5. Brooke

After my heated encounter with Bradley, my emotions were a hurricane, swirling with indignation and frustration. I needed to vent to someone who could possibly understand what I was going through. Automatically, my feet carried me to the Arctic Tundra, directly to Minka Mathers" door, which was conveniently right next to mine.

I knocked, once, twice, the delay amplifying my impatience. Finally, as if my repeated summons had conjured him, Levi Kennedy answered the door, and the sight of him momentarily derailed my train of thought.

He stood there, shirtless, with a scowl that seemed to be his default expression. The lean muscles of his torso were highlighted under the dim lighting of the hallway, presenting a stark contrast to the soft vulnerability I had glimpsed in him at rare moments. His hair, as dark as a raven"s wing, was tousled, falling into his eyes in a manner that offered a burning intensity. Those eyes, sharp and penetrating, held a depth of emotion and intelligence that belied his outward hostility. It was as if he too were fighting battles far beyond the ice rink, his scars hidden beneath the surface.

"For fuck's sake." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can I help you?"

His voice was curt, the underlying irritation clear as day. Yet, there was something else, a guarded curiosity that seemed to peek through the veneer of annoyance. Standing there, facing him in the doorway, I was suddenly acutely aware of the complexity of the man before me. Levi Kennedy was not just a formidable force on the ice; he was a puzzle, an asshole, really, off the ice too.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the tension palpable between us. His presence was overwhelming, almost suffocating in its intensity, yet I found myself unable to look away. It was as if we were both caught in a standoff, neither willing to be the first to break the silence that had settled between us.

"I was looking for Minka," I said, finally breaking the silence. My voice sounded small, almost inconsequential in the face of his imposing figure. Yet, I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated by his scowl or the raw physicality that he unconsciously exuded. This was not just about finding Minka anymore; it was a challenge, a test of wills between two people who were more alike than either of us would care to admit.

"Brooke, is that you?" Minka"s voice, tinged with surprise, filtered through the door even before I could gather my thoughts.

"Come in," she beckoned, a stark contrast to Levi"s evident annoyance as he reluctantly allowed me passage, his protest lost to the void between us.

Levi, disheveled and clearly irritated, grumbled under his breath, his movements sharp as he reclaimed his shirt. The scowl he directed at me could have curdled milk, obviously blaming me for the interruption, but my focus was elsewhere.

Draped in one of Levi"s shirts, Minka embodied an effortless grace—delicate yet undeniably strong, her beauty shining through the simplicity of her attire. It was an image of perfection that somehow grounded me, despite the storm of emotions I was trying to navigate.

The moment Minka"s gaze met mine, it softened, brimming with concern. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice a gentle balm to the tumult within me.

"No," I confessed, the word slipping out before I could catch it, a stark admission of my vulnerability.

I collapsed onto her couch, a flimsy barrier against the chaos of my thoughts. Levi"s scrutiny was sharp and calculating as it followed me, his gaze heavy with questions I wasn"t ready to answer. Yet, in that moment, his opinions could kiss my ass. I wasn't in the mood for his grumpiness, and I'd have no problem setting him straight if I had to.

Minka was my best friend, a momentary escape from the dumpster fire that was my life. Levi"s presence, imposing as it was, faded into the background, his disdain a distant concern as Minka"s unwavering support enveloped me, a reminder of the bonds that tethered us together amid our lives at Crestwood.

I allowed myself to breathe, to feel the weight of my worries lessen in the company of a friend who saw beyond the facade I struggled to maintain. Here, in this unassuming dorm room, I found a flicker of hope, a promise that not all battles were to be faced alone, and perhaps, just perhaps, a path to navigating the storm that awaited me.

"Is this going to take a while?" Levi"s annoyance was palpable.

His indifference, however, was overshadowed by Minka"s immediate concern, her softness a balm to the harshness of his demeanor. She wrapped her arms around him, a gentle reprimand in her touch. "Oh, hush," she chided, her attention turning back to me. "Can"t you see she"s upset? Why don't you grab some Earl Grey from River Styx?" She looked up at him with her big blue eyes.

"You know I don"t enjoy the tea there," he protested. "It"s shit."

"But if you were there, you could get me a hot chocolate," she pointed out. "With extra whip cream."

Levi scowled, but there was a softness to him, one that only came out when he was with Minka. The tenderness between them, underscored by a kiss and Levi"s flushed ears, reminded me just how little I knew a person…and how feelings could change someone so thoroughly.

Once Levi had reluctantly departed, Minka turned her full attention to me, sitting close. "What happened?" she inquired, her voice laden with worry. In that moment, the layers of my resolve began to unravel, the charade I"d been maintaining threatened to crumble under the weight of her genuine concern.

The words struggled to find their way out, tangled in a web of emotions and events that seemed too intricate to unravel with just a few sentences. I found myself at a crossroads of vulnerability and the instinctive need to protect myself from further exposure.

And yet…I couldn't keep this in any longer.

It was too much.

"My father likes to gamble," I admitted, the words feeling heavy and sour on my tongue. I couldn"t bring myself to look at Minka, to see her reaction, to witness the judgment or pity that might cloud her features. "He... he"s in a lot of debt, Minka. Like, a lot." I paused, the admission cracking the facade I"d tried so hard to maintain. "And I helped him make enough money at Pucks Plates... I mean, I know that it"s going to the nonprofit, but... anyway... It"s bad. It"s just really bad, and the number I thought he needed is much higher and honestly? Everything is messed up right now."

Minka"s guilty look caught me off guard.

"What?" I demanded, sensing there was more to the story than I knew.

"I... I know," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think a lot of people know, Brooke. Why do you think Adrian made that large donation last month? Your father... well... he targeted Sienna Roberts, threatening to revoke her scholarship when someone reported her cheating on her term project, even though that wasn"t the case, and Adrian stepped in to make sure she kept it."

My brow furrowed, disbelief and confusion swirling within me. "What? No. My father would never do that. He"s not cruel, Minka."

She curled a strand of hair behind her ear; her gaze drifting away. "Maybe... maybe I misheard," she muttered, but her earlier conviction had already sown seeds of doubt.

"Minka, if I don"t find the money by today..." My voice trailed off, the reality of my situation pressing down on me like a physical weight. "It"s going to be bad. Like, really bad. I don"t know what to do."

"I"m sure I could loan you?—"

"Absolutely not," I cut her off, my tone firm. "I didn"t tell you about this because I was looking for a handout. I came to you because you"re my best friend...and I just didn"t want to keep this to myself anymore."

"Brooke, I know you"re not looking for a handout," Minka said, her frown mirroring the concern in her voice. "That doesn"t mean I can"t help you. How much do you need?"

"Minka, I"m not taking your money," I insisted, the finality in my voice brooking no argument. "And I"ll tell you, but after today. I know you"ll try to get it to me, regardless. I just need a solution. Can you help me think of something?"

The gravity of my situation, mingling with the complexity of my relationship with my father, lay between us, unspoken but heavily felt. I needed more than just financial aid; I needed a way out of the mess that had entangled not just me, but my father too.

Minka pursed her lips, clearly running through the options in her head. "Is there someone you know that"ll invest in something or maybe someone owes you money?" she asked. "Could you sell assets? Could your father? Maybe you could put a lien on his home?"

I frowned, the reality of my situation feeling even more daunting with each suggestion. "My father already has two liens on the house," I admitted, feeling a pinch of embarrassment heat my cheeks. "I"m not sure what assets he has left. And honestly, despite his connections, there"s no way he"s going to reach out to people and ask for money. His pride won"t let him."

"Hmm, who does that sound like?" Minka drawled playfully, attempting to lighten the mood with her teasing. She then shifted gears, offering a constructive suggestion. "Maybe you could provide some kind of service?" she suggested. "Weren"t you and Number 42 thinking of doing some kind of NHL education program? So all rookies knew about their options and had a clear path forward once they signed their contract? Maybe you could reach out to him and see if he's willing to make that investment now while you put in the work and came up with a curriculum."

I nodded slowly, the memory of that conversation coming back to me. "I mean, we talked about it while he was here, but honestly? We haven"t spoken since the summer. I doubt he"ll want to hear from me."

"Well, you won"t know unless you try," Minka pointed out with a practical tone. "And if you refuse to get a loan, it might be something to look into."

Her suggestion sparked a glimmer of hope amidst the despair. Maybe reaching out to Number 42 could offer a solution, a way to generate the funds needed without succumbing to the desperation of borrowing or selling off what little we had left. Minka"s unwavering support in this brainstorming session reminded me of the strength found in friendship, in not having to face seemingly insurmountable challenges alone.

At that moment, my phone buzzed with an urgency that felt almost foreboding.

Meet me in my office immediately.

My heart sank.

"It"s my dad," I said, looking up at Minka. "Thanks for letting me talk, even though I clearly interrupted something."

"Levi will be fine," Minka responded with a flick of her wrist, her casual dismissal of my concern for having intruded on her and Levi"s time together offering a sliver of comfort.

"I don"t think Kennedy likes me," I confessed, unable to shake the feeling of his scathing gaze from earlier.

"To be fair, he doesn"t like anyone," Minka pointed out, her voice laced with a humor that failed to fully penetrate the looming dread I felt.

"Except you," I couldn"t help but add, acknowledging the undeniable bond between them.

Minka"s smile was soft. "Except me," she agreed.

I stood up, feeling the weight of the impending meeting with my father. "Well, tell him bye for me. I"m sure he"ll be depressed to see I"m gone before he comes back."

Minka also rose, her concern palpable. "Let me know how everything goes," she said, her voice sincere.

"I will," I promised, though my mind was already racing with what awaited me.

Minka"s hug was tight. "And my offer still stands," she murmured. "If you need anything, I"ll help you. You just have to ask."

The warmth in my chest at her words was a small beacon of hope. "Thanks, Minks," I said, pulling away. "It means a lot."

The walk to my father's office was monotonous. I zoned out the whole way there, ignoring a group of carolers as they sang on Ring Road.

What could he want to see me about? It wasn't five–not yet.

Was this good news?

Hopefully.

But there was an anchor in my gut I couldn't quite get rid of.

Walking into my father"s office, the last thing I expected was company. Connor Bradley leaned against the wall with an ease that belied the tension in the air. I hated how striking he was, not just in stature but in the intensity that clung to him—a mix of determination and a knack for being exactly where he shouldn"t. His presence was imposing, and his reputation on and off the ice preceded him, making his unexpected appearance all the more jarring.

"What"s he doing here?" I asked my father, unable to mask the confusion and sudden apprehension that knotted in my stomach.

"Brooke," my father began, his voice heavy with a seriousness that instantly set me on edge. "I"ve found a solution to our problem. But...you aren"t going to like it."

The way he looked at me, with regret and resignation, sent a chill down my spine. Bradley"s silent observation, his gaze sharp and calculating, felt like an added weight, a silent judgment I hadn"t asked for. Everything about this moment felt precariously balanced on the edge of a knife, and I braced myself for what was to come, unsure if I was ready to face the solution my father believed he had found.

And what it had to do with Bradley.