Hailey's pov
The final buzzer sounded like freedom.
Roy’s team crushed the opposition—clean sweep, no suspicious plays, no accidents. Ryan’s security had been ironclad; the Vargas never showed. Brighton was nowhere in sight.
Roy skated a victory lap, helmet off, hair soaked with sweat, eyes finding me in the stands. He pointed his stick right at me, that rare, full grin breaking across his face. The crowd roared, but all I saw was him.
We won tonight.
By the time we got home—the real home, not the safe house—the adrenaline still hummed in our veins like electricity begging to arc. Ryan was already there, waiting in the driveway, arms crossed, relief etched in his features when he saw us pull up safe.
He pulled me into a crushing hug first, lips brushing my ear. “You okay, princess?”
