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Cinder eventually sat back. “Still no indication of a fracture. Breathing’s good, shoulder’s stable, and neurologically you’re fine. The bruising looks spectacular, but that’s mostly cosmetic.”

Ash heard the only part that mattered to him. “So I’m playing.”

“You’re conditionally cleared. I’ll pad the ribs and tape the shoulder, but warmup is the final test. If the pain changes, your breathing changes, the shoulder weakens, or you get anything involving your head, you tell me.”

The fact that Ash listened without arguing told me he was taking it seriously, even if his expression suggested he’d already decided what the outcome of warmup would be.

Cinder apparently thought so too because his attention shifted to me. “And you’ll tell me if he doesn’t.”

Ash looked offended. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Which is why I’m making sure you hear me appoint a responsible adult.”

I smiled.

Ash pointed at me. “Don’t enjoy this.”

“I would never.”

A few hours later, the hotel room felt a world away.

Playoff hockey had always been good at swallowing everything else, and by the time I stepped onto the ice for warmup, routine had taken over. The arena was filling fast, music pounding through the building while Vegas fans did their best to remind us we were unwelcome, and for several minutes, I managed to think about nothing except hockey.

Then Ash stopped moving.

He was near the boards, his stick motionless against the ice while he stared through the glass.

I followed his gaze.

I immediately recognized the man sitting a few rows up from behind our bench.

He had a drink in his hand and another empty cup beneath his seat. His face was already flushed despite puck drop still being some time away, and the expensive jacket and excellent seat would’ve meant nothing if I hadn’t spent Friday night learning how much of Ash’s money this man had taken.

Five times the usual payment less than forty-eight hours ago, and now he was sitting in Las Vegas. I skated over and stopped beside Ash. “Your father?”

His jaw tightened before he nodded.

The man noticed us watching and lifted his glass in a mocking little salute.

Every protective instinct I possessed demanded action, but Ash had spent years having his choices manipulated by fear. Protection couldn’t become another way of taking them from him.

“If you want him gone, I’ll get security.”

Ash stared through the glass for several seconds before finally turning away. “No. He doesn’t get to ruin this game too.”

Something fierce and proud expanded inside my chest, and I bumped my shoulder gently against his good one. “Then let’s win it.”

We did.

It wasn’t pretty, because playoff hockey rarely was, and Vegas tested Ash’s injured side whenever the opportunity arose. Nothing crossed the line into deliberately dirty play, but nobody avoided finishing a legal check simply because they knew it hurt.

Ash took every one and kept playing.

More importantly, he never looked toward the seats.

Colorado took the lead late in the first before Vegas tied it early in the second. Four minutes later, Baelor dug the puck free along the boards and sent it behind the net to Dante, who found Ash moving into the slot.

Ash redirected the pass before the goalie could close his pads.