If You Claim Me

Book 6: The Toronto Terror Series

by Helena Hunting, H. Hunting

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

Hockey’s most hated player just asked me to marry him.

Connor Grace is the league’s bad boy–and my best friend’s worst enemy.
He’s the fallen prince of a famous hotel chain dynasty.
Me? I’m the foster kid who grew up to be a librarian.

I never thought I’d end up in a marriage of convenience to make someone’s grandma happy, but here we are.

I have no plans to kiss my husband for any reason other than show.
I have no plans to fall in love with the arrogant man dressed in a custom suit hiding intricate tattoos.

But when we’re alone, he drops the mask he wears for the rest of the world.
He holds me like he means it when he says I’m his.
And I want to believe him.

Too bad I learned early on that fairytales aren’t real, and nothing good lasts forever.

A standalone marriage of convenience hockey romance.
Author Note: Please see my website for TW's.

Release date: November 6, 2025

Publisher: Ink & Cupcakes Inc

Print pages: 465

Sample

Chapter One:

Dred

FRAUD.

I am a fraud. 

I have committed fraud. 

The word keeps slicing at me—unraveling my fragile ecosystem, poisoning it.

A panic spiral I don’t have time for is heading my way. If I was at home, I could succumb, let the anxiety wash over me and drag me down. But I’m at work, and my shift at the library doesn’t end for several more hours. I slip my finger under the hair tie around my wrist and pull it away from my skin, letting it snap back into place. 

I repeat the action a dozen times, fighting to contain the panic before it can turn into a prickly weed and wrap me in its unrelenting, thorny hug. 

The paper in my hands taunts me as I will the words and numbers to change, but they remain the same. I owe $105,300.27 in back rent (with interest) to the new apartment manager. I should have realized the rent I was paying was far too cheap for the building I was living in, but I didn’t question it, and now here I am—because my name is the same as my late grandmother’s, and until the management company changed, they continued to charge me what she’d been paying. Now I’ve made the leap to current market value and have to fill in the five-year gap I created.  

I stop snapping the hair tie before I break the skin, fold the letter, and slide it back into my purse. Looking up, I grasp the edge of the sink, meeting my distressed gaze in the reflection. “You do not have time for a breakdown,” I say aloud. “Put it on hold. You can lose it when you get home. But you cannot do it here. You will figure a way out of this. You always do.”

I hope I’m right. 

I take a deep breath, put my feelings on lock, and step out into the hall. I have five minutes left on my break, enough time to make tea. And then the after-school crowd arrives, which means my favorite twins Victor and Everly will grace me with their vibrant energy—which I could use right about now. They live at the group home a couple of blocks away, and I adore them. 

Except as I turn toward the staff lounge, I run smack into a very solid chest. Warm hands wrap around my shoulders to steady me, sending an unexpected jolt through my body. I recognize the cologne immediately. I frown as I look up and am met with a closeup of the very chiseled jaw of Connor Grace.

He’s irritatingly attractive, and his presence is wholly disarming.

Also, we’re making physical contact, and my body enters haywire-mode as a result—like I wasn’t already distressed. 

Connor’s piercing, steel gray eyes are locked on me, and his full lips tug down at the corners, as though the world is an irritant he’s forced to endure.

I know two versions of the man standing before me. 

The first is the archenemy of my best friend, Flip Madden—that Connor is a Terror enforcer with a nasty reputation on the ice and professional hockey’s favorite villain. 

The second Connor is the pro hockey player who attends his coach’s younger sister’s practices and games because she’s his number one fan, and he’s hers. 

These are vastly different sides of the same man. The latter is a glimmering ruby of kindness I want to tuck in my pocket like a treasure.

For the past year, Connor has taken up space in the seat next to mine at Callie’s games on a nearly weekly basis. We both love that little girl. 

New panic takes hold. Callie. “What are you doing here? Is Callie okay? Is Lexi?” 

Lexi Forrest-Hammer is Connor’s pregnant coach and my best friend. 

“Lexi is fine. So is Callie.” He drops his hands from my shoulders. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

His tone makes it sound like it’s my fault he couldn’t find me. Like he wasted precious time, and I should feel bad about it. 

Looks like our shitty moods match.

“Well, here I am. What do you want? I’m on break.” For three more minutes.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I need Meems’s books.” 

“Who?”

“Meems. My grandmother. I need her books.”

I ignore the soft feeling that blooms in my chest at the adorable nickname this hard-edged, posh-as-fuck man has for his grandmother.

I have so many new questions. Like, why am I the person he’s sought out? Also, he and his family are billionaires. Why in the world would he need books from the library for his grandma when she can probably afford to buy every bookstore in the city? 

I link my arms behind my back so I can snap my hair tie a few times. I’m still fighting my panic spiral. “The world doesn’t revolve around you and your needs, Connor.” 

“Oh, I’m highly aware.” His steely eyes stay fixed on me, full of secrets and sadness. “My needs are generally at the bottom of everyone’s list. But my world revolves around Meems, and right now she needs what you have.”

Is this emotional manipulation? Connor knows how soft I am for Lexi’s sisters. Maybe he’s exploiting that for his Meems. My natural reaction is to dig my heels in. “So my world is supposed to revolve around her now, too?”

The harsh slant of his brow softens slightly, despite my sharp words. “Meems has an appointment in less than an hour. I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes already, and I’m supposed to meet her at the doctor’s office. I just need her books.”

I cross my arms, frustrated by his pretty face and his entitlement. “Why is your lack of time management my problem to solve, Connor?” I have my own crap to deal with, but my compulsion to fix problems wants to win this battle. Which is so damn annoying.

Dorothea, the ancient and unfortunately unfriendly head librarian who has worked here longer than the world has been turning, rounds the corner. The lines in her face deepen. “Mildred! You are not allowed to bring nonemployee guests into the staff room! Tell your boyfriend he can visit you in your off-hours.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, and I didn’t invite him back here.” I take Connor by the elbow and ignore the warmth that travels through my arm at the contact. “I’ll just show him out.”

“Your break is over in one minute!” she calls after me.

“She seems fun,” Connor mutters.

“You have no idea.” I usher him through the door and steer him out from behind the  counter, putting much needed space between us. “How did you even get back there?”

“I walked through that door.” He points to the one clearly labeled Employees Only with a long, perfectly manicured finger.

He pulls a list out of his pocket and holds it in front of me. I snatch it from him. The handwriting is familiar. “Please explain.” Because I don’t have the mental or emotional bandwidth to decode this mystery on my own.

“That’s Meems’s—my grandmother’s—list. She comes here every Wednesday to return her books and take out new ones. I’m here to pick them up.” He crosses his thick arms over his thick chest and stares down at me with expectation and irritation. “She said you would have them ready for her.” 

From the little I know about Connor, his grandmother is one of the only members of his family who supports his career. “I’ll need to look her up. Is Meems her real name?”

“No, it’s Lucy Drake. Do you have the books or not?”

The dots connect. Oooohhhhh. I know that name well. In all the months he’s been sitting next to me at Callie’s games, Connor has never once mentioned his family. Although, when we attend Callie’s hockey games, Connor is focused on cheering for Callie and makes the most limited of small talk. But he always sits beside me. Every time. And he’s stiff and awkward with me and sweet as a gooey marshmallow with Callie. 

Of course this means I find him endlessly fascinating. 

And this new information only ups that intrigue. “Lucy Drake is your grandmother?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” his voice drips with impatience.

“Why doesn’t she go by Grace?”

“Because it’s less recognizable.”

“Right.” Another wave of panic hits, and I reflexively snap my hair tie half a dozen times. “Why isn’t Lucy here? What kind of appointment does she have?”

His jaw tics, and his eyes flash. “She’s been unwell. As I said, she has a doctor’s appointment. I’m her errand boy, hence my request for her books.”

“How ill? Is she okay?” Lucy is one of my favorite library patrons. I look forward to her weekly visits. She’s always dressed like she’s ready for Sunday service, which makes sense now that I know she’s richer than God. I always reserve one of my breaks for when she comes in.

Connor purses his lips, like offering personal information is painful. “She’s felt better. May I please have the damn books?”

“They’re not ready yet. She doesn’t usually come until later in the afternoon, and I’m waiting on one to be returned. It should be here before the end of my shift.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his discontent shifting. “She needs the books. I can’t disappoint her.”

His swell of anxiety softens the edges of my own, like my body is trying to neutralize it. I know that Lucy reads in the morning and in the evening before bed. It’s part of her routine, and I understand how hard it can be to lose that. “I can bring them to her tonight. I’m off around six.”

His shrewd gaze doesn’t leave my face as his tongue drags across his delightfully plush bottom lip. He seems to be assessing my level of honesty. 

I’m not used to seeing Connor off the ice or outside of the arena. This version is in distress and out of his element. Like a cheetah who has escaped its enclosure, he’s exotic, beautiful, and potentially lethal. Despite knowing how much Flip despises him, my girl parts appreciate Connor’s hotness, which feels like a betrayal to my best friend.

Connor holds out his hand. “Give me the list.”

I pass it back to him, unsure where we’re going with this.

He pulls a pen from his pocket and scrawls something on the back. “This is her address, and this is my phone number. Message when you’re on the way. You’ll bring the books?”

“I promise.” Like I need this hot, entitled douchebag wreaking havoc on my ovaries two days in a row with his furrowed brow and expectations. But curiosity has gotten the better of me. Also, I want to see for myself that Lucy really is okay.

He passes me back the paper. “You better mean it.”

“I won’t let Lucy down.”

 

Chapter 2Dred

I’m clearly in full-on denial mode about the impending loss of my home. This explains why I’m standing outside the Grace mansion while my life is at risk of falling apart. Also, I’m horribly curious, and I need to know who Lucy is outside of our library encounters. In addition, I’m unreasonably eager to peel back another of Connor’s layers. And finally, being here means a delay in dealing with the shitstorm of my life, if and when I choose to acknowledge it. 

I focus my attention on the property around me. This is next-level. I know this for sure, though I can barely make out the house’s peaked roofline and turrets—the place has freaking turrets—through the perfectly manicured gardens obscuring my view. Victor and Everly would be so impressed. Maybe I can sneak a few photos.

The grounds are protected by a ten-foot wrought-iron fence. I stand in front of the ornate gates like a peasant hoping to gain favor with the queen. It’s not far off the mark. Lucy is important, at least to Connor. And me. 

I press the intercom button. A man who is not Connor answers. “Grace Manor, how may I be of assistance?”

“Hi, uh, I’m Dred—Mildred Reformer.” It seems more appropriate to use my given name over my preferred nickname. “I’m from the Toronto Central Library. I’m here with Lucy’s books.” It sounds utterly preposterous.

“Oh wonderful!” His voice lilts up. “She’s expecting you. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

I glance up at the camera trained on me. “Sure thing.”

The gates open. As soon as there’s enough room, I slip through. It’s another five-minute walk up the winding interlock driveway. I take pictures of the gardens lining either side. When the house—mansion—comes into view, it’s like something straight out of a fairy tale.

I don’t have a chance to sneak another photo, because a man dressed in a full suit is waiting in the open door for me as I huff my way up the steps. His gray brow furrows as he looks past me to where a Rolls-Royce and another expensive car are parked. 

“Were you dropped off, Ms. Reformer?”

“No, I took the bus.”

His frown deepens. “I would have come down to pick you up.”

“It’s a nice night, and the gardens are beautiful.” I point to my feet. “Besides, these work just fine.”

He makes a sound and steps back, ushering me inside. “Come in. I’ll fetch Mr. Grace.”

“Sure.” I feel like I’ve stepped into the pages of some kind of period novel with the butler who uses words like fetch. 

He rushes off. I stand in the massive foyer, taking in the sheer opulence. It feels more like a museum than somewhere a person should live. The ceilings must be twelve feet high, and the trim itself is a work of art. The whole room is. The floors are tiled in an intricate mosaic design. Each recessed wall panel tells a story with custom wallpaper. In the middle of the room is a table with scenes carved into the perimeter. A massive vase of fresh flowers sits in the center. 

I knew Connor’s family was rich, but it hadn’t really computed that they were this wealthy until now. It’s difficult to process. And I understand a little better why my best friend Flip, who attended the same hockey camp as Connor when they were teens, has harbored such deep loathing for him all these years. Flip has fought for every step he’s taken up the financial ladder, whereas it seems Connor has always sat at the top. 

This also reframes my feelings about Connor’s place in the hockey world. He plays not because he needs the paycheck, but because he loves the sport. And the world has twisted him into someone to regard with disdain and disapproval.

Except Callie doesn’t. She sees something else. Something good. I’m pretty sure Lexi sees it too.

Footfalls pull my gaze toward the arched doorway, and my stomach twists. Angry, guarded, covered in art, Connor Grace’s broad shoulders are rolled back, brows a dark slash, beautiful face a mask of stunning arrogance. And based on our interaction earlier today, he’s just as fragile as the rest of us. 

“Cedrick said you took public transit here,” Connor snaps by way of greeting.

“Uh, yeah. I came straight from work.” It was the most logical option. Going home first so I could drive Betty, my beater of a car, which sometimes chooses not to start, would have been a waste of time. 

“I would have had a car pick you up.” His brow furrows, which seems to be his standard expression. 

“The bus was already going past this street anyway.” I fully expect him to take the books and send me on my way.

He tilts his head. “Does your best friend know you’re here?”

“Of course not.” Flip would have insisted on driving me and acting as my bodyguard. 

Connor’s nostrils flare. He spins around, motioning for me to follow him as he strides down the hall. “Meems is waiting for you, and apparently she’s very fucking excited.”

“That makes one of you,” I mutter.

Connor isn’t particularly chatty at Callie’s hockey games, but he’s not typically this brusque, either. I can’t decide if it’s the change of location or the people involved causing it.

I try to take in the details in the woodwork as I follow Connor through the expansive mansion, but the guy has long legs, and he’s in quite the hurry to get to Meems. Or away from me. He’s wound tight, body tense, hands flexing and releasing with each step. It’s like he’s uncomfortable with my presence, but these are the instructions he’s been given. For someone who is often pegged as not a team player, he seems able to put his own needs aside for the sake of others when it matters. 

I follow him up a huge spiral staircase, trying—and failing—not to stare at his ass. In my defense, it’s fucking spectacular. He turns right and stops at the first door.

His eyes find mine, flaring briefly with unease as he taps the door with a single knuckle. “Meems? Can I come in?”

“Of course!” she calls.

He opens the door. “I brought you your librarian.” Connor steps aside and motions for me to go ahead of him.

“And I have your books,” I add as I move past him. 

Connor watches me, like he’s cataloging my reactions.

The space has cathedral ceilings, ornate woodwork, lush carpets, and high-backed chairs that make it feel like it belongs in another era. But it’s the tiny spitfire of a woman seated regally in a deep green velvet chair that inspires a shocking wave of relief and puts a smile on my face. 

Lucy grips both arms of the chair and pushes to stand. 

Connor rushes across the room to help her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

She brushes away his offer of assistance. “Resting is all I’ve done for the past week.” She turns her bright smile on me. “Dred, I’m so thrilled you’re here.”

“I’m glad I could come see you.” And put to rest my churning worry that she would be too ill to handle a visit. “You have a beautiful home.” 

“My late husband liked grand things, may he rest in peace.” She makes the sign of the cross, then reaches for me.

I curve my hand gently around hers, feeling her grandson’s eyes on me. “Connor told me you’ve been sick. Are you feeling better?” I scan her face; she looks tired, and smaller than I remember, but I can’t decide if it’s because this space is huge, or if she’s shrunk since I last saw her.

“I’m fine. Just old, and little things are bigger when you get to be my age.” She squeezes my hand. “Come sit.” She nods to the chair across from her. “Connor, dear, please have Cedrick bring us tea, will you?”

He tucks a hand in his pocket. “It’s already on the way.”

“Of course it is.” She smiles up at him with clear adoration. 

A gentle grin tugs the corner of his mouth, as though this small praise is a gift he cherishes. Someone loves Connor Grace, and based on his behavior today, he loves her back just as fiercely. This is the other person Connor is soft for. Hard, angry, baleful Connor is sweet for Callie and his Meems. The dichotomy is dangerously alluring.

Beyond the tattoos hidden under his long-sleeved shirt, the aggressive ice play, and the I-don’t-fucking-care attitude is a man who cares very, very much. So much that he invited me inside his world for the person who means more to him than his privacy.

Meems smiles impishly. “Now that you’ve visited Dred at the library, you can ask her on a date.”

I’m glad the tea hasn’t arrived yet, because I would have sprayed it all over Lucy. As it is, I nearly choke on my spit.

Connor jumps in before I can splutter out a response, his cheeks flushing pink as he rubs the back of his neck. “Meems, don’t meddle.”

“I’ve told him all about you.” Meems winks. 

“You’re not playing matchmaker,” Connor grumbles.

Lucy makes a clucking sound. “You need a partner before I pass to the other side.”

“Well, it looks like you’ll have to live forever then, since that’s unlikely to happen,” he grumbles while inspecting his fingernails. It sounds more like a plea than defiance.

Every time she visits the library, Lucy talks about how wonderful her grandson is. I hadn’t realized until now that she’s never mentioned his name, or what he does for a living. But she’s always promised to bring him with her one day so she could introduce us. How ironic that he happens to be my best friend’s most-loathed teammate.

A woman arrives carrying a tray with a silver tea set, and a man follows with a tray of food. They pour tea, then leave with a bow.

This feels a lot like The Twilight Zone.

I pull the new books out, passing them to Lucy. 

Her eyes light up. “Is this the one with the highland warriors who travel back in time?”

“It is. It came back this afternoon. It’s very steamy.” I wink. “I think you’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Connor mutters.

“It’s educational, dear,” Lucy quips.

“You mean it’s embarrassing,” he counters. 

“Connor reads to me at night sometimes,” Meems explains.

I bite back a smile. I would pay good money to see broody Connor reading spicy romance to his posh grandma. “Some of them have audiobooks,” I offer.

“Meems enjoys my discomfort,” Connor replies dryly.

“And Connor pretends to hate the books, but he never says no to reading them,” Lucy stage-whispers.

My heart squeezes at the fond smile that softens both their faces. This is the kind of familial love I’ve never had, and I’m shockingly, painfully jealous. Even the Terror’s villain is beloved by someone.

Lucy’s eyes light up. “Tell me all the juicy library gossip. How are those saucy twins? Did Victor get the A he was hoping for on his English essay? Is Everly staying out of trouble?” 

“Who are Victor and Everly?” Connor asks, like he can’t help but involve himself in the conversation. This is probably the most I’ve heard him speak at any given time.

“They’re teens who live in the group home a few blocks from the library. They’re my favorites,” I explain before I turn back to Lucy. “Victor got his A, which isn’t a surprise, and Everly made it through last week without losing any privileges.” 

This is part of our weekly routine. I always take a break when Lucy arrives, and we sit in the coffee shop, drinking weak brew while I fill her in on the library gossip before we talk books. She’s endlessly interested in the community programs I’ve developed.

Connor moves to sit in one of the empty chairs. He says nothing, just listens and observes.

I share the previous week’s adventures, and we discuss last week’s books before I tell her about the new ones I brought while we finish our tea. 

I set my empty cup on the table. “I should probably head home so you can have your evening.”

“Would you mind reading me a chapter before you go? Connor tends to skip the spicy parts,” she whispers.

“Your heart is too important to tax with excessive spice, Meems,” Connor replies. 

I steal a glance at him and smile at the blush coloring his cheeks. “Sure, I can read to you. Would you like me to start with the highland warriors?”

“Oh please. They sound fun.”

“So fun.” I settle in and do my best to ignore the feel of Connor’s eyes on me as I read. Lucy is fast asleep by the end of the first chapter. 

I tuck her book ribbon between the pages. “Will she be out long?”

“She might be done for the evening. I’ll move her to her bed if she doesn’t wake up.” Connor carefully adjusts the footrest and reclines the chair, tucking a pillow by her cheek so she doesn’t get a neck crick. He kisses her temple and guides me out of the room. 

I take one last look at her before I go. I adore Lucy. We’ve grown close—closer than I realized maybe. Our time together always feels special, and it fills a selfish need for a maternal connection.

Our conversations have mostly revolved around books, the library programs, and sometimes her late husband. Occasionally, we’ve veered into personal pieces of our lives, but neither of us has ever spoken of our connection to the Terror. I’m intensely protective of my friendship with Flip, just like she’s protective of her grandson. 

I wait until Connor and I are halfway down the hall before I ask the question that’s been eating at me. “How did Lucy’s appointment go today?” 

He stops just before we reach the stairs and turns to me. “She needs surgery.”

“What kind?” 

“The kind that could keep her here for another decade.” He rubs his bottom lip with his manicured fingers. “But right now she’s not strong enough to survive it, and the doctor is concerned she might never be.”

Pain lances my heart. “What does that mean?” 

His jaw tics, but his eyes remain on mine. “She needs a heart valve replacement. If she can’t have the surgery, I could lose her inside a year.”

The truth is sandpaper rubbed across raw skin. There’s an answer to his problem, a way to keep Lucy here, but it’s out of reach. That’s almost more than I can bear. Maybe because my world is falling apart, and I already stand to lose so much if I can’t figure out what to do about my apartment. Maybe because I sense how devastated Connor is by the prospect. Maybe because I’ve come to see Lucy like the grandmother I never had. 

I reach out and cover his wide palm with mine, his fingers flex, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry.” Emotions rain down on me, and tears well up—for making my emotions his to deal with, for his pain, for my own.

He looks at me strangely. “You didn’t make her heart weak.”

I withdraw my hand and rummage in my bag for a tissue, still on the verge of tears. This is his loss, not mine. Then why does it hurt so much?

“I should go.” I finally find the tissue I was looking for, but with it comes a piece of paper. 

It unfolds as it flutters to the ground, and Connor scoops it up before I can. His brows pull together as he scans the document—the one from my landlord. 

“You’re in trouble.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I grab the letter and stuff it back in my purse. “It’s a misunderstanding. I’ll figure it out.” I rush down the spiral staircase, wishing a fairy godmother would appear, wave her magic wand, and fix my problem. 

It seems all gifts come with a price.

Chapter 3Connor

 

I connected the dots a while ago that Meems’s favorite librarian was the woman I sit next to at Callie’s games. But I kept that to myself until recently, mostly because it meant I had an unguarded, unfiltered view of Mildred through my grandmother’s eyes.

My palms dampen as I enter the arena. I keep trying to shove Mildred back into the neat little box labeled my enemy’s best friend who I sit beside at Callie’s games, but yesterday she stepped out of it, and now I can’t get it closed.

Because on top of how sweet she is with Callie, I saw the way she was with Meems. They care for each other, and I witnessed how much it hurt Mildred to find out I could lose Meems—that we could lose her.

I watched Flip at practice today for signs of stress. Mildred is his best friend—maybe more, but I’ve never seen evidence to prove that. He was his usual self at practice, focused, no signs of worry, no compulsive phone checking in the locker room. Which begs the question: Does he know she’s in trouble? And if not, why?

The kids are already on the ice and Callie is in net. I scan the seats and spot Mildred, my heart rate spiking as I head in her direction. She’s sitting in the front row, wearing a team toque, bundled in a winter jacket. There’s a smile on her beautiful face as she adjusts her glasses. She hasn’t noticed me yet. Neither have the team moms a few rows back.

“He’s usually here by now,” one of the moms says as I enter hearing range.

“Maybe he’s not coming.”

“Here’s hoping. He’s such a bad influence on these kids.”

“Right? When isn’t he mouthing off on the ice?”

“Or getting into fights. Did you see the most recent article? Apparently the head coach is worried about the season without Hammerstein.”

“I heard he was the only one who could keep Grace in check,” another mom agrees.

I’m used to this kind of chatter. I’m always the bad guy, always the team problem. And I feed into it. Why shouldn’t I? The hockey world always needs a villain, and I’m the perfect candidate. Rich family, entitled, bought my place in the pros according to the media, and an asshole on the ice. And off it. Might as well give the people what they want and live up to my reputation.

Mildred never treats me like the bad guy, though, even if her best friend, one of my teammates, hates me. It’s one of the many reasons I find her fascinating.

I reach the front row, and the moms who were openly shit-talking me drop their voices to a whisper. Anticipation makes my skin prickle as I slip into the seat beside Mildred. She smells like books and strawberries and vanilla.

Her shoulder-length brown hair is tucked under her cap, her glasses need to be cleaned, her nose is pink, and so are her cheeks. She looks every bit the librarian she is.

Mildred glances at me and then over her shoulder before refocusing on the ice. “They’d probably shut their mouths if they saw you with your Meems.”

“Doesn’t make me less of a dick on the ice.” I steal a peek at her, admiring the slight smile that quirks the corner of her mouth before shifting my eyes to the rink.

“No, but it is eye-opening.” She tugs at the hair elastic on her wrist. “How is Lucy?”

“In love with you.”

That faint smile grows. “Tell her it goes both ways.”

“She wants me to invite you for dinner.” Meems couldn’t stop talking about Mildred and how amazing she is. And beautiful. I agree, but pursuing her might elevate my villain status to new, deplorable heights.

Mildred’s eyes find mine. Chocolate brown, full of secrets and questions. “Is she feeling better?”

I nod. “She’s getting her strength back.” Which means I won’t have a reason to visit Mildred at the library, or ask her to bring books to Meems again. But if she accepted an invitation to dinner…

She turns to look at me. “How long have you known I’m her librarian?”

“A while. You never told her about your connection to the Terror.” Hearing about Mildred through Meems’s eyes showed me another side of the woman seated next to me. I didn’t want to ruin it. Or connect the dots Meems and Mildred hadn’t.

“Neither did she,” Mildred notes. “It didn’t seem relevant. It’s more a posturing thing, isn’t it? Talking about our affiliation to someone we perceive as famous, so we seem important. I’m here because Lexi is one of my closest friends, and Callie and I have a special bond, just like you.” She tips her chin up. “If you didn’t care about Callie and what she thinks, you would have given those moms more reasons to shit-talk you.” She turns her attention back to the ice.

She’s not wrong. I don’t want Callie to see me the way everyone else does.

Callie saves a shot on net. Mildred and I rise at the same time to whistle and cheer.

“What’s a while?” Mildred asks.

“Pardon?”

“You said you’ve known I’m Lucy’s librarian for a while, but you were rather vague.”

“Does it matter?” I run my hands down my thighs. When I realized it was Mildred Meems met with every week, I started asking about those library trips so I could learn more about her. She develops community programs, she devours romance books, and she loves sourdough bread and strawberry shortcake. It made me feel like I know her, like we share a common bond because we care about the same people.

Mildred hums and returns to her seat.

We sit in silence, watching the game, cheering every time Callie stops a shot on net.

As the final minutes count down, I ask the question I’ve been pondering since last night. “What’s going on with your apartment?”

Her posture stiffens, and she throws my words back at me. “Does it matter?”

“If you’re in trouble—”

“Please, let’s not.” Her eyes are hard and soft at the same time, pain mixing with anger.

“But you—”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” She motions to Callie on the ice. “That little girl is my family, so are Lexi and Flip and the rest of the crew. They’re my whole world, Connor. Losing my apartment means I could lose everything. Again. Like I always do. So please, let it go. It already hurts. There’s no need to pour salt on the wound.”

The final buzzer sounds, and the kids file off the ice.

Callie rushes over in her bulky goalie equipment and throws her arms around me. “Did you see my shutout?”

“I sure did! You were awesome on the ice tonight. Good job protecting the net. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks!” She beams up at me. “I feel like I play better when you’re here. You’re my good luck charm.”

“I feel the same way when you come to my games.” I wink, stepping back to let Mildred have her moment.

I find her eyes on me, lips curved in a pretty smile.

I come to Callie’s games because I care, but it’s also nice to feel like I’m important to someone other than Meems.

And I like sitting beside Mildred.

After yesterday, that’s increased exponentially.

Callie goes to the locker room, and the coach stops to talk to Mildred. I want to wait, to walk her out, to ask her questions, but I won’t push. She smiles and waves as I pass.

For a moment, I wish I was the good guy and not the villain.

Or maybe with Mildred, I don’t have to choose.

Maybe I could be both. ...