Chapter 9
Kylie
By some miracle and elementary-age dance recitals—Martin’s youngest daughter’s—I’m leaving work by five o’clock on Thursday.
Hallelujah!
When Martin told me he was leaving early, I considered staying anyway so we wouldn’t fall behind, but with one look at the dark circles under my eyes, he told me to spend one godforsaken night being my age for an hour and then go home and get in bed by eight or he would fire me first thing Friday morning.
I knew the threat was flimsy at best, but far be it for me to look a gift horse in the mouth when everything else in my life has been taking.
My energy, my attention, my guilt.
The universe has been working overtime at draining my cup these days, and without a pitcher and some time, I’ll be empty pretty soon.
Once I ensure all the filings I’ve worked on today have been saved, filed, and backed up three hundred times, I shut down my computer and lock up the office for the night.
I waste no time getting to my car—despite nearing April, it’s still cold as balls here in Massachusetts, and I forgot my big coat—and drive straight to my favorite coffee shop near the rink.
A fresh cappuccino and a chocolate croissant sound like the perfect treat before I head to the rink and get on the ice for an hour or so.
I’ll be skating alone again—Alyssa’s already on the road to Connecticut to visit her sick father—and the thought sits heavier than it should. It’s not bad. It’s just…noticeable.
I tell myself I’m tired and these are just the consequences of a long week, too many late nights, and a brain that won’t shut up.
If the next closest rink weren’t in downtown Boston, filled with people I don’t know at all, and an hour commute from my house, I probably would opt for a change of scenery.
But I choose to stick with what I know, even if it doesn’t feel quite as relaxing as it used to.
Honey Bee Café isn’t usually busy on Thursday evenings—they’re more of a morning rush type of place—but tonight, I have to settle for one of the only empty parking spots at the very back of the lot.
There’s no light overhead, making it extra freaky, so I jump out, slam my door, beep my locks, and move toward the building at a full run, just hoping I don’t bust my ass on a patch of black ice.
Thankfully, the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and sugar is quick to make it worth it as the bell above the door announces my entrance. Shelly the owner/operator/decadence extraordinaire’s warm welcome doesn’t hurt either.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite customer dragged in from the ether itself.”
I laugh. “It’s been a rough month, yes, but that kind of flattery will get you everywhere—even if you do say it to everyone who comes through the door.”
She grins. “You want your usual, Kylie?”
“You know it.”
“Cappuccino and chocolate croissant warmed!” she calls over her shoulder, toward where Deacon and Billy—her only two employees—are busy making drinks.
I pay and wait patiently, and once both my hot cappuccino and plated croissant are in my hands, I head over to a small table by the window to sit down and enjoy my tasties in peace.
I put my phone facedown on the table—the last thing I need is a virtual distraction—and a too-big bite of chocolatey carbs goes straight into my mouth.
It’s the perfect mix of ooey, gooey, sweet, and warm, with a hint of salt, and my cheeks bulge comically with the effort to chew the amount I bit off.
It’s an annoying little metaphor for life these days and makes me wonder if even entertaining the event with Holland on Friday is smart.
I know he’s been waxing poetic about the opportunities it could bring via text the past two days, but at this point, it’s really feeling like just one more thing. Add in the fact that Rook hates—
“Huh,” a familiar male voice says from beside me. “I guess it really is a small world. First Murray’s the other night, and now this…I guess you know all the good places.”
I look up to find Holland standing there with a cup in his hand, sleek puffer jacket open, and a friendly smile on his lips.
My whole system jolts at the coincidental timing, and a grating tightness fills the space of my chest. I choke down my bite and take a swig of cappuccino to clear it—which tastes just as good—holding up a polite finger until the pathway to answer is free.
“Oh hey, Holland.” I try to laugh, but even to my own ears, it sounds a little brittle. He doesn’t seem to mind, smiling widely as I remark, “Feeling smaller by the day.”
He gestures to the empty chair across from me. “Mind if I sit for a minute?”
“Sure,” I reply without a reason to decline other than that guy Rook who hates you, and I’d rather you didn’t.
Pulling off his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair like he’s preparing to stay awhile, he settles in and wraps both his hands around his own cup.
“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Ky, but you look tired. Is it work? Something else? I can be a listening ear if you’d like.”
I snort, both at him and to myself, because I must have reached a new point for myself if the guy I thought was chasing me around to try to get in my pants is actually just concerned for me.
My God, Kylie. If this isn’t a wake-up call that I’m pushing myself to burnout, I don’t know what is.
“Hah, yeah. No offense taken,” I say. “I work for an accountant, and this tax season has been…chaos. I’m not surprised I look like the walking dead.”
He winces. “I don’t envy you.”
“What about you?” I ask. “You always look like you’re coming from somewhere important. Is your job serious? Stressful?”
He smiles at that, like it’s a private joke. If I had to guess, he likes the idea that I think he does something important, but to be honest, I’m genuinely too tired for a full psychoanalysis. “Law firm. Boston.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Big one,” he says easily. “Mostly contracts. Talent-adjacent stuff. It can definitely get stressful, but it’s mostly…” He shrugs, a smile creasing the corners of his caramel eyes so much, it’s almost as though they darken. “Fun.”
I tilt my head. “Talent-adjacent? That sounds like an NDA or two are involved.”
“Agents. Investors. People in the entertainment industry,” he explains with a laugh. “It’s not as glamorous as you’d think, but it’s interesting. And, yes. Privacy is at the utmost premium.”
“No offense, but that seems like a pretty heady job for someone who doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.”
He puts a hand to his chest, mock flattered. “Twenty-nine, technically, which I suppose is still a little young.” He shrugs and smiles. “But I skipped a few grades in elementary and ended up starting college at sixteen. I guess that puts me a bit ahead of the curve.”
“Wow. That’s impressive,” I say, because it is impressive.
I barely tolerated college at eighteen, nineteen, and twenty, let alone sixteen.
If it weren’t for Gammy, I probably would have dropped out.
Not because I wasn’t smart enough, but because it was just so…
ordinary. Which I know is rich coming from someone working in an accountancy firm and dreaming of an early bedtime now, but when I was younger, I always thought my life would be bigger or more interesting or… something.
Talent-adjacent, perhaps.
He waves it off. “Anyway. Where has the other girl you usually skate with been? Alyssa, right?”
“Yeah, Alyssa,” I say. “She’s my roommate. Normally, she’d be here now, but she’s out of town this weekend.”
“Oh?” His tone is light but inquisitive. “Everything okay?”
“Sort of. She went to Connecticut for the weekend. Her dad’s been sick for a while,” I explain. “It’s been hard for her…balancing school and going home to be with family.”
“That’s rough,” he says.
“Yeah,” I agree. Putting myself in Alyssa’s shoes somehow always places my current woes in perspective. I know what it’s like to lose your parents, but at least it happened to me before they were such a big part of my life. At this point, a world with her dad in it is all she knows.
“And what about you? You staying put this weekend?”
“Mostly,” I reply. “Trying to recover. I’ll probably spend time with my grandmother Saturday, though.”
“Lucky,” he says. “I don’t have any family close…well, other than the guys on my team.” He shakes his head. “They’re probably not too happy with me tonight, though, because I missed a game. Work ran late.”
He glances toward the window, where the rink sign is visible down the street. Compulsorily, I follow his line of sight with my own, visions of Rook Slater dancing in both my eyes and another, deeper place I’d rather not discuss.
I don’t know how my body can be so freaking interested in a man who doesn’t even know how to smile.
“Who’d you play?”
“Iron Knights.” It’s the team I was hoping to hear and, begrudgingly, makes my heart skip a tiny beat. If I get to the rink soon, Rook might still be there.
“Ah, yes. The most heated rivalry in Concordia Rec League,” I joke. “Bet you’re missing the chance to shed some of their blood.”
He laughs, and I push my luck.
“What is it between you guys, by the way? Is it just the hockey? Something else? I always feel like games between your two teams take ugliness to a new level.”
Holland’s eyes shutter briefly before he brushes me off diplomatically. “Oh, you know how it is sometimes. Grew up together. Never got along. We just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of stuff, and most of my guys and I are over the immaturity, you know?”
I hum my acquiescence, but the truth is, I don’t know. That nonanswer gave me exactly zero point two five out of a million when it comes to real reasoning.
“Well, I better head over now anyway,” I say, swigging my still-too-full cappuccino and shrugging. “I’m planning on skating after it’s done, and I don’t want to have a late night.”
“Figures,” he says with a grin. “That is your usual routine.”
A piercingly sharp pain zaps my head at Holland’s mention of my usual routine, but it’s gone as quick as it came. I don’t know if it’s a stress headache trying to form or an aneurysm or something else, but I chalk it up to one weird moment and move on.
He grins, seemingly unaware of my phantom pain and drifting mind. “So…about Friday…still no pressure, but maybe if I give a clearer picture of what it actually is, you’ll feel better about it.”
“Okay,” I agree, knowing the fastest route sometimes is directly through the forest. For whatever reason, Holland Thorne is fixated on me and this thing Friday, and if I don’t let him finish now, he’ll chase me around until he can.
“It’s very low-key. Private event that includes people from my firm and a few folks from New York, and I know that can sound intimidating, but I think you’d actually like it.
Free drinks and dancing and food and maybe some connections that could give you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do something big. ”
“It all sounds really interesting, but I’m not sure an event of that scale is a great way to make my best impression. I tend to…lock up…in large crowds.”
“I get that. I do,” he replies immediately, offering a soft smile. “But just remember that I’d be there with you, okay? And if you get there and can only stay for five minutes, we’d leave. No questions asked.”
I shrug. “I’ll think about it, okay? But I’m leaning toward yes.
” It’s as big a commitment as the one I gave my grandmother for pot roast night—aka under duress and mostly against my will—and everything in my head is already yelling at me to cancel.
But I guess I’m hoping if I seem more committed, he’ll drop it for a while.
He smiles hugely before checking his watch and jumping up from the table.
“Oh shit. I didn’t realize it was so late. I better get over to the rink.” He winks at me. “See how many teeth we lost tonight.”
Effectively, it seems, my theory worked. At least temporarily.
“Good idea.” I laugh. “I’ll probably see you over there.”
“I certainly hope so.” He smiles and waves as he heads through the door, tossing his full cup of coffee into the trash at its side.
I sit there for a second longer than I mean to as the oddest, most unsettled feeling takes up shop in my gut. Nothing about our conversation was rude or inappropriate or even uncomfortable, really. He was nice and listened intently when I was talking and met my eyes with no trouble at all.
But something about it feels…I don’t know…off.
And when I stand to gather my things, the feeling doesn’t leave with him.
I push it aside, offer a wave to Shelly, Deacon, and Billy behind the counter, and head out of Honey Bee Café to make the two-minute journey to Concordia Rec Rink.
Rook’s Suburban is obvious when I enter the parking lot, and despite myself, a small thrill takes flight in my stomach.
I grab my bag and hustle inside, jolting slightly at the boisterous, violent sounds of a hockey game the instant I step through the door.
The rivalry game, it seems, is still fully in progress.
It takes me an embarrassingly short amount of time to locate Rook on the bench. His helmet is off, the sweat from his effort in the game darkening his already dark hair to onyx, and his body is coiled tight, even at rest.
He’s looking at me.
Not casually and not like he’s surprised to see me. His gaze is…fixed. Like he’s been waiting for something and doesn’t know whether it’s arrived or not.
His brother Kane sits next to him, laughing with one of their teammates in his usual jovial way, while Calloway continues their penchant for damage on the ice, but it’s Rook’s tension-filled gaze that makes me feel the quietest.
There’s something sharp in his expression. Anger, maybe. Tension. Whatever it is, it makes my stomach tighten instead of bristle.
His focus shifts suddenly, and I realize Holland has stepped up behind me.
“Glad I got to have coffee with you tonight, Kylie,” Holland says quietly. “Have a good skate.”
“Thanks,” I reply, turning back toward the rink.
Rook’s eyes are no longer on me. They’re dark and unblinking and locked on Holland’s retreating back.
And when I glance out onto the ice, Calloway has stopped skating entirely. He’s staring straight at me from center ice, his expression mirroring Rook’s in a way that makes no sense at all.
My brows draw together.
Okay.
What the actual hell is going on?