Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Parker
The back patio of Scrimmage’s was alive with the rowdy celebration of victory, the Blazers’ players and their guests filling the night with laughter and cheers. The sharp tang of spicy wings mingled with the yeasty scent of beer, creating a familiar haze of post-game energy. TV screens mounted on the walls flashed highlights of the evening’s game against St. Louis, replaying the key moments that had tied the series at two to two. The crowd was electric, their excitement palpable, and it crackled in the air like a live wire.
I navigated through the lively crowd, balancing a tray of drinks and appetizers, my every step careful and deliberate. I couldn’t afford to drop more orders, for fear of losing my job.
Game nights at Scrimmage’s were always chaotic, but tonight there was something different in the atmosphere. It wasn’t just the buzz of the crowd or the thrill of the win—it was something more, something that drew my attention to one group in particular. Amidst the suits, jerseys, and laughter, Bowen’s broad figure towered over a small cluster of people, his presence commanding even among his teammates. His tense expression shadowed his features, an edge of discomfort in the set of his jaw. But the warmth in his gaze as it followed me around the room softened the unease etched across his face.
After I delivered an order to another table, I approached his high-top, my heart hammering. I hadn’t wanted to turn down his invitation for a drink the previous night, but the risk was too great. Being seen with such a public figure, someone whose every move could end up on social media, was exposure I couldn’t afford. The fear of being recognized, of my carefully constructed cover being blown, had been enough to make me say no. And yet, here I was, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, even though I knew I should keep my distance.
I had put three thousand miles between my father and me for a reason.
Bowen’s gaze met mine as I drew near, and the corners of his lips twitched. Busted. He was happy to see me, and despite my best efforts to stay neutral, my heart swelled with warmth. I couldn’t contain the broad smile that spread across my face.
I pulled my order pad from my apron pocket, trying to maintain a professional demeanor despite the fluttering in my stomach. I’d already taken care of the players’ girlfriends, Hope, Emily, and Brynn. But it was time to take orders from Beck, Chase, Luc, and, of course, Bowen. “Congrats on the win! What can I get you, gentlemen?” I asked, surprisingly even, though my pulse raced.
Bowen crossed his arms, a smirk on his full lips. “Surprise me.”
I raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. “You sure?”
“I trust you.” His voice was low and gravelly, and it sent a shiver racing down my spine.
I scribbled down the name of a new craft beer I thought he’d like, trying to ignore the way my fingers trembled. I took the rest of the orders, moving through the motions with practiced ease. “Another round, ladies?”
Emily cocked her head and glanced between Bowen and me, her expression thoughtful. “I’m good,” she said finally, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d picked up on the undercurrent between us.
Well, she’d have to be blind not to.
I nodded and turned on my heel, only to collide with what felt like a solid rock wall. I gasped, looking up to find Hudson grinning down at me, his large hands steadying me before I could stumble. “Careful,” he teased, his grin widening as my cheeks heated.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, ducking my head as I scurried out of his way.
The night wore on with a constant stream of orders, and boisterous laughter filled the space. Though I tried to keep my focus on my other tables, I couldn’t resist sneaking glances at Bowen whenever I swung by to refresh the group’s beverages. He seemed quiet and aloof compared to his rowdier line mates, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he saw me softened his stiff bearing. Could anyone else see the vulnerability he tried to hide? Or was it just me? He needed a hug.
From me.
Undeniable attraction charged the air, an electricity that had been building for weeks and now crackled with anticipation as Bowen leaned in close, his spicy scent intoxicating. I could feel the heat of his body and the way his presence seemed to fill the space between us, pulling me in. “The diner down the street makes a fan-fucking-tastic strawberry pie. Want to grab a slice with me when your shift ends?” He spoke with an intensity that matched his gaze. How could he make pie sound so…naughty?
His invitation hung in the air as my breath hitched and my heartbeat quickened, pounding in my ears like a drum. The excitement that surged through me was almost overwhelming, a rush of adrenaline that made my skin tingle. But with it came a familiar, gnawing fear, the two emotions warring within me. I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me.
“I...I don’t know, Bowen,” I stammered, the uncertainty creeping in. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to, but...”
But what? What was I so afraid of? The diner would be quiet at that hour, the late-night crowd thinning out to just a few stragglers nursing cups of coffee. Who would be there to notice us, to talk about the woman with the famous hockey player? Who would recognize me? I should be safe. With a shaky smile, I forced myself to push the fear aside, to focus on the excitement that buzzed just beneath the surface. “Okay,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “Pie sounds good. I’m off at midnight.”
He grunted and nodded, his tight expression relaxing, as if relieved by my answer. “I’ll be here,” he rumbled.
The rest of the evening passed by in a blur as I hustled from group to group, the celebration reaching its crescendo. The bar hummed with energy, the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional cheer blending into a chaotic symphony. I didn’t have time to think about Bowen and the promise of strawberry pie, but now and then, as I moved between tables, my thoughts drifted back to him, to the way his eyes had darkened with desire when I’d accepted his invitation.
As the night wore on and the players filtered out the door, Bowen moved to the bar to wait for me and nursed a sparkling water as he leaned back against the counter. Each time I picked up an order, I stole glances at him, my stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement. He differed from the rest of his teammates: quieter, more reserved. But my pulse raced with the way he watched me, the way his gaze lingered.
When my shift finally ended, I practically sprinted to the locker room, relieved, peeling off my apron with jittery fingers. I wished I had something more flattering to wear than a Scrimmage’s T-shirt and jeans. I wanted to look like a million bucks for our first date, not like I’d wandered out of the dollar store. My fingers trembled as I pulled my hair out of its bun and let it fall past my shoulders in loose blonde waves, so unlike my usual caramel color. I shook my head, fluffing the strands to add a bit of volume, and freshened my lipstick. I popped a mint into my mouth. It would have to do. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm the nerves that fluttered in my stomach.
But when I stepped up to the bar and Bowen caught sight of me, all my worries melted away. His eyes widened, pupils darkening as his gaze raked over me from head to toe. The appreciation in his expression was unmistakable, and I felt sexy, confident, despite my work attire. The way he looked at me, like I was the only woman in the room, sent a thrill through me.
He held out his large hand, and without a second thought, I slipped mine into it. The contact sent goosebumps racing up my arms, and a smile spread naturally across my face as I looked up at him. There was something about the way our hands fit together, the way his warmth enveloped me, that made me feel secure, despite the fear that still lingered at the edges of my mind.
Together, we made our way along the nearly empty street to the diner, its neon lights casting a warm, golden glow over the sidewalk. The cool spring night air refreshed my flushed skin, and the quiet of the late hour seemed to wrap us in a bubble, leaving just the two of us. Bowen held the door open for me, a simple gesture that made my heart swell, and I stepped into the cozy, retro diner.
The delectable scents of bacon, burgers, and fresh coffee greeted me and wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. Rows of booths with red leatherette bench seats lined the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor, and a counter with round red-and-chrome stools stretched along the left wall. The atmosphere was warm and inviting.
Bowen followed me inside, his presence a reassuring wall at my back.
A server wielding a pot of coffee walked by and cheerfully called, “Sit wherever you like! I’ll be right with you.”
I led Bowen to a booth in the back, away from prying eyes, where we’d have plenty of privacy. We settled into our seats across from each other, and I couldn’t help the tingles of excitement that rushed through me. The corner booth created a sense of intimacy that made my heart race. This was the first date I’d been on since my ex shattered my heart, and I wanted everything to go perfectly.
But I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. Not entirely. There was so much I couldn’t reveal, so much I had to keep hidden. My past, my real identity—everything was still a closely guarded secret. As much as I wanted to open up to Bowen, I knew I couldn’t.
The server—Molly—appeared with a warm smile, holding a steaming pot. The rich aroma wafted between us. “Coffee?”
We both nodded, almost in unison. Molly turned our white ceramic cups right-side-up and poured the dark, aromatic brew. The robust scent filled the small space between us, making the diner feel even cozier.
“What can I get you?” Molly asked, her pen poised over a small notepad.
Bowen raised an eyebrow. “Strawberry pie?” he asked.
My stomach betrayed me with a low grumble, and heat crept up my neck. It had been hours since my dinner break, and the thought of something sweet made my mouth water. “Sounds good,” I replied, a little breathless.
He lifted his gaze to the server. “Two,” he said. Then, as if remembering his manners, he tacked on, “Please.”
Molly smiled. “Coming right up.”
As she walked away, I busied myself with fixing my coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar. The spoon clinked against the ceramic as I stirred, trying to focus on the simple task instead of the myriad emotions swirling inside me. Bowen sipped his black coffee, watching me with those piercing light brown eyes that seemed to see right through the walls I’d so carefully built.
“So…you went to college ‘back east.’” He sketched air quotes, his gaze sharp, as if he were trying to decipher the truth behind my vague answers. “What did you study?”
“Undergrad degree in education with a minor in computer science, and I have a master’s in education.” The words slipped out automatically, and I winced inwardly. I knew questions would follow. Unease settled in my stomach.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “So, why are you a server?”
The question hung between us, and I could feel the weight of his curiosity pressing down on me. I squirmed in my seat. “I want a job teaching high school.”
Although waitressing was far from what I’d envisioned for myself, being around people energized me. But as much as I enjoyed the work, I yearned to be back in the classroom, guiding students, watching their faces light up when they understood something new. That was where my heart truly belonged.
My voice faltered. “But I haven’t found one yet.” It was the truth, but only part of it—a small fragment of the bigger picture I couldn’t share.
Bowen grunted. “Any school would be lucky to have you.”
Luck wasn’t on my side. I’d tried to escape the tight grasp my father had on my life, distancing myself from his influence. But no matter how far I ran, his reputation and the taint of negative press followed me. The moment I applied to any school, their assumptions slid into place. They judged me before I even walked through the door, deeming me a liability because of who my father was, what he represented. I could only hope that time would dull the edge of his scandal and that, eventually, the dust at his company would settle.
Desperate to shift the focus away from myself, I changed the subject. “How about you? Did you play college hockey?”
He shook his head. “I skipped college and played in a Major Junior League until I was drafted into the NHL.”
Before I could respond, Molly returned with our pie, and the sight of it nearly made me forget all my worries. Large, red strawberries glistened with glaze atop a flaky crust, and fluffy whipped cream blanketed the confection. I picked up my fork, speared a bite, and moaned at the juicy, tart yet sweet, flavors that exploded in my mouth. “Mmm.”
Bowen’s gaze zeroed in on my lips, his eyes darkening with something that made my heart skip a beat. “Good, huh?” he asked, his voice rough around the edges.
I nodded, swallowing the delicious bite as I tried to gather my thoughts. “So, you played in something called a Major Junior League—which, by the way, sounds like an oxymoron?—”
His lips twitched. “It’s a top-level amateur ice hockey league in Canada for players under twenty-one years old.”
“And then you were drafted directly into the NHL? I know little about hockey, but that sounds impressive.” I shook my head, feeling a bit out of my depth. “I only know what I’ve learned from watching your games while at work.”
He speared a strawberry. “Want to go to a game?” He frowned, thoughtful. “We leave tomorrow for a game in St. Louis on Sunday, but we’ll play a home game on Tuesday. I can give you a ticket, and you can sit with the WAGs. They can teach you about hockey.”
“The whats?”
“The WAGs. The wives and girlfriends. You know them from Scrimmage’s.”
A ribbon of thrill twirled in my stomach—I’d love to see Bowen play in person and spend time with the WAGs outside of the bar. But then reality crashed back in, and I drew my brows together, feeling the weight of my responsibilities tugging me back down to earth. “It’s all hands on deck at Scrimmage’s on the nights the Blazers play.” I bit my lip, considering my options. “But maybe I can get someone from the day crew to cover my shift.” I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping I could make it work.
“I’ll leave a ticket at Will Call for you, in case you can make it. What’s your last name?”
“Smith,” I lied, hoping the slight tic in my eyelid didn’t give me away.
Bowen swallowed a bite of pie, his gaze never leaving mine. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to read between the lines. “You got it, Parker…Smith.”
Crap . The way he said my name—my fake name—sent a jolt of fear through me. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at me, that made it clear he didn’t believe me. My scalp tingled, and a cold shiver ran through me from head to toe. Panic clawed at the edges of my thoughts. He could never find out the truth—that I was Parker Brevos, daughter of Benjamin Brevos, the billionaire venture capitalist.
I swirled my fork through the mound of whipped cream, and my thoughts drifted to the life I’d left behind. To my ex-fiancé, Harrison, who had seen me as nothing more than a gateway to social and business connections that would further his ambitions. Just a few months before our wedding, my world crumbled. I’d discovered, in one heart-shattering moment, that he didn’t love me. He’d never loved me. Harrison had manipulated his way into my life with precision, calculating every move with a ruthless intention that made my skin crawl in hindsight.
He’d blackmailed my father, twisted his hand until he had no choice but to introduce us. My father had encouraged our relationship, whispering reassurances that Harrison was a good man, stable and promising. But now I knew they’d struck a bargain: a cold, transactional agreement where I’d been nothing more than the collateral. Our marriage in exchange for Harrison keeping his mouth shut about my father cooking the books. I was just a pawn.
I severed every tie with Harrison, refusing to even acknowledge his existence after that day. And my father—the man who was supposed to protect me, to love me unconditionally—had sold me out as if I were a piece of property. I distanced myself from him too.
But it was too late to stop the avalanche. The fraud came to light anyway, unraveling the facade my father had built so meticulously. Brevos Capital was under investigation, its name splashed across every news channel, every financial blog. The stock plummeted overnight, and with it went the livelihoods of thousands of employees. The fallout was catastrophic: massive layoffs, lives disrupted, all under the glaring scrutiny of the media.
And even I couldn’t escape the spotlight. Reporters hounded me for comments, cameras flashing in my face when I dared to venture outside, as if I were complicit. The suffocating weight of the media attention pressed down on me, even though I’d been on the periphery, merely a casualty.
So, I did the only thing I could think of: I ran. I took the inheritance my grandfather had left me and fled. I left everything I knew, crossed the country, and landed in Silicon Valley. It was my chance to start over, to shed the ghosts of betrayal and rebuild something just for myself, a life where I could live on my own terms, unburdened and anonymous.
“—brothers or sisters?”
My gaze snapped to Bowen’s, and heat rose in my cheeks. He’d caught me distracted. His eyes held mine, questioning, and bringing me back to the moment. “I have an older brother.” I forced a smile to mask the bitterness that threatened to creep into my voice. Unlike me, my brother thrived on manipulating connections for business gains. He was everything I’d tried to escape from. “You?”
He shook his head. “Only child.”
“Tell me about growing up as a hockey player. It must have been a lot of hard work.” I watched as his cheeks flushed, a faint blush creeping up his neck, and my heart melted at his modesty. He was so different from the men I’d known before—so genuine, so unassuming, despite his success.
We finished our pie and coffee while we talked. Although usually a man of few words, he seemed at ease as he recounted stories of his childhood in hockey. He entertained me with stories of starting out in the Learn-to-Skate program at age four, moving on to youth hockey, and up through the ranks of minor and amateur hockey—of the early mornings spent at the rink, and the relentless practices that followed. Then to the Major Junior Hockey League before being drafted into the NHL. Confidence showed through as he shared snippets of his experiences.
I basked in the simple pleasure of his company. Time slipped away from us, the hours passing unnoticed as we sat in the cozy diner, lost in conversation. It was only when I noticed Bowen’s eyes drooping, his blinks growing longer, that I realized how late it had gotten. The memory of the game he’d played earlier that evening came rushing back, and I glanced at my watch, startled to see how much time had passed. Our pie was long gone, just a few crumbs left on our plates.
Whoops. “I’m sorry.” I bit my lip, a pang of guilt in my chest. “I kept you up late. Or, rather, early in the morning.”
He shook his head, signaling for the check with a wave of his hand. “Worth it,” he rumbled, rough with fatigue. “Enjoyed every minute. I can sleep on the plane.”
Bowen walked me to my car, his hand resting gently against the small of my back. The warmth of his touch seeped through my jacket, sending my stomach into a series of cartwheels. We stopped beside my Honda CR-V Hybrid, the vehicle that had carried me across the country, away from the life I’d known. I’d traded in my Tesla Model S before the move, wanting something that wouldn’t raise eyebrows. A server driving a Tesla in Silicon Valley would have been a red flag, a glaring question I didn’t want to answer.
I turned to face Bowen, my heart pounding in my chest. The cool night air brushed against my skin, but all I could feel was the heat radiating from him, the way his presence seemed to fill the space between us. “Thanks for asking me out for pie. I had a great time.”
His gaze held mine in the dim light of the streetlamps, the shadows playing across his rugged features. “Same here,” he said. “I hope you can go to the game.”
“I do, too.” I mentally listed the day-shift servers, searching for someone who might switch with me. I’d do anything to attend that game, to see Bowen in his element.
“Can I have your phone number? To…you know…” He rubbed the back of his neck endearingly, making him seem almost boyish. “Confirm.”
I suppressed a smile at his adorable awkwardness. I doubted he’d appreciate the description adorable , but it was impossible not to find it charming. “Sure.” I recited my number. He sent me a text, and my phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Can I see you after the game? At Scrimmage’s?”
“Oh!” A strand of my hair fluttered in the breeze, and I tucked it behind my ear while I considered my answer. Did I dare? I couldn’t spend my life hiding in my apartment. The fear of being recognized was real, but so was the need to live. “I’d love to.”
He grunted. Over the months, I’d learned to decipher Bowen’s grunt-speak, and I could tell this one meant thank you . I grinned, my heart swelling with affection.
Bowen leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek. His scruff rasped against my skin, the rough texture sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. The contact was brief, almost innocent, but the impact was anything but. My hopes soared, a dizzying rush flooding through me. Could I have a discreet relationship with Bowen without being outed as Benjamin Brevos’s daughter?
But even as the thought crossed my mind, doubt crept in. How could that possibly work? I was lying to Bowen about who I was, about everything that mattered. That lie weighed me down, heavy and suffocating, even as I stood there, basking in the warmth of his presence.
As I climbed into my car and started the engine, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was standing on the edge of something big, something that could change everything. But for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of hope, a spark of something new.
Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to make this work. Even if it meant walking a tightrope between truth and lies, between fear and desire.