Chapter 18
T his is the first hockey game I’ve been to in almost ten years, and I’m having a great time. I was given a ticket for a lower bowl seat and decided to watch for a while since most of the prep for the post-game meal is done. I just have a few final touches to add before serving it.
I’m on the edge of my seat as the final seconds of this nail-biter tick away. The players move so quickly that it’s hard to keep up, and the energy of the crowd is infectious, drawing me into the moment.
The other team has the puck when Aleksandr suddenly veers in the opposite direction, his movements sharp and purposeful. An opposing player is ready to break free, but Aleksandr cuts him off, intercepting the puck. The energy in the rink is electric as he sends it sailing toward number four, who’s already moving toward the net, outmaneuvering the goalie and scoring the winning shot. The crowd erupts into chaotic celebration, and I stand to cheer right alongside them.
My eyes drift to Harrison, standing in one of the private suites. From my seat in the stands, I have an unobstructed view and have been stealing glances at him all night. Thankfully, his focus has been on the action on the ice, his intensity matching that of the players.
Only this time, his gaze locks on mine, and I swear a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. I narrow my eyes in response, irritation flaring at his earlier antics, demanding I remove Aleksandr’s jersey in front of an audience. There’s no chance I’m admitting that it was hot as hell… but damn his possessive behavior made my skin flush and a shiver run down my spine.
Now, here I am, wearing his shirt, the tension between us burning even hotter. His smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing me in it a little too much—and I hate how much I like it.
I avert my gaze and roll up my shirt-sleeves as I stand, and head to the kitchen to finish prep for the smoothie bowls and chicken wraps for the team. They’ll have to shower and change first, so no doubt they’ll be starving when they’re ready to eat.
An hour later, I’m just finishing getting the food set up when the team files into the room. Aleksandr’s at the front of the line, grabbing a chicken wrap, and coming around to stand by me so he’s out of the way. He lets out a low groan after his first bite.
“I was right. You really are a magician. How do you make a simple wrap taste this ridiculously good?”
“It’s the sauce,” I answer politely, but I’m barely paying attention as my eyes drift around the room, searching for Harrison.
Despite my annoyance at his earlier behavior, a twisted part of me wants him to see me talking with Aleksandr again. My lips press into a thin line when I don’t see him.
What’s wrong with me?
“I see you ditched my jersey,” Aleksandr remarks.
I blink, realizing he’s talking to me. “What was that?”
He chuckles.
“Oh, right.” I glance down at Harrison’s button-up. “I’m actually not sure what happened to it,” I admit sheepishly.
“Don’t sweat it.” Aleksandr pauses to take another bite of his wrap. “One of the guys mentioned Harrison made you take it off. I’m pretty sure I won’t be seeing that jersey again.”
My cheeks grow warm as I shift uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
He smirks, waving me off. “I think I do, and the last thing I want is to be on his bad side.”
Aleksandr might be a bit full of himself, but there’s an undeniable sweetness about him. If I weren’t living with a certain moody billionaire who happens to own the team, I might consider agreeing to go out with him. Then again, I don’t feel a spark with Aleksandr and wouldn’t want to lead him on. Unfortunately, I’ve always been drawn to the brooding, tall-dark-and-handsome type. Even though I wish I wasn’t.
“You shouldn’t be intimidated by Harrison,” I say.
“I take it you haven’t seen him on the ice. He’s a powerhouse, and I’m not just saying that because he has influence over my career,” Aleksandr replies.
It’s not hard to imagine that Harrison is every bit as intense on the ice as he is in person. The idea of watching him in action, sweat glistening, muscles straining—my breath catches just thinking about it. Good thing I haven’t had to watch him play, or I might be in more trouble than I already am.
I laugh softly. “He has control over my career too. I’m his private chef.”
Aleksandr lets out a low whistle. “That explains so much.”
I tilt my head, frowning. “Meaning?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I just wouldn’t accept another man’s clothes in the future if you don’t want to ruffle his feathers again,” he chuckles.
I nod, pretending to understand why Harrison cares so much if I wear someone else’s jersey.
“Duly noted.”
Harrison never shows up, making me even more vexed. He doesn’t get to storm in and make demands, then hide out when he knows damn well I want to speak to him.
It’s late by the time I’m finished cleaning up, and most of the hockey team and staff have went home for the night.
I adjust my bag on my shoulder, the strap digging into my sore muscles. A scalding hot bath is practically calling my name, and all I can think about is getting back to the apartment. Yet, as I walk down the hallway, the faint glow of the arena lights catches my eye, and the sound of skates carving through the ice drifts down the corridor.
Too tired to think it through but too curious not to investigate, I change directions, veering off toward the open double doors at the far end of the hallway where a Zamboni is parked off to the side.
As I get closer to the rink, the chill of the air hits me. I peek out to see a lone figure gliding effortlessly on the ice. When he looks to the side, his face comes into view, and my breath hitches when I see that it’s Harrison. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he controls the puck, his stickwork fluid and instinctive, a testament to years of practice.
I watch in awe as he shifts his weight, carving arcs across the smooth surface, his skates barely make a sound as they cut into the ice. With one swift motion, he lines up and shoots, sending the puck straight into the net with a clean shot.
It strikes me that I’ve never seen this side of him before—carefree, unburdened, content. This must be his escape, where the outside world fades away, and he’s free to pretend he’s still the rookie for the Huskies, chasing his dreams.
I’m contemplating what to do next when I notice a shelf stacked with skates in the corner. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab a pair that look about my size and sit on the ground to put them on. They’re a half-size too big, but I force the laces tight, hoping that’ll hold them in place.
I slowly rise to my feet, pushing past the nerves, and ignoring the fact that I’ve only skated a handful of times. I’m not missing the chance to talk to Harrison without disruption.
Like a newborn calf learning to stand, I inch toward the edge of the rink, my knees trembling with each step. When I finally plant one skate on the ice, I cling to the boards, afraid of losing my balance.
“Fallon?” Harrison shouts across the rink. “What are you doing out here? Can you even skate?”
“I’ll manage,” I call out.
I stand tall as if I’ve done this a thousand times, even though my legs feel like jelly.
He glides toward me like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “What were you thinking, coming out here by yourself? You could get hurt.”
“I’m fine. I just need a chance to get used to it.” I exhale sharply, holding out both my hands to try and stay balanced. “We need to talk, and this is as good a place as any.”
He comes to a stop in front of me, setting his hockey stick against the boards so his hands are free. “And it couldn’t wait until we were both on solid ground?”
Before I can answer, I start to teeter. Harrison encircles my waist with one hand, anchoring me in place.
“I can’t think with you this close,” I murmur.
He tightens his grip, laughter rumbling in his chest. “This better?” he taunts.
I huff. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
The air is icy, but the warmth from his body leaves me flushed, and my skin tingles, torn between desire and defiance.
Fueled by frustration, I push off him, convinced that if I create space between us, I can regain control of the situation before I’m consumed by the attraction I’m trying so hard to ignore.
Harrison’s childish behavior makes it easier to stay composed, but it doesn’t stop my heart from practically pounding out of my chest.
I turn and pick up speed to create more distance, and just when I think I’m finally getting the hang of this whole skating thing, the tip of my skate snags on the ice, sending me flailing, arms windmilling to try and stay balanced.
“Fallon,” Harrison shouts behind me.
My eyes are wide with panic as I fall backward, Harrison catching me in his arms as we are sent sprawling onto the unforgiving ice. The impact knocks the wind out of us both, and Harrison lets out a low grunt.
“Oh no,” I exclaim, my body crashing into his as I land on top of him with a hard thump.
“Fallon, are you alright?”
Genuine concern is evident in his voice as he shifts me in his arms to face him and props himself on an elbow. His touch is frantic as he gives me a once-over, his face etched with fear as he scans for any signs of injury.
“Does anything hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I say softly. “I had you to break the fall.”
He chuckles as he brushes my hair from my face. “Leave it to you to still make a jab after I saved your life.”
I arch a brow in challenge. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”
“Can’t be too careful where you’re concerned.”
“Why is that?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
“Because for reasons unknown, the idea of you getting hurt sends a sharp pain through my chest,” he admits, drawing me closer. His breathing is rapid.
Our faces are mere inches apart, and I’m drawn in by his chiseled jaw and the way he looks at me as if I’m the only thing that matters. A shiver travels down my spine when he traces his finger along the curve of my chin, and I’m mesmerized as he gently grazes my mouth with the pad of his thumb.
Harrison shouldn’t have this profound effect on me, but the conflict warring within me since the day he came back into my life has only grown louder, refusing to be silenced.
“Mind explaining why you had a problem with me in Aleksandr’s jersey?” I ask softly.
“Because it was his.”
I lift a brow. “And that bothers you?”
“Yes.”
“But you had me wear your shirt instead. It might not have your name on it, but it’s still making a statement.”
Harrison nods. “Exactly. It’s not just anyone’s shirt. It’s mine .”
His bold statement has our gazes colliding, holding each other in place.
“You’re staring,” I whisper.
“I can’t help it when you’re still wearing my shirt.”
My skin tingles when he leans in closer, running his hand along my cheek. My heart races as his usual cold expression has been replaced with a tenderness that I’ve only seen a handful of times since our weekend together all those years ago.
“I really want to kiss you, trouble,” he admits softly. “Now is your chance to tell me no.”
Every cell in my body is screaming at me to speak out. This is a dangerous path to go down, and there’s no guarantee we’ll recover if we do. I’m supposed to despise this man, so why is the idea of his mouth on mine again so tantalizing.
One kiss can’t hurt, right?
I place my palm over his hand, keeping it pressed against my cheek.
“I don’t want to say no,” I murmur.
The words are barely out of my mouth before Harrison crushes his mouth to mine, claiming me with a searing kiss. He lets out a low groan as he weaves his fingers in my hair, drawing me in. I run my hands along his chest, curling my fingers into his shirt. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a silent reassurance, anchoring me in the moment.
He tilts my head, deepening the kiss. I nip his bottom lip in response, moaning as I delve my tongue inside his mouth. God, I forgot how intense kissing him was—a heady blend of longing and fire, leaving no space for restraint.
Harrison rocks his hips against me, his bulge rubbing against my stomach. I look at him and am met with his eyes, dark with desire, as though he’s ready to devour me whole. I’m not much better—my mouth still tingles from his scruff, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just sprinted a mile.
This feels too familiar.
A reminder of another time I was lost in his pleasure, only to be left with bitterness and regret.
I let out a stifled groan as I stretch out my arms and legs, my body deliciously sore.
We stayed up well into the night, having mind-blowing sex. He treated me like a queen, showering me with words of affection and praise, and I couldn’t get enough. Agreeing to go to dinner with him on Friday was one of the best decisions I’ve made.
Although now that the weekend is over, I’m not sure where that leaves us. I guess I’ll go back to my apartment, and he’ll fly back to Pennsylvania, where the Huskies are based. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for this to end. Last night, Harrison alluded to the fact that he wanted to see me again, but it’s hard to tell if he meant it or if he was caught up in the moment. The only way I’ll know is if I ask him.
I reach over to the other side of the bed, confused when I find it empty and the mattress cold to the touch. Harrison must be in the bathroom or the living room having breakfast.
“Harrison,” I call out, hoping he can hear me, and can coax him back to bed for another round.
There’s no answer.
“Harrison,” I say a little louder, frowning when there’s still no response.
I climb out of bed, wrapping the comforter around me to keep warm.
I check inside the bathroom to find it dark and empty. After turning on the light, I take a quick peek in the mirror, mortified to find mascara streaks under my eyes, and my hair shooting out in all directions. I take a minute to wash my face, removing the residual makeup.
When I reach over to grab a towel to dry off, I pause midway when I notice Harrison’s toothbrush and comb are missing from the counter.
That’s odd.
I look down on the shelf below the sink, the nagging voice in my head growing louder when I notice his toiletry bag is also gone.
“Harrison, are you here?” I say with a shaky voice as I rush out to the living room, coming to a halt when I find it empty.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I rush back into the bedroom, confirming what I already knew when I find his hockey bag is gone. All that’s left in the place is my purse and shoes.
I scan both nightstands, hoping he left a note, but find nothing. I sink onto the bed, burying my face in my hands, running through our weekend together, trying to think if I could have misinterpreted something he said to make me think it meant more than a fleeting connection.
How could I have been so foolish? I barely know Harrison, yet I spent the whole weekend wrapped up in him, believing what we shared meant more.
I was wrong.
God, I can’t believe I fell for his charm. I was right to begin with. All hockey players are the same—charming, reckless, and only care about themselves.
Lesson learned.
It’s like a bucket of ice water hits me when I remember how things ended last time.
God, what was thinking?
I wasn’t. That’s the problem. I let Harrison’s good looks, his kernels of kindness, and possessiveness cloud my judgment.
When he left without a goodbye all those years ago, I was left to pick up the pieces, not only from my recent breakup but from the possibility that Harrison could have been a shining light in my otherwise lonely existence. Instead, he taught me that I can’t rely on men and that I’m better standing on my own.
I’ve got to put an end to this.
I quickly climb out of Harrison’s lap and scramble to the side of the rink, struggling to get to my feet.
“Fallon, where are you going?” Harrison calls out after me.
I ignore him, concentrating on keeping my balance as I shuffle toward the exit.
“Fallon, wait.”
My heart races, the weight of what just happened sinking in. Harrison’s probably going to kick Cat and me to the curb, and honestly, I’d rather move out myself than have to face him ever again.
“Fallon…”
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice my skate slipping on the smooth ice again until it’s too late. I shut my eyes, bracing for impact, when suddenly Harrison’s strong hands land on my waist, pulling me safely into his chest.