Page 41 of Top Shelf

Becauseheshouldn’t have my number.

Because I don’t know how he got it.

Because even a message that looks harmless can feel like a threat when it comes from someone who already owns too much of the space inside your head.

I sit on the edge of the bed, the glow of the phone screen lighting the words again.

A reminder.

A promise.

A warning.

Whatever it is?—

It settles over me like ice.

I thought the worst was behind me. That the monsters were gone. But now I know—they were only waiting for me to come home.

10

WREN

The secondI step into the Kings’ facility, the receptionist looks up from her computer and offers a tight, almost pitying smile.

“Dean Carver wants to see you. He’s waiting in his office.”

My stomach drops.Great, what have I done now?

I mumble a thanks before heading down the hallway toward his office. Each step feels heavier than the last, my pulse climbing the closer I get. I run through everything I was asked to do on game night, ensuring I didn’t miss anything, but I don’t think I did. Still, this is Dean Carver. He’s never needed a reason to be mad at me. With a heavy sigh, I wonder if I’m about to be fired.

When I reach his office door, I pause, knuckles hovering just above the wood. My palms are clammy, throat tight. Dread curdles in my stomach the way it often does when I’m in Dean Carver’s presence.

Breathe.

I knock twice.

“Come in,” comes Carver’s voice, sharp, as always.

I push the door open…and freeze on the threshold.

Because Dean Carver isn’t alone in his office. Sitting in a chair opposite his desk is none other than Ronan Sterling, arms crossed and legs stretched out like he owns the space. His gaze flicks up at me as I enter, unreadable as always.

The tension in my chest tightens into a knot.

Why the hell are these guys in my face every time I turn around?It’s like I can’t get a moment to breathe without one of them making an appearance, and whatever I expected to walk into…this wasn’t it.

I force my legs to cross the threshold into Dean’s office. The door clicks shut behind me, but I can’t take my eyes off Ronan.

What is he doing here?

I hate that his presence immediately sets me on edge. As if facing Carver isn’t bad enough.

Carver doesn’t offer me a seat, so I remain rooted by the door as he lifts a folder he had open on his desk and begins talking like I’m an email he’s halfway through deleting.

“Every year, the team runs an outreach initiative—our Kings Youth Charity Weekend. It’s a three-part event: youth skills camp, charity gala, and community skate. Brings in press, raises money, the usual.”

Ronan nods in acknowledgment, clearly already aware of this event.