Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
MILES
The Fire Station is already humming by the time I roll in—brick walls radiating heat from the crowd, rafters strung with mismatched jerseys, the tin ceiling catching every cheer and hurling it back down like confetti. After a win, this place always feels alive—louder, warmer, drunk on victory.
“Hollywood!” Beckett’s voice booms over the noise as I snake through the crowd. He’s behind the bar as he owns it, sleeves shoved to his elbows, pouring three beers at once with the swagger of a man who believes he can multitask anything—including fatherhood, hockey, and apparently… bad bartending.
“Since when are you licensed to be back there?” I call.
Betty, the actual bartender, appears at his side, arms crossed. “I told him he could live his dream for five minutes since he helped secure the win tonight,” she says, eyeing his foamy pours like she’s already regretting it.
“I never knew you had a bartending dream,” I say as Beckett hands me one of his disaster-level beers.
“It’s a new one. Hit me about five minutes ago.”
Betty arches a brow. “You practically begged me, said you’ve wanted to be behind the bar since you were a kid.”
Beckett grins at her. “If I’d said the dream was five minutes old, would you have let me back here? Sometimes a little white lie helps.”
She shoves his shoulder. “Get out of here.”
“Hey! You said five minutes.”
“Be grateful you got two. Your pours are 80 percent foam. I can’t charge for those. You’re bad for business.”
He laughs. “That’s the first time anyone’s accused me of that.”
“Out,” she orders, pointing toward the crowd.
I chuckle, but my gaze drifts left on instinct.
Miranda’s just stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold, unwinding her scarf.
She’s wearing my jersey. My name, my number, across her chest. The sight hits like a punch to the ribs.
She catches my eyes and smiles, small and secret, and my chest aches in that way I still can’t get used to.
I ditch my half-foam beer and make my way toward her, but Jaden beats me there, scooping Anna into his arms.
“I missed you,” he says.
“You guys were amazing tonight,” Anna beams, kissing him.
Miranda nods beside her. “You all were. It was such a fun game.”
I grin. “Glad you made it back in time.”
“We barely did,” Miranda says, rubbing her arms. “We landed in a thundersnow storm. That was…not pretty.” She gestures toward the windows, where snow whips sideways in the wind. “Seriously, what’s going on out there?”
Outside, the world’s a blur of white and chaos. April storms are supposed to be gentle—spring flirting with winter one last time—but this one looks ready to pick a fight. Still, I can’t help but find it a little thrilling.
“I don’t know, but it’s fun, yeah?”
Anna snorts. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”
“So the flight was bad?” Jaden asks.
“The last forty-five minutes were rough,” Miranda admits. “Lots of turbulence. I thought the plane was going to drop out of the sky.”
Jaden hugs Anna tighter. “Glad you’re safe.”
Anna sighs. “Yeah, me too. Definitely a one-and-done experience.”
Miranda nods emphatically. “Agreed.”
We head toward the back corner, where the team has taken over our usual spot. Bash sits with Ari, and they’re both laughing at something Max just said. He’s showing off a picture of Caroline on his phone. Laney leans against him, looking blissfully content.
“Congrats on the goal, Hollywood,” Ari calls, stealing one of Bash’s fries.
“Thanks,” I say. As the rookie, I don’t get as much ice time as I’d like, but when I do, I make it count.
Gunner raises his glass in my direction, Penny tucked beneath his arm. Everyone leans in to clink their drinks. The familiar camaraderie hums—warm, easy, loud.
Finn elbows me. “Five bucks says Beckett sweet-talks his way back behind the bar.”
“No chance,” I say. “Betty’s got it locked down.”
Cade and Iris arrive, windblown and glowing. Iris hugs Laney, then me, then wraps Miranda up like they’ve been friends forever.
We hang around, talking through the game—chirps, highlights, near misses. Max reenacts a save like he’s on ice again, and everyone loses it. The whole corner hums with post-win energy, beer, and laughter.
And through it all, I keep finding her.
Miranda’s at the edge of the group, laughing with Laney and Anna, eyes bright, hands moving as she tells a story.
Her laughter threads through everything, finding me every time.
Every glance she sends my way feels like a secret signal, a frequency only we know.
And the more I catch it, the more I want to skip the after-party altogether and just take her home.
The building creaks under the wind outside. A loud gust rattles the rafters.
Miranda flinches and grips my arm. “Is this normal?”
It takes me a beat to catch up. “The storm? Yeah. It’s fine.”
“I swear the wall moved. The brick wall, Miles.”
I grin. “Might’ve. The wind’s wild, but the building is solid. Nothing to worry about.”
She crosses her arms, glaring at the wall like it personally offended her. I slide an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from any falling bricks.”
“Not funny,” she mutters, though there’s a flicker of a smile.
“A little funny,” I say, squeezing her.
She sighs. “Sorry. I’m being a downer. Between the flight from hell and this storm, I’m just on edge. And exhausted. We didn’t sleep much last night.”
“We can head home early if you want.”
She looks up, eyes soft. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“You wouldn’t be. I’m tired too.” I leave out that I’ve been picturing the two of us alone since the second she walked in.
She leans into me, head resting against my chest. “Thank you. Maybe in a little bit.”
“Just say the word.”
Then—darkness.
The music cuts mid-chorus. The lights die. A few startled screams pierce the black before the crowd quiets. Miranda jumps, arms winding around me.
“It’s okay, Sunshine,” I murmur, holding her close. “Power outage. Happens all the time.”
Phone flashlights flicker on around the bar. Logan shines his under his chin. “Anyone up for scary stories?”
Someone nails him in the face with a french fry. Perfect aim.
A chorus of phone alarms breaks the tension—alerts lighting up the darkness. I check mine. “Southeast Michigan’s without power,” I read. “Major damage at one of the power centers.”
Soft yellow ambient lights click on as the generator starts up.
Betty’s voice rises from the bar. “We’re closing early! Everyone, head home!”
Groans ripple through the crowd.
“Drive safe!” she adds, already ushering people toward the door.
I glance at Miranda. “Guess that’s our cue.”
She laughs softly. “Does that mean your place is without power too?”
“Yep. No generator either.”
She scrunches her nose. “I don’t think I’m going to like this.”
I grin. “Ah, Sunshine. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Somewhere warm and toasty with working lights. We should go there.”
I chuckle. “Nah, this is part of your Michigan initiation. You’re not a real Michigander until you’ve lost power mid-storm.”
She gives me a flat look. “Who said I wanted to be a Michigander?”
“Too late.” I steer her toward the door. “You’re already one of us.”
The snow howls outside as I push the door open, the wind biting and electric. She presses closer, and I grin. “Let’s go, Sunshine. This is going to be fun.”