Chapter 13 - Nicole #2
I adjusted the strap of my clutch and took another step, aware of eyes tracking me in a way that had nothing to do with recognition and everything to do with timing, royal blue silk, and confidence I’d been trying on since leaving my apartment.
I’d almost talked myself out of it, the dress, almost gone practical instead.
Something less flashy. Standing there, I was glad Rosemary had talked me out of it.
“Nicole.”
Landon’s voice cut through the ambient chatter, pitched just loud enough to reach me without carrying.
He stood near one of the cocktail tables, suit jacket open, tie already loosened as if he’d never fully committed to wearing it in the first place.
His attention hit me in a way that felt unguarded before he caught himself.
“You clean up good, Cross.”
“Me?” He looked me over without pretense. “That explains the double takes, and that old guy’s jaw on the floor when you walked in.”
I smiled, heat creeping up my neck. “This old thing?”
And he laughed softly, extending his arm so I could hook him in.
No ceremony, just a typical show of gentlemanly behavior.
I took it, letting him steer me toward the bar.
People shifted around us, conversations bending, then snapping back into place.
I caught a few curious glances but nothing that made me feel I didn’t belong here.
The Surge logo glowed behind the bar, etched into glass that reflected the room back at itself.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Something light,” I said. “I want to remember this.”
His mouth curved. “Smart.”
We talked around safer topics at first. The venue, the turnout, the absurdity of seeing former rivals laughing together under chandeliers. He kept things easy, jokes timed to keep the air buoyant. When I nudged the conversation toward his recent headlines, his answers slid sideways.
“Management giving you grief?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
He shrugged, eyes flicking toward the crowd. “Nothing new. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got tonight,” he said, then bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. “Come on. There’s better stuff to talk about, to see.”
He pulled me into motion before I could refuse, guiding me through the room with a confidence that felt practiced. Servers moved past with trays of food, small plates disappearing into eager hands. Landon snagged two and handed one to me.
“Eat,” he said. “This stuff goes fast.”
I took a bite and laughed. “I’m actually starving, so I’ll need about two more of these.”
We drifted toward the edge of the dance floor, music threading through the space without overpowering it. Couples moved with varying degrees of commitment, some all in, others treating it like a suggestion.
“That banner,” I said, nodding overhead. “That’s the expansion year.”
Landon glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“They changed the logo halfway through the season because people hated it.”
He blinked. “Huh, can’t say I remember that.”
“And they were wrong,” I added. “The original had better balance.”
He stared at me for a beat, then shook his head. “You always surprise me with the stuff you have stored in that head of yours.”
I spotted T-Bone Benson near one of the high tables, unmistakable even out of uniform. “See him.”
Landon followed my gaze. “You mean the legend.”
“Two hundred and ten goals,” I said. “Three hundred and fifteen assists. And he still complained about his ice time.”
Landon barked a laugh. “That tracks.”
He waved T-Bone over, introductions flying easily. T-Bone’s eyebrows climbed when I rattled off stats without hesitation.
“You’ve been studying,” he said.
“Watching,” I corrected. “For years. My dad has been dragging me to games since before I could walk. He says my first word was ‘puck’.”
Landon watched the exchange with something like pride flickering across his face. When Danny Vaughn joined us moments later, taller than I expected, presence still intact even out of the spotlight, my breath caught.
“You’re him,” I said, barely containing it. “My number twelve.”
Danny smiled. “Uh, I remember it being my number twelve.”
“Every game. I don’t wear any other jersey,” I said. “Your first goal was four minutes into your debut with The Surge. Top left corner after a breathtaking recovery on the crease. That defender was way out of line though. Had it coming.”
His laughter boomed so hard it drew looks from others. “People forget that part. I had to fight for my life to win back the puck, never mind finding my balance to go on and score.”
“I don’t forget anything,” I said.
The guys traded looks, something unspoken passing between them. Landon shook his head again. “You’re unreal.”
We moved as a loose group for a while, stories overlapping, laughter filling the gaps. When Landon finally steered us away, my cheeks ached from smiling.
“You realize,” he said, lowering his voice as we paused near the balcony, city lights visible through tall windows, “you just made half the room jealous.”
“Of you,” I said.
“Of me knowing you,” he corrected.
The band shifted into something slower, the dance floor filling again. Landon held out his hand. “Dance.”
“I don’t know. I’m not great. I can recite stats and numbers, but moving to music…”
“I’m not great either,” he said. “That’s the point.”
We moved together without choreography, bodies adjusting naturally. His hand rested at my waist, respectful and warm. I could feel his attention sharpen, the easy charm giving way to something more focused.
“You should come to trivia night.” The words dropped casually, like an afterthought.
“What?”
“You’d destroy it,” he said. “The prize is a limited anniversary jersey.”
My grip on his shoulder tightened. “Are you for real?”
“As real as they come.”
“How limited?”
“A handful, is what I heard,” he said. “Custom design that won’t ever happen again.”
I laughed, excitement breaking through restraint. “I’m in.”
“Good,” he said. “I want front row seats.”
The night blurred into a sequence of introductions and moments I wanted to hold onto.
Grayson cracked jokes. Mason traded a handshake for a kiss to the back of my hand instead, earning a pointed glare from Landon.
Hunter kept plying me with sparkling wine, insisting I become best friends with Holly, and Mason’s girlfriend, Cass.
At some point, I realized my disappointment from earlier had vanished completely, replaced by something bright and full. Landon stayed close without crowding, his attention steady.
As the night wound down, he walked me toward the balcony, music fading behind us.
“Best Valentine’s,” I said, meaning it.
He smiled. “Glad I could be of service.”
Outside, cool air wrapped around us, the city humming softly. I looked back once, taking in the glow of the venue, the history suspended inside.
Landon watched me, expression unreadable, then reached out, squeezing my hand. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
It felt like the right ending to a day that had started uncertain and found its footing somewhere between banners and borrowed heroes. Our eyes met, and he stepped a little closer, never letting go of my hand.
Then we weren’t alone anymore.
“You’re up, Landon,” Holly said, sticking her head through the balcony door.
“Up?”
But he didn’t explain, simply led me back inside. The room settled the way it does when something important is about to happen.
Silverware quieted. Chairs shifted once, then stopped. The low wash of conversation thinned until it left a clean pocket of space around the stage. I stood near one of the cocktail tables, fingers wrapped around a stemless glass I’d barely touched, when Coach McAvoy stepped up to the microphone.
He waited until the room bent to him instead of the other way around.
“Alright,” he said, voice carrying without effort. “If you’ve been anywhere near this organization in the last year, you know we’ve got a rookie who’s been making things interesting.”
Laughter rolled through the crowd, easy and indulgent.
“He’s got a bright future,” McAvoy continued. “A strong arm. Fast feet. And an ego so big we had to move this party to a bigger venue after he RSVP’d.”
The laugh this time came louder, warmer, the kind that lands without cruelty.
I felt my mouth curve before I could stop it, eyes already finding Landon where he stood off to the side of the stage.
He shook his head, lips pressed together, hands shoved into his pockets like a kid trying not to grin in class.
McAvoy lifted a hand. “In his defense, he can back it up with real talent.”
Applause followed, generous and genuine. Landon took a breath, then stepped forward as McAvoy clapped him on the shoulder and yielded the mic.
The lights caught him differently up there and the noise faded again, replaced by expectation that hummed under my skin. Landon scanned the room once, then his gaze found mine. It landed and stayed.
The rush hit hard, sudden and unwelcome, like my body had skipped ahead without checking in with my better judgment. I tightened my grip on the glass, grounding myself in the cool edge pressing into my palm.
He didn’t smile when he spoke, moving to address the room.
“Most of you know,” he said, voice steady, “that one of our guys isn’t here tonight.”
The space shifted. A ripple of understanding moved through the crowd.
“Shawn should be standing right there,” Landon continued, nodding toward the empty space beside the stage. “He should be complaining about the food and pretending he doesn’t like all the attention.”
A few people chuckled, but it held a softer, more melancholy edge this time.
“He can’t,” Landon said. “Because he got hurt. And I need to talk about that.”
My chest warmed, then tightened with something like dread as his words settled. This wasn’t filler. This wasn’t a safe speech.
“Hockey comes with knocks,” he said. “That’s part of it. You accept that risk every time you step on the ice. But it’s never supposed to be your own guy taking you out.”
The room went still.
“That one’s on me,” Landon said. No qualifier. No deflection. “I played that game like it was about proving something instead of protecting the people wearing the same jersey as me.”
I felt my throat close as the image rose unbidden. Red against white ice. His face when it happened. I hadn’t flown out to watch the game because of a date with James, and had to sneak glimpses of it on my phone during dinner. I still felt a little guilty for not being there.
“I used to think Coach rode me because he liked hearing himself yell,” Landon said, glancing briefly toward McAvoy, who crossed his arms and didn’t interrupt. “Turns out he was trying to teach me how to last in the long game.”
A few nods spread through the room.
“I get it now,” Landon said. “This game isn’t about being the loudest name on the board. It’s about being someone your team can trust when it matters. I’m still learning that. I’ll probably be learning it for a while.”
He paused, fingers tightening around the mic.
“I’m proud to wear the Surge jersey,” he said. “And I hope one day I’ve earned even a small place in the history you’ve all built over the past twenty years.”
The applause hit before he finished the sentence.
It rose fast, full-bodied, rolling toward the stage in a way that felt earned instead of automatic.
My hands came together harder than necessary.
I didn’t care. I clapped until my palms warmed, until my eyes stung, until I was sure he could hear me over everyone else.
He stepped back from the mic, breath leaving him in a visible exhale. As he moved offstage, the music crept back in, conversation blooming again in his wake.
Landon didn’t stop to greet anyone.
He came straight to me.
The space around us shifted as he closed the distance, his presence immediate and focused. His hands found my waist, fingers splayed, steady. The band picked up something slow enough to sway to, and without asking, he drew me with him.
I let him.
The room blurred at the edges, my awareness narrowing to the warmth of his hands and the way his breath brushed my temple when he spoke.
“I know what I said before,” he said. “But I’ve changed my mind.”
I tilted my head back, heart pounding in a way that felt too dangerous to contend with after a few drinks. “You have?”
“Yeah.”
“About what?”
His eyes held mine, unguarded now. The earlier confidence stripped down to something rawer. Closer.
“Will you go on a date with me?”
The words landed heavy, sinking fast.
My heart dropped along with them, the moment collapsing in on itself as reality rushed back in. James.
I swallowed, the heat on my skin turning sharp with regret.
“Landon, I can’t,” I said, voice steady despite the chaos inside me. “I’m seeing someone.”