Chapter 11 #2
"We should probably—" I start, but Ryder cuts me off.
"We'll be there."
After practice, I head back to my cabin to change into something that doesn't smell like rink sweat and failure. Ryder follows in his truck.
We both park, and I meet him between our vehicles. "That was fun," I admit. "Humiliating, but fun."
"You did great. Most people fall at least thirty times their first session."
"You're lying to make me feel better."
"Absolutely. But you still did great." We stand there between our vehicles for a moment. "Hey, about your ex—"
"I should probably feel something," I interrupt. "We were together for three years and I just... don't care."
"That's not a bad thing," he says quietly. "Means you already moved on before any of this started."
Something loosens in my chest, a knot I didn't know was there.
"Thank you."
"Plus, his ring choice was terrible. Princess cuts are so outdated."
I burst out laughing. "You noticed that too?"
"Jax pointed it out. He has surprisingly strong opinions about engagement rings." Ryder grins. "Give me ten minutes to change and we can head to The Grizzly together?"
"Sounds good. I'll wait out here."
Ten minutes later, I've swapped rink clothes for jeans and a sweater that doesn't smell like humiliation, and we climb into Ryder's truck for the short drive to The Grizzly.
The Grizzly turns out to be a bar that looks exactly like every small-town Alaskan bar in every movie ever—dark wood, mounted fish that probably have names, and a karaoke stage that's seen better days.
Ryder's hand finds mine as we walk in, fingers lacing together like we've done this a hundred times. The ease of it surprises me—no awkwardness, no second-guessing. Just his palm warm against mine.
The Wolves have claimed a corner, and they cheer when they spot us. Several of them make exaggerated kissy faces.
"The lovebirds!" someone shouts.
"Shut up, Connor," Ryder mutters, but he's smiling.
We squeeze into a booth, and immediately Jax appears with drinks. "House specialty. Don't ask what's in it."
"That's terrifying," I say, eyeing the glass. Whatever it is, it's amber-colored with a cinnamon stick and looks way better than it has any right to. I take a sip.
"Holy hell, that's good," I say.
"That's Alaska." He clinks his glass against mine. "Welcome to the family."
The next two hours blur together in the best possible way.
The team teases Ryder mercilessly about his skating lessons, I'm forced to sing an off-key rendition of "Love Story" that makes everyone laugh, and at some point, Patrice and Tessa show up and drag me to the bathroom for what they call a "tactical debrief. "
The bathroom is exactly what you'd expect—faded floral wallpaper, a single bulb that flickers occasionally, and a mirror with stickers from bands that haven't toured in twenty years. It smells like cheap air freshener and beer.
Patrice leans against the sink, arms crossed. Tessa locks the door behind us.
"So," Patrice says. "You and Ryder."
"We're dating," I say carefully.
"Uh-huh." Tessa's studying me with the shrewd eyes of someone who's seen through worse lies. "And how's that going?"
"Fine? Good? I don't know, it's new."
They exchange a look.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," Patrice says, too innocently. "Just... be careful."
"Be careful?" I repeat. "Of Ryder?"
"Because Ryder's a good guy," Tessa says gently. "And he's been alone a long time. Since his dad died, he's been focused on hockey and firefighting and not much else."
"And after his last girlfriend," Patrice adds quietly.
I lean against the sink. "Dotty mentioned it’s been years since he looked at anyone. But she didn't tell me the whole story."
Tessa and Patrice exchange a look.
"There was this girl, we don’t mention her name. They were together for three years," Tessa says. "College sweethearts, that whole thing. She moved to Seattle for a job opportunity, wanted him to come with her."
"But he couldn't leave," Patrice continues. "Not with the team needing him, the fire station, his mom still grieving. He chose Ashwood Falls. She chose Seattle."
"Long distance lasted about six months before she ended it," Tessa says. "Told him she needed someone who could put her first. That she was tired of coming second to hockey and the fire department."
My stomach twists. "That's awful."
"It gutted him," Patrice says. "So if you're not serious about this—"
"I'm serious," I interrupt, then pause. "I mean, we're serious about... giving it a shot. Seeing where things go."
Another look between them.
"Okay," Patrice says slowly. "Just... he's one of the good ones. Don't break him."
They leave me in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. Don't break him. Like I have that power. Like this arrangement is anything more than mutually beneficial PR.
When I return to the booth, Jax is in the middle of a story about Ryder's first game, and everyone's laughing. Ryder catches my eye across the table and smiles, and that flutter happens again, low in my stomach.
Later, when the karaoke has devolved into terrible team renditions of '80s power ballads, Jax slides into the seat next to me.
"Having fun?" he asks.
"Surprisingly, yes."
"Good." He's quiet for a moment, watching Ryder argue with Connor about song choices. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"Ryder likes you. Like, really likes you."
My stomach flips. "Jax—"
"I've known him since we were kids. He doesn't do casual." He turns to face me, expression serious. "So whatever this is between you two, just... be honest with him. And with yourself."
Before I can respond, heat crawls up my neck. Why does everyone assume I'm the one who's going to do the hurting? I'm the one who got dumped on a livestream three months ago. I'm the one rebuilding from public humiliation. What about him hurting me?
But I don't say any of that. Just nod like I understand.
Ryder returns to the table, sliding into the seat across from me. "What are you two conspiring about?"
"Nothing," Jax says innocently. "Just telling Piper about the time you cried during 'The Notebook.'"
"I did not cry. I had allergies."
"Sure you did, buddy." Jax makes exaggerated sniffling noises and wipes at imaginary tears.
The night winds down around eleven, and Ryder drives me home through streets that are finally starting to feel familiar. When we pull up to my cabin, neither of us moves to get out.
"Thanks for today," I say finally. "The skating, the team thing, all of it."
"Thanks for coming. I know it's not your usual scene."
"Maybe it should be." The words surprise me as much as him. "I had fun. Real fun, not 'this will be great content' fun."
He's quiet, and I can feel him looking at me in the darkness. "Piper, about whatever Jax may have said—"
"He warned me not to break your heart," I interrupt. "Which is ridiculous because we have rules and boundaries and this is supposed to be—"
"Yeah." His voice is rough. "Supposed to be."
Neither of us speaks. The truck's engine ticks as it cools.
I should get out. Should go inside, maintain the boundaries, keep this professional.
Instead, I say, "Three more games."
His hand finds mine in the darkness between us, fingers threading through mine. "Three more games," he agrees. Then he lifts my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
The warmth of his mouth against my skin sends heat racing up my arm, settling in my chest. My pulse hammers in my throat.
"And then we figure out what's real," I say quietly.
"If anything is," he murmurs.
I finally look at him, and even in the darkness, I can see the same confusion I feel reflected in his eyes. "Ryder, I—"
My phone buzzes. A notification. Another brand deal email, probably. Or more people commenting on Chad's engagement. The real world, interrupting.
"I should go," I say.
"Yeah."
But no one breaks the silence.
Finally, I force myself to open the door and step out. I'm halfway to my cabin when he calls my name.
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth—I'm really glad you came tonight."
I don't trust myself to respond, so I just wave and slip inside.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I lean back against it, eyes closed. My hand still tingles where his lips touched my skin. My pulse hasn't settled. The warmth in my chest from his smile, his touch, the way he looked at me when he lifted my hand to his mouth—none of it feels fake.
Three more games. We agreed to figure it out after three more games.
But standing here in the darkness of my cabin, my rental car parked twenty feet from his truck, his presence so close I can practically feel it through the walls—I'm terrified we've already gone completely off the rails.
This was supposed to be simple. Clear boundaries. Mutually beneficial.
Nothing about tonight felt simple.