Chapter 16
Ryder
Piper Meadows is standing in my cabin.
Wearing my jersey.
Looking like she's about to either kiss me or kill me, and honestly, I'm not sure which one I deserve more.
She's by the couch. I'm by the door. The lock clicked shut thirty seconds ago, and neither of us has said a word since.
"So," I say, because apparently my brain has decided to abandon me. "You came."
She shifts her weight. "You gave me your key."
"I did." I run a hand through my still-damp hair. "Twenty minutes ago. Feels like longer."
"Feels like forever," she says quietly.
The silence stretches. Gets uncomfortable. Reaches the point where Morris the moose could crash through my window and it would be less awkward than this.
"About the other night," she starts.
"About the other night," I say at the same time.
We both stop. She gestures for me to continue, and I realize I have no idea what I was about to say. Sorry I left in the pre-dawn darkness? Sorry we broke our agreement? Sorry I've been too much of a coward to face you for three days?
"I shouldn't have left like that," I finally manage.
"You mean at all? Or just the part where you said we'd figure things out and then proceeded to ignore me for three days?"
The accusation in her tone is deserved. "Both. All of it. The leaving, the ignoring, the complete failure to act like an adult who can handle his own emotions."
"So you ran away."
"I panicked." I shove my hands in my pockets.
"We weren't supposed to sleep together until after all the games were over.
That was the whole point. And then we did it anyway, and I didn't know how to deal with that.
So I left, and then I kept avoiding you because I still didn't know how to deal with it. "
"How to what? Face me? Talk to me?" She crosses her arms over my jersey. "We live twenty-three feet apart, Ryder. You couldn't walk over and knock on my door for three days?"
"Twenty-three feet," I repeat quietly. "You measured?"
"I had a lot of time to overthink things while you were ignoring me."
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. "You measured the distance between our cabins while overthinking?"
"Don't laugh. It's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
"It's pathetic." But there's a hint of that snarky humor breaking through now. "I also counted ceiling tiles, reorganized my entire camera bag, and learned seventeen new editing techniques I'll never use. Very productive avoidance."
I move further into the cabin, drop my bag by the door.
"You want the truth? I've been a mess for three days.
Couldn't focus at practice—took a puck to the face during a basic drill.
Coach threatened to bench me if I didn't get my head together.
And I couldn't, because every time I tried to focus on hockey, all I could think about was you.
Twenty-three feet away. Probably hating me. "
"I don't hate you," she says softly.
"You should. I slept with you and then ghosted you like some kind of—"
"Coward?" she supplies.
"I was going to say asshole, but yeah, coward works too.
" I shove my hands in my pockets because if I don't, I'm going to reach for her.
"But I wasn't avoiding you because I didn't want to see you.
I was avoiding you because I wanted to see you too much.
Because being around you makes me forget about everything else—hockey, scouts, the NHL—and I can't afford that. Not with two games left."
She moves closer, just a few steps, but enough that I can smell whatever fancy shampoo she uses. "We broke our rule."
"I know."
"We said we'd wait until after the games. Keep things professional. Clear boundaries."
"I know."
"And now there are two games left, and scouts are watching your every move, and—" Her voice catches. "And I don't know what we're doing here, Ryder."
The vulnerability in her tone kills me. This woman who faced down internet trolls and public humiliation, who screamed at a moose and survived Alaska winter in designer boots—she sounds scared. Of me. Of us. Of whatever this thing between us has become.
"I'm terrified," I admit. "Not of you. Of choosing wrong.
I've spent my entire life working toward the NHL, and these last two games are my shot.
But then there's you, and when I'm with you, hockey doesn't feel like the only thing that matters anymore.
And that scares the hell out of me because what if I choose wrong?
What if I blow my shot at the NHL because I'm distracted, or what if I make the NHL and have to leave you behind?
Either way, I lose something I can't get back. "
Piper's eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"You think I'm not terrified? My ex dumped me on a livestream, Ryder.
In front of thousands of people. Said I was too much, too needy, too exhausting to love.
Do you know what it's like to have that happen and then fall for someone who might have to leave for his career?
Who might decide I'm not worth the complication? "
"You're not too much."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." I close the distance between us until we're inches apart.
"Piper, you're the first person in years who's made me want something besides hockey.
You're smart and funny and you give moose attitude when they deserve it.
You deleted your footage of my game the other night because you didn't want to post me as content.
Do you know how rare that is? How much that meant? "
"It felt wrong. To post it."
"Exactly. Because you see me. Not the hockey captain everyone needs me to be, not the firefighter everyone expects, just—me.
The guy who's terrible at expressing feelings and runs away when things get complicated.
" My hand finds her jaw, fingers settling against the warmth of her skin.
"I know we had rules. Clear boundaries. Mutually beneficial arrangement.
But nothing about how I feel about you is professional. "
She leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed for a second.
When she opens them, there's something fierce there.
"I'm falling in love with you. And I hate it, because loving you means I could lose you.
To the NHL, to your career, to the whole world that wants a piece of Ryder Lockwood.
And I've already been publicly heartbroken once.
I don't know if I can survive it again."
The admission guts me. She's falling in love with me. Right now. As we stand here.
And she's right to be scared, because I'm falling too. Have been since she showed up next door and turned everything upside down.
"Two more games," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "Let's keep the arrangement professional for two more games. No kissing, no sleepovers, no crossing lines. We show up together, we smile for the cameras, we give everyone the performance they expect."
"And after?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"After, we figure it out. Really figure it out. No more running, no more avoiding the conversation. We sit down and decide what we want this to be." I meet her eyes. "Because I'm falling for you too, Piper. Have been for a while now. And that terrifies me more than any scout ever could."
"You think we can fake it that convincingly? When we're standing here admitting we're falling for each other?"
My thumb drags across her lower lip. Her breath stutters. "I think if we don't try, I'm going to kiss you right now. And if I kiss you, I'm not stopping until we're back in bed, and then I'll be useless for the next game. So yeah, we're going to fake it. For two more games. And then—"
"Then we'll deal with reality." She pulls back, just enough to break contact. The cold rushes in where she was. "Okay. Two more games. Professional arrangement."
"Just like we agreed in the beginning."
"Clear boundaries."
"Mutually beneficial."
We're both terrible liars.
She starts to step away, but my hand catches hers. "For the record, I'm already there. Where you're falling. I'm already there."
Her eyes go wide. "Ryder—"
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Then again. And again. The kind of persistent buzzing that means either someone died or someone's about to if I don't answer.
I pull it out, glance at the screen. "It's my sister."
"Your sister?"
"Sage. She's—hold on." I answer. "Hey, what's—"
"SURPRISE!" Sage's voice practically bursts through the speaker. "Guess who's coming to Alaska?"
No. No no no. Not now.
"Sage—"
"I land tomorrow at noon! I know, I know, you're shocked and thrilled and probably crying tears of joy—"
"Sage, this really isn't a good—"
"Don't even try to talk me out of it. I already booked the ticket, cleared it with your coach, and made sure the guys at the firehouse can pick me up if you're at practice. Also, Jax seems nice. Is he single? Never mind, I'll find out when I get there. See you tomorrow, big brother!"
She hangs up before I can form a coherent objection.
I stand there, phone in hand, watching my carefully constructed plan to keep things professional with Piper fall apart.
"Your sister's coming?" Piper asks.
"Tomorrow."
"And she knows about—us?"
"She knows I've been 'seeing someone,' because Jax can't keep his mouth shut in the team group chat." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "She doesn't know it's fake."
Piper sinks onto the couch. "So now we have to fake date in front of your sister."
"Who will see through any bullshit because she's known me her whole life and can read me better than anyone." I drop onto the couch beside her, leaving a respectable foot of space between us. "This is a disaster."
"Maybe we just tell her the truth?"
"And have her tell our mom, who will call me crying about how I'm incapable of forming real human connections and probably need therapy?" I shake my head. "No. We stick to the arrangement. You're my girlfriend. We're happy. Everything's normal and definitely not complicated."
"Right. Because we're so good at pretending we're not into each other." She laughs, but it's shaky. "Two more games just became two more games plus convincing your sister we're actually dating."
"Can you do it?"
"Convince your sister we're in love when we just admitted to each other that we're falling in love but trying not to act on it?
" She turns to look at me, and there's something both funny and heartbreaking in her expression.
"Yeah, Ryder. I can fake being in love with you.
The hard part will be remembering it's supposed to be fake. "
The space between us on the couch feels infinite and nonexistent all at once. If I moved my hand three inches, I'd be touching her. If I leaned in just slightly, I could kiss her.
"So we're back to fake dating?" I ask.
"Just for two more games." Her hands twist in her lap. Won't meet my eyes. "Then we'll figure it out."
Neither of us moves.
Neither of us believes we can do this.
Outside, Alaska winter presses against the windows. Inside, the space between us on this couch holds all the things we're not saying—all the ways we've already gone past the point of pretending any of this is fake.
My phone buzzes again. A text from Sage:
Sage: Can't wait to meet her! I'm bringing Mom's famous embarrassing photo album. You're welcome.
"Your sister sounds fun," Piper says, reading over my shoulder.
"She's a nightmare."
"I can't wait to meet her."
The way she says it—genuine, warm, like she actually wants to meet my family—wrecks every promise I just made myself. Because girlfriends meet families. Real girlfriends. The kind you don't walk away from after two more games.
"Piper," I start, but she's already standing, already moving toward the door.
"Two more games, Ryder. We can do this." She pauses with her hand on the door handle. "We're professionals, remember?"
Then she's gone, door clicking shut behind her, leaving me alone in my cabin with her scent still lingering in the air and the ghost of her warmth beside me on the couch.
Two more games.
Two more games to prove I deserve the NHL while pretending I'm not in love with the woman next door.
Two more games of convincing scouts I'm focused while my sister watches me fake date someone I actually want.
Two more games of keeping my hands to myself when all I want is to cross those twenty-three feet and kiss Piper Meadows until we both forget why we're supposed to be waiting.
Two more games.