Chapter 93: Right on Time

KNOX’S POV

I killed the truck engine in the gravel driveway of 424 Oakwood, resting my forehead against the leather steering wheel.

The cab was completely dark and quiet, but my pulse was still thrumming like a high-voltage wire.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could still taste the sweet, minty heat of Nora’s mouth. I could still feel the trembling curve of her waist beneath my leather jacket, her small fingers clutching the back of my neck as I kissed her breathless against the brick pillar of North Hall.

Definitely.

Her breathless whisper echoed through my head, sending a low, fierce surge of pride straight through my chest.

I sat upright, grabbed my keys from the ignition, and stepped out of the truck into the chilly night air.

As soon as I pushed open the front door of the SinBin, the deafening sound of video game commentary and frantic controller clicking blasted through the entryway.

In the center of the living room, sprawled across two leather sofas with half-eaten pizza boxes and empty soda cans on the coffee table, were Bear, Jake, and Milo.

"Poke check! Poke check him, you idiot!" Bear roared at the screen, aggressively mashing the buttons of his PlayStation controller.

"I can’t! He’s deking through the slot!" Milo yelled back.

Jake, who was sitting on the armrest with a slice of cold pepperoni, was the first to look up. His eyes locked onto me standing in the foyer, and his jaw dropped mid-chew.

"Holy shit," Jake muttered, nudging Bear’s massive shoulder with his sneaker. "Yo, Bear. Look who finally decided to come home."

Bear paused the game with a sharp flick of his thumb, turning around on the couch.

His sharp eyes scanned me from my leather jacket to my boots, zeroing in on the slow, unbothered smirk on my face.

"Look at that stupid grin," Bear said, letting out a low, booming whistle. "He didn’t just have dinner, boys. That is the exact face a man makes when he just went top-shelf with three seconds left on the clock."

Milo tossed his controller onto the rug, leaning forward with an eager grin. "Spill it, Cap! Did you take her to the hot wings place like I told you?"

"If I took Nora Bennett to a sports bar for hot wings on our first real date, she would have stabbed me with a celery stick, Milo," I replied, tossing my keys onto the granite island in the kitchen.

I opened the refrigerator, pulling out a cold bottle of water and twisting the cap off.

"So where’d you take her?" Jake asked.

"The Anchor & Pine," I said, taking a long drink.

Bear’s bushy eyebrows shot straight up into his hairline. "The harbor bistro? The one with the candlelit booths where you have to book three weeks in advance?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, Cap," Bear chuckled, shaking his head in admiration. "You really brought out the heavy artillery. So... how did it go?"

I set the water bottle down, leaning my hips back against the counter and crossing my arms over my chest.

"I’m not giving you locker-room gossip about Nora," I said, my tone calm but carrying that hard, protective edge that left zero room for argument. "All you need to know is that she said yes to another date."

The living room erupted.

Milo whooped, throwing a sofa cushion into the air, while Bear slapped his massive palms against his knees with a roar of laughter.

"Yes! My boy is back in the game!" Bear shouted. "When’s the second date? Next weekend?"

"Tomorrow night," I said smoothly.

Jake blinked, pausing with his pizza crust halfway to his mouth. "Tomorrow? As in Sunday?"

"Sunday at six-thirty," I nodded. "Right here."

They all went silent for a few seconds.

Bear slowly stood up from the sofa, towering six-foot-five in his grey sweatpants, looking at me like I had just spoken to him in fluent Latin.

"Right here?" Bear repeated slowly. "As in... this house?"

"As in this house," I said. "Which means every single one of you needs to be completely cleared out of the SinBin by six o’clock tomorrow evening."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Milo protested, jumping up. "You’re evicting us from our own house on Sunday football night?!"

"Go watch the game at Rusty’s. Go to the sports pub downtown. I don’t care where you go," I told them, picking up my phone and heading toward the stairs. "Just don’t be here. And if I find a single jockstrap or dirty shaker bottle in the common areas tomorrow afternoon, you’re running bag skates at five in the morning on Monday."

Bear groaned, collapsing back onto the sofa. "He’s whipped, boys. The captain has officially fallen."

"Bag skates, Bear," I called back over my shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time. "Five AM."

I reached my second-floor bedroom, shut the door, and kicked off my boots.

I pulled out my phone, unlocking the screen.

My thumbs quickly typed out a text to Nora:

Knox: Still thinking about that kiss against the bricks. Second date is tomorrow at six-thirty. My place. I’m cooking for you, Bennett. Don’t be late.

I hit send, tossed the phone onto my mattress, and fell back onto the pillows with a soft, genuine smile that refused to leave my face.

—

By Sunday morning at nine o’clock, the atmosphere inside Briar Ice Arena was intense and focused.

We were gathered in the video room, still sweating lightly from an intense ninety-minute morning skate on the ice.

Coach Brennan stood at the front of the room, clicking through digital game footage on the large projector screen.

"Eyes up, gentlemen," Brennan’s voice commanded, tapping the screen with a dry-erase marker. "This is Boston. They’re five-and-one on the season, currently ranked number one in our division, and they’re coming into our barn this Friday night."

The screen played footage of Boston’s aggressive power play, their top forward ripping a one-timer past an opposing goalie from the left circle.

"They play fast, they hit hard, and their forecheck is relentless," Brennan warned, pacing in front of the whiteboard. "If you want to raise the Founders Cup in March, this is the team you have to beat. Win on Friday, and we take control of our conference. Lose, and our path to the NCAA Frozen Four becomes an uphill battle."

Brennan paused the video, switching the feed to the national collegiate sports ticker on the secondary television in the corner.

A breaking highlight package flashed on the screen:

STATE UNIVERSITY EXTENDS WIN STREAK TO 7–0 BEHIND DREW MILLER’S FOUR-POINT NIGHT.

Footage of Drew Miller in his green-and-gold State jersey flashed across the screen, raising his arms in celebration as his team mobbed him against the boards.

My jaw locked tight.

Beside me, Bear leaned in, murmuring under his breath: "Miller’s putting up numbers out west. If State keeps winning and we take the Founders Cup, we’re going to collide with them in the national tournament."

"Let them win," I replied quietly, my voice dead calm as a cold, lethal fire ignited behind my ribs. "When we see State again in the spring, it won’t end like it did the last time."

—

By five o’clock on Sunday afternoon, I had transformed the first floor of the SinBin into something that didn’t look like a fraternity bomb shelter.

The living room was spotless, and the kitchen counters gleamed. The scent of bleach and lemon cleaner had faded, replaced by the rich, savory aroma of garlic, rosemary, and butter.

I stood in the kitchen wearing a fitted black long-sleeve henley and dark denim, seasoning two thick, bone-in ribeye steaks with coarse sea salt and cracked black pepper.

On the stove, a pot of Yukon gold potatoes was simmering for garlic mash, and fresh asparagus was tossed in olive oil on a baking sheet.

I checked my watch on the counter.

6:28 PM.

Right on cue, the doorbell echoed through the quiet house. My heart did an absurd, completely unprofessional flip against my ribs.

I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel, tossed it onto the island, and walked through the foyer to the front door.

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the heavy door open.

And there she was, standing on the front porch beneath the warm amber glow of the lantern.

Nora wore an oversized cream knit sweater that fell loosely over fitted dark jeans, and short leather ankle boots. Her chestnut curls cascaded softly over her shoulders, and her hazel eyes sparkled with a breathtaking, playful warmth.

The wind caught a loose curl, blowing it across her cheek, and a soft, shy smile curved her pink lips.

"Hi, Sheridan," Nora whispered softly.

For two full seconds, every muscle in my chest locked tight.

I stepped back, opening the door wide, letting a slow, devastating smirk spread across my face.

"Right on time, Bookworm," I replied, taking a step aside to let her in. "Welcome to the SinBin."