Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Alycia
The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet.
For a second, I stand there trying to convince myself I imagined everything that just happened.
The apartment feels too small. The air still carries him in it: a faint scent of sandalwood and the clean edge of rain from his jacket.
It hangs between breaths, thick and impossible to ignore.
I let go of the doorknob and press my palm flat against the wood.
It feels warm where his hand was; maybe that’s impossible, but the thought makes it worse.
I take one step back, then another, and by the third, my knees give, and I slide down the door.
I sit on the floor, back pressed against it and legs folded awkwardly beneath me.
My breath comes out shaky and uneven as I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling until the burn behind my eyes eases.
He called me sweetheart.
He kissed me like he meant it.
And I let him.
I press trembling fingers to my still-tender lips.
The memory hits fast: the rough scrape of his jaw and the soft sweep of his thumb along my cheek.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
That kiss was supposed to be the kind you can walk away from.
Instead, it cracked something open I didn’t even know I’d locked shut.
I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse.
His voice plays in my head, rough and unguarded.
It twists something deep inside me, sharp and sweet all at once.
Because for one impossible second, he saw me.
Not the version of me who’s always smiling, always managing, always fine. And for one reckless second, I let him.
“What the hell was that?” My whisper sounds foreign in the empty room.
The apartment doesn’t answer. It just sits around me, too quiet and too still. I try to breathe through it as my therapist taught me, but nothing steadies. I draw a shaky breath and exhale slowly, counting like my therapist taught me. In for four. Hold for two. Out for six.
I let my head thud softly against the door. Somewhere between the elevator and tonight, I lost control of the script. The worst part is I can’t even pinpoint when it happened. Maybe when he smiled at my mom like he’d known her forever. Maybe when he said my name. Maybe from the very start.
“You’re fine,” I tell myself, but my voice trembles. “It’s fine. He’s probably not even thinking about it.”
Especially not that man. Kyle is everything I swore off: too charming, too sure, too easy to get lost in. He has the kind of smile that makes promises without saying a word, and I’ve spent my entire adult life learning not to believe in promises.
I push up from the floor, legs unsteady, palms flat against the door like it can anchor me. My apartment looks the same as it did before, but I don’t feel safe in it anymore. I feel exposed. His touch still seems imprinted on my skin, and the walls know it.
The lights are dim, the blinds half-drawn, strips of streetlight cutting across the floor in uneven gold.
Each shadow feels like a reminder as I set the foil-wrapped pie on the counter.
I peel back the edge and stare at it like it holds answers.
Cinnamon and butter fill the air—my mother’s love language made edible.
It should comfort me, but the sweetness turns my stomach.
I step back, rubbing my thumb along the counter’s edge until it hurts. Everything can change shape so fast. An hour ago, this whole place smelled like safety. Now it smells like heartbreak waiting to happen.
I grab my phone from the counter, desperate for a distraction. The group chat is still open, flashing with unread messages.
Tiff
Did the fake date survive dinner with Mom?
Maria
Tell me he was charming. Give us details, woman.
A half laugh escapes me. Barely would be the truth, but my thumbs hover without typing. What would I even say? That the fake boyfriend she thought was harmless kissed me like he meant it, and I let him? Instead, I type:
Still alive. Dinner went well.
I add a heart emoji to soften the lie and hit send.
Maria
Ugh. That’s it? No lingering eye contact or flirty banter? No accidental hand brushes that change everything?
Tiff
Marie, this isn’t one of your Netflix originals.
Maria
You say that as if these things don’t happen in real life.
Maria
Well, not to you. But it could happen.
They’re steady in a way everything else isn’t, even when they don’t mean to be. And I’m sitting here, lying to them.
It was fine. Totally normal. Nothing to report.
The lie sends a dull ache through my chest as I head for the kitchen. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence. My reflection stares back faintly from the window above the sink. I should feel calm here, surrounded by the life I built, but all I feel is off balance.
My phone buzzes.
Maria
Okay, but you can’t just say “dinner went well” and disappear.
Tiff
It’s avoidance. Which means something happened.
Maria
Something happened?!
Nothing happened. Seriously. Stop being weird.
My stomach twists, remembering the way his breath hitched right before he kissed me.
Tiff
Then why do you sound defensive?
Maria
She SOUNDS defensive? Are you hearing her voice in your head, too?
Tiff
You know what I mean.
Maria
Okay, but what if something happened? Hypothetically.
Tiff
Then, hypothetically, she needs to remember it’s fake.
Maria
Or, hypothetically, it’s not.
I let the phone fall flat on the counter.
My heart hammers once, twice. Tiff’s logic has always been my safety net.
Maria’s hope has always been her downfall.
I’ve spent years balancing somewhere between them, practical enough to protect myself and romantic enough to still want something good. Tonight wrecked that balance.
Maria
You’re being suspiciously quiet.
Tiff
She’s overthinking, like she always does.
Maria
Oh my God, you kissed him, didn’t you?
Tiff
Maria.
Maria
SHE TOTALLY DID.
My throat goes dry. It shouldn’t matter that they guessed, but somehow it does.
It wasn’t like that.
Three dots blink, disappear, then blink again.
Tiff
Alycia… please tell me you’re not catching feelings for your fake boyfriend.
Maria
Don’t listen to her. Sometimes fake leads to fate.
My eyes sting. I sink onto a barstool, elbows on the counter. They mean well, but they don’t know what it’s like to be seen for the first time and wish you hadn’t been.
It was just one kiss. It doesn’t matter.
Tiff
One kiss is how things start mattering.
Maria
One kiss can change everything.
Tiff
Maria.
Maria
What? I’m right.
I wash my hands just to have something to do. The water’s too hot, scorching my skin, but I don’t turn it down. The pain pulls me back into my body. In the window’s reflection, I barely recognize myself—hair messy, lipstick half gone, eyes wide and wild. I look like someone who’s been kissed awake.
“Get it together,” I whisper.
He won’t call or text. Tomorrow he’ll slip back into whatever life exists outside that kiss, and I’ll go back to pretending it didn’t matter. It’s easier to rebuild the walls before anyone notices the cracks.
I carry my phone to the couch. Tiff and Maria’s last messages glare back at me.
Tiff
Just promise me you’ll be smart about this.
Maria
Promise me you’ll at least tell us if he kisses you again.
A choked laugh escapes before I can stop it. “God, you two.”
I type something flippant, but my thumb hesitates.
The truth presses at the back of my throat.
I delete every word and lock the screen.
The silence is heavy as I stare at my reflection in the dark glass, trying to breathe past the tightness in my chest. Then, before I can stop myself, I swipe the screen open and scroll to Elevator Boy.
Just two simpler words that somehow make my pulse skip.
My thumb hovers over delete contact. One tap and he’s gone. One tap and I rewrite the story before it even begins. But I don’t move. The screen fades to black, and I let it. I lean back, eyes closed, whispering into the quiet, “It meant nothing.”
The words echo back, too fragile to believe.
I get up, turn off the lights, and head to my bedroom.
By the time I slide beneath the sheets, the quiet has settled deep in my bones.
But when I close my eyes, I still feel the ghost of his mouth against mine.
Even in the dark, I can’t stop thinking about the name I couldn’t bring myself to erase.
By the time I pull into the parking lot at work, the ache has dulled into something I can almost pretend isn’t there. Morning light sees too much. My routine was the same—shower, hair, toast, coffee—but everything felt off, like I was moving through someone else’s morning.
Every time I blinked, I saw his face and heard him say sweetheart, like it meant something.
I turned the water hotter and scrubbed harder, as if I could wash it off.
I didn’t check my phone a million times, and he didn’t text.
It shouldn’t matter, but my chest still tightens every time I think about him walking away.
I skipped the group chat this morning. Tiff would analyze me to death.
Maria would plan the wedding. And if I really wanted to forget, I would’ve deleted his number.
I lock my car and head toward the training facility. The glass doors slide open, flooding the hallway with bright light and the familiar scent of antiseptic and muscle rub. The rhythmic squeak of sneakers echoes from the weight room.
By the time I reach my office, my heartbeat has almost steadied. I set my bag down, power up my laptop, and sip my lukewarm coffee. I’ve just opened the new eval forms when a knock rattles the doorframe.
“Morning, Torres.”
I glance up to find Beau Hendrix leaning there, wearing a grin that usually means trouble, with Cole standing just behind him, already amused by whatever’s coming.
“Morning, please tell me you’re not here because there’s already a PR issue.”
Cole shakes his head, dimples flashing. “Not yet. Though we figured we’d make sure you’re ready for your new project.”
“I’m pretty sure I can handle one rookie,” I say, arching a brow.
“Yeah, well, he’s not just any rookie.” Beau smirks.
Cole’s grin widens. “He’s our baby brother.”
“Right. Nothing says rookie hazing like a full family escort.”
“Pretty much,” Beau says, and both brothers laugh. For a second, it almost feels normal.
Beau gestures over his shoulder. “He should be here any second. Cooper wanted him to meet you before his evaluation this afternoon.”
Janine still hasn’t sent over his file yet, so all I know is what the roster sheet says: defenseman, rookie, Kyle Hendrix, but the file never shows the real story anyway. The Timberwolves didn’t just sign players; they inherited the legacies that come with the Hendrix last name.
“You all started the party without me?” Cooper appears in the doorway next, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Of course, you did.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Cole grins, all teeth and trouble.
“Do you all travel in a pack, or is this just a family thing?” I huff out a laugh, unable to help it.
“Both. It keeps things entertaining,” Beau responds, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“All right, let’s get this over with before the rookie has a heart attack waiting outside.” Cooper claps his hands once to get everyone’s attention.
And then I hear it. The low and familiar sound of someone I’ve been telling myself I’d never see again.
“Wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, Coach.”
My heart doesn’t just stutter; it drops to my toes. When Kyle steps around the corner, the world shifts, tilting hard.
He’s in Timberwolves workout gear—green shirt stretched across his shoulders, gray shorts, team logo like a cosmic joke. His hair is damp, curling at the ends. A faint bruise shadows his jaw.
He shouldn’t look like this here. He shouldn’t be here at all.
Our eyes meet, and something inside me sparks alive before I can stop it. The smile he gives is slow and knowing, like he already understands the damage he’s causing.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
The word knocks the air from my lungs. Heat floods through me, sharp and humiliating. The brothers are talking; Cooper is saying something about scheduling, but none of it reaches me.
Of course, it’s him. The one man I swore I’d never see again. The one I spent the morning pretending didn’t matter.
He’s a Timberwolf. A Hendrix. The youngest brother of a hockey dynasty. And he’s standing in my office, wearing the team colors like fate’s favorite punchline.
The universe must hate me.