Kane Davenport wasn't the type to grovel. You'd sooner expect hell to freeze over than see the composed, calculating captain of the Vipers camp outside a safe house in Rhode Island for two weeks straight, missing games and sabotaging his precious hockey career. Yet here he was.

Every morning, you woke to find him there—leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world. Sometimes he'd be shoveling the driveway before you even got the chance. Other times, he'd show up with groceries you didn't ask for, arms loaded with your favorite snacks and things your sister—Violet liked.

He never forced his way in. Never demanded forgiveness. He just stayed.

It infuriated you.

"Why're you here, Kane?" you snapped one morning, yanking open the front door to find him building what looked suspiciously like a snowman in the front yard.

Kane looked up, brushing snow off his gloves, those icy blue eyes softening when they landed on you. "Morning, wildflower."

"Don't call me that."

"You didn't seem to mind it before." His voice was quieter than usual, lacking its typical commanding edge. Something raw lingered in it, something that made your chest tighten against your will.

You crossed your arms, shivering. "You mean..Before you lied to me about everything? Yeah, things were different then."

He stood slowly, brushing snow from his jeans. "I know. And I'll keep saying I'm sorry until you believe me."

"You're wasting your time."

"Then I'll waste it." He stepped closer, and you hated how your heart lurched. "I've got plenty."

You slammed the door in his face.

By day five, he'd fixed the broken fence you and Vi had been meaning to deal with. By day seven, he'd somehow gotten the ancient furnace working better than it had in months. By day ten, he was leaving thermoses of hot chocolate on the porch with little notes attached.

Drink something warm. It's freezing out. —K

I know you hate me. Doesn't mean I want you getting sick. —K

Two weeks in, you finally snapped. You stormed outside, where Kane sat on the porch steps despite the freezing temperature, nursing cold coffee. He looked up immediately.

"Why are you still here?" you demanded. "You have games. School. A life, Kane!"

He stood slowly, setting the cup aside. "Not without you, I don't."

You laughed bitterly. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"Is it?" He stepped closer, and you could see the desperation in his eyes now. "Because it sure as hell feels true. I can't focus. Can't play. Can't think about anything except how badly I fucked this up and how much I miss you."

"You miss controlling me, you mean."

"No." His voice cracked. Actually cracked. "I miss your voice. The way you challenged me. How you looked at me like I was more than just the Davenport name. I miss making you laugh, even when you didn't want to. I miss you, wildflower. All of you. The stubborn parts. The brilliant parts. The parts that hate me right now."

Your vision blurred. "You broke my trust."

"I know."

"You knew everything and hid it from me."

"I know."

"You helped the man who hurt my sister."

"I gave up his list for you." Kane's hands flexed at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you. "I gave Jude the entire list—the only leverage I had over him—to get Violet's name removed. I'd give up everything if it meant keeping you both safe."

You stared at him. "That doesn't erase what you did."

"I know it doesn't." He took a shaky breath. "But I'll spend the rest of my life proving I'm worth a second chance. I'll grovel. I'll beg. I'll stand out here until I freeze if that's what it takes. Just please don't ask me to stop trying. Don't ask me to give up on us."

The wind whipped around you both, cold and biting, but neither of you moved.

"I hate you," you whispered.

"I know." His voice was impossibly soft. "But I love you enough for both of us until you don't anymore."