Chapter 206: Available Balance

KNOX’S POV

The gravel driveway of the SinBin crunched beneath my truck tires as I pulled in beside Bear’s battered Ford and Jake’s dented sedan.

After two days of mountain quiet in Oakhaven, the beat-up two-story house looked as loud and chaotic as ever. Snow had been shoveled off the front porch in sloppy, jagged heaps, and the porch light flickered with an annoying, intermittent buzz.

I cut the engine.

For a second, I just sat there in the cab, the heat dying down around me. My hand still carried the faint scent of Nora’s vanilla lotion from that slow, lingering kiss at the North Hall curb.

Leaving her was always the hardest part.

Especially with a three-game road series staring me in the face, forty-eight hours on a cramped charter bus, and Coach Brennan waiting to skate us into the dirt.

I grabbed my duffel bag from the passenger seat, scooped up the remaining silver tin of Ellen’s pastries, and kicked open the truck door.

The front door of the SinBin wasn’t even locked.

The moment I stepped into the entry hallway, a neon-orange practice golf ball rolled past my work boots, bouncing softly off the baseboard.

"Fore!" Jake yelled from the living room.

I looked up.

Jake was standing at the far end of the carpet runner in gray sweatpants and a backwards Briar snapback, holding a seven-iron. At the other end of the hall, an empty two-pound protein tub lay on its side, acting as a makeshift cup.

"Nice stroke, Jake," I said dryly, kicking the golf ball back toward him with the toe of my boot. "Brennan sees you taking divots out of the hallway floor and you’re riding the stationary bike until your lungs collapse."

Jake grinned, leaning on his club. "Captain’s back! Look at you, Sheridan. Glowing like a newlywed. Did you survive the Bennett family interrogation, or did her mom make you chop firewood for two days?"

"Worse," Bear’s booming voice called out from the kitchen.

A second later, our six-foot-five defenseman appeared in the doorway, wearing an oversized flannel shirt with flour dusted across his chest. He was holding a metal spatula like a club.

"He brought baked goods," Bear declared, his nose twitching like a hound dog catching a scent. His eyes locked onto the silver tin in my hand. "Tell me that’s from Sugar and Spice."

"Sourdough walnut scones and cinnamon rolls," I said, setting the tin on the kitchen counter. "Touch the cinnamon rolls and I’ll bench you for the first period in Vermont."

Bear let out a low rumble of pure joy, tearing off the red holiday ribbon and popping the tin open. "Nora Bennett is an angel sent straight from heaven. You don’t deserve her, Knox. You really don’t."

Milo wandered in from the back den, holding a mug of coffee. "Is that the legendary bakery food? Move, Bear."

"Hands off the first roll, rookie," Bear grunted, swatting Milo’s wrist with the spatula.

I stood by the counter, watching the boys tear into the pastries with ravenous, loud enthusiasm. The noisy, familiar camaraderie wrapped around me, pulling me right back into the collegiate grind.

"Film is tomorrow night at six," I told them, resting my forearms against the counter. "Brennan sent the memo. Vermont’s penalty kill is aggressive at the blue line. We need our power play entries clean."

"We’ll be ready," Bear said around a mouthful of scone, nodding with serious focus.

"Good," I murmured. "Eat up. I’m heading upstairs to unpack."

I grabbed my duffel bag, leaving the rest of the tin for the wolves, and climbed the creaking wooden stairs to my bedroom at the end of the hall.

My room was freezing.

The radiator in the corner hissed weakly, struggling against the draft from the old sash window.

I tossed my duffel onto the mattress, stripped off my winter jacket, and tossed it over the desk chair.

The silence settled in fast.

I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my wallet, and flipped it open.

Tucked neatly into the front slot was the matte-black Sheridan Global card. Beside it was the platinum debit card tied to the family trust Garrison had managed since my tenth birthday.

Both pieces of plastic were completely dead.

Garrison had made good on his noon deadline Wednesday. Every corporate account, every credit line, and every trust disbursement with the Sheridan name on it had been severed.

I slid both cards out of the leather slots.

They felt cold and completely useless in my palm.

Without hesitation, I dropped them into the small metal trash can beside my desk. They hit the bottom with a hollow, plastic clatter.

I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen, opening my private checking app.

It was a separate, unlinked account I had opened three years ago with a small summer training stipend, kept hidden so Garrison’s accountants wouldn’t track my personal spending.

I logged in.

The screen blinked, loading the balance: Available Balance: $342.18

Three hundred and forty-two dollars.

A sharp breath slipped past my lips.

"Hey, Sheridan!" Bear’s voice roared up the stairwell, rattling the wooden floorboards.

I stepped to the open bedroom door. "Yeah?"

"The heating oil truck came by this morning to fill the basement tank before the blizzard hits next week!" Bear yelled up. "Plus Jake did a massive Costco run for road trip snacks and protein shakes! Your split is a hundred and eighty bucks on Venmo!"

My grip tightened around the edges of the phone.

"Sending it now!" I shouted back.

I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t ask for an extension, and I didn’t make an excuse.

My pride would have choked me before I let Bear or Jake carry my share of this house.

I opened the payment app, punched in Bear’s username, typed in $180.00, and hit transfer.

The little confirmation circle spun for two agonizing seconds before turning green.

I switched back to my checking account app and swiped down to refresh.

The screen updated instantly: Available Balance: $162.18