional aftermath of the compliance hearing.

Tonight was pure, easy happiness.

No cameras, no compliance threats, and no pretending.

By eight-thirty, Knox paid the bill, and we walked back to the truck hand in hand through the quiet, cold streets.

When we pulled into the gravel driveway behind the SinBin, the house was dark except for the warm glow of the second-floor windows. A pair of cars was parked out front, but the ground floor was quiet.

"Where are Bear and Jake?" I asked as Knox unlocked the heavy front door.

"Downstairs in the basement playing NHL on the PlayStation," Knox said, kicking the door shut behind us and locking the deadbolt. "I told Bear if he came upstairs before morning, I’d tape his skates to the ceiling."

A soft laugh escaped my throat as Knox took my coat, hung it on the wooden peg in the hallway, and took my hand.

He led me up the carpeted stairs to his bedroom, closing the door behind us with a soft, solid click.

The room was warm, filled with the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp. The scent of cedarwood, clean cotton, and Knox’s familiar cologne hung in the air. It felt like a safe haven from the rest of the world.

I sat down on the edge of the mattress, watching him as he kicked off his boots by the closet.

"You remember what you told Vanessa in the concourse this morning?" I asked, breaking the quiet.

Knox paused, looking over at me with an amused arch of his dark brow. "Which part? The part about the contract, or the part where I said I chose you?"

"Both," I said softly. I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out the folded, creased sheet of lined notebook paper. "You told her our signed copies were still locked away safe."

Knox’s gaze dropped to the folded paper in my hand. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, followed by a look of warm realization.

"I brought mine from North Hall," I told him, holding it up between two fingers. "I figured there was still one piece of unfinished business we needed to settle tonight."

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

"Stay right there," he murmured.

He walked over to the mahogany nightstand beside the bed. Sliding open the bottom drawer, he lifted his grandfather’s brass-cornered watch case and pulled out a matching piece of folded paper from underneath.

"I’ve been waiting all week to get rid of this damn thing," Knox said, walking back to the bed.

He sat down right beside me on the mattress.

Together, we opened the sheets and laid them flat side by side on the navy duvet.

On the left was Knox’s list... five demanding, arrogant rules written in his sharp, slanted handwriting from that day in this same room. On the right was my list.

At the very bottom of Knox’s page, written in bold, rebellious ink, was the addition I had forced onto him before signing: Rule #6: No falling in love.

Knox looked down at the words, running the pad of his thumb over the faded blue ink.

"This has to be the single worst rule ever written in the history of college athletics," Knox murmured.

"You agreed to it," I reminded him, leaning my shoulder against his arm. "You signed your name right beneath it."

"I signed it because I thought I was untouchable," Knox said softly, turning his head to look directly into my eyes. "I thought you were just an economics tutor who was going to keep my GPA above a two-point-five. I had no idea you were going to completely take over my life."

"Did I take over your life?" I asked in a whisper.

"From the second you hit me with that stray puck," Knox replied without hesitation.

He reached down and picked up both sheets of paper, holding them together between his broad hands. He offered me one half of the pages, his fingers brushing against mine as I took hold of the opposite side.

"Ready, Bookworm?" he asked, his gray eyes shining with fierce certainty.

"More than ready," I said.

Together, we pulled in opposite directions.

The sound of the paper tearing was loud, and final.

We folded the halves together and ripped them again, tearing the contract into small, useless strips of scrap paper.

Knox tossed the torn pieces into the small copper wastebasket beside his desk, leaving the bed completely clear.

"The contract is officially dead," Knox said, turning back to me. "No terms. No rules. No fake dates."

"Just us," I whispered.

"Just us," Knox repeated.

He reached out and caught the back of my neck, his large hand warm against my skin as he pulled me forward into an unhurried, breathless kiss.

His mouth was warm and possessive, tasting of mint and sweet wine. I leaned into him, burying my hands in his thick dark curls as he shifted onto the mattress, pulling me onto his lap.

Every barrier we had spent the semester hiding behind was gone. There was no leverage left to worry about, no secrets to guard, and no fear of who might be watching.

Knox eased me gently down against the pillows, hovering over me with his gray eyes burning with open adoration. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with reverent care.

"I love you, Nora," Knox murmured against my lips.

"I love you too, Knox," I whispered back, my heart swelling with pure happiness.