Chapter 11
KATE
The university department mixer was in full swing, but my mind was somewhere else entirely—specifically, in an apartment eleven floors up in a downtown luxury building with a certain brooding hockey player.
I swirled my mediocre white wine in its plastic cup while pretending to listen to a postdoc ramble about grant applications.
“Kate! There you are.” Angel appeared at my elbow, looking fabulous in a dress that somehow managed to be both professional and sexy.
She’d flown in from Arizona just for the weekend, insisting she wouldn’t miss a chance to support me—even if it meant enduring lukewarm wine and academic small talk. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’ve been hiding,” I admitted, gesturing to my corner position. “These things are torture.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. “This is networking gold, and you’re sulking in a corner?”
“I’m not sulking. I’m observing. Very different.”
“You’re thinking about Hockey Hot Guy, aren’t you?” She nudged me knowingly.
I felt my cheeks flush. “His name is Austin, and no, I’m absolutely focused on advancing my career through awkward small talk and cheap Chardonnay.”
“Liar,” she said with a laugh. “Your face gets this dreamy look whenever you’re thinking about him. It’s disgustingly cute.”
“I do not get a dreamy look,” I protested, but even I could hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
Angel grabbed my elbow, steering me toward a cluster of faculty members. “Time to mingle, Dr. Ellis. Dr. Barnes is over there with the department chair—go dazzle them with your bacterial brilliance.”
“I think I might have screwed things up with Austin,” I blurted, stopping Angel in her tracks.
She turned to face me. “What happened?”
“I asked him about who he’d be without hockey. Because of his injury.” I winced at the memory of his expression shutting down. “He practically froze me out after that.”
Angel frowned. “Okay… but what exactly did he say?”
“Nothing, really. That’s the problem. One second, we were laughing, and the next—he just… pulled away. Said it was late. That he needed sleep before PT. And I know it sounds small, but the shift was so obvious.”
I took a breath, trying to steady the knot forming in my chest.
“It was like I hit a nerve he didn’t even want to admit existed. And then—poof. Wall up. Distance mode activated.”
Angel was quiet, watching me closely.
“I ended up sleeping in the guest room,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Just...in case. He didn’t say anything about it, but the way he went cold—I didn’t want to push him.”
I stared into my plastic wine cup, the cheap Chardonnay suddenly sour on my tongue.
“I don’t even know if I said something awful, or if I just hit something too raw. He didn’t get angry—he just shut down. Like a switch flipped and I was suddenly a stranger again.”
I swallowed hard, staring at the swirl of wine in my cup.
“I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about it—about him. Everything he’s been through, everything he’s still trying to hold onto. Hockey isn’t just his job, it’s his identity. And I asked him who he’d be without it like it was some casual conversation starter.”
My throat tightened.
“What if I made him feel small? Like he’s already losing everything that matters and now I’m the idiot who reminded him just how much he could still lose?”
“Ouch.” Angel’s expression softened. “You basically poked his biggest fear.”
“I know. I just...I wanted him to know he’s more than just his career. That I see him as more than just a hockey player.” I took a large gulp of my wine. “But it came out all wrong.”
“Have you apologized?”
“Not yet. He was still asleep when I left this morning.” I sighed. “What if I ruined whatever this is between us?”
“Kate Ellis, I have never seen you this worked up over a guy,” Angel said, studying me with newfound interest. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“It’s more than like,” I admitted quietly, the truth of it hitting me with unexpected force. “And that’s terrifying.”
Angel squeezed my arm. “That’s not terrifying—that’s exciting. But right now, you need to network for twenty minutes, and then you have my full permission to rush home to your hockey player.”
I managed a weak smile. “Fine. Twenty minutes of schmoozing, then I’m out.”
Those twenty minutes stretched into an excruciating two hours of academic posturing and forced laughter. By the time I finally extracted myself, claiming an early lab morning, my cheeks hurt from fake smiling and my head pounded from the noise.
By the time my rideshare pulled up to the building, I’d rehearsed at least six versions of how to talk to Austin. Should I apologize immediately? Act casual? Seduce him into forgetting I’d ever asked the question? None of my options seemed right.
When I unlocked the door to the apartment, I was greeted by silence, except for the low murmur of the television.
I kicked off my heels by the door (in the designated shoe area Austin had created for me after finding my footwear scattered across his pristine entryway once too often) and padded quietly into the living room.
The sight that greeted me made my heart do a little flip.
Austin was asleep on the couch, one arm thrown above his head, the other resting on his stomach. Hockey game footage played silently on the TV, casting blue shadows across his face. In sleep, the perpetual crease between his eyebrows had smoothed out, making him look younger, less burdened.
I set my bag down gently and moved closer, unable to resist studying him when he wasn’t aware of my gaze.
His dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, and his lips—those incredible lips that had mapped every inch of my body—were slightly parted in sleep.
A hint of stubble darkened his jaw, and I had to stop myself from running my fingers along it, remembering how the slight roughness felt against my inner thighs.
God, he was beautiful. Not just physically—though the man was definitely sculpted by some hockey deity with a particular talent for broad shoulders and perfect asses—but in all those little moments when his guard dropped.
When he laughed reluctantly at one of my science jokes.
When he concentrated on stretching his injured knee, determination etched in every line of his body.
When he looked at me in quiet moments after we’d made love, his ice-blue eyes warmed to the color of a summer sky.
With startling clarity, I realized I was falling for him.
Not just the incredible sex, not just the thrill of solving the mystery of Austin Callahan, but him—all of him.
The disciplined athlete and the vulnerable man.
The frustrating roommate and the passionate lover.
The person who alphabetized his spices but still made room for my chaos.
The thought both exhilarated and terrified me. I’d been here before—thinking I’d found someone who understood me, only to discover I was being used. But this felt different. Austin had seen me at my most awkward, most chaotic, most real—and he was still here.
I perched on the edge of the coffee table, just watching him breathe, wondering what he was dreaming about.
As if sensing my presence, his eyelids fluttered. Then those blue eyes were looking directly at me, momentarily disoriented before focusing with sleepy warmth.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “You’re home.”
Those simple words—”you’re home”—sent a flutter through my chest. Home. When had his apartment started feeling like home?
“Hi,” I whispered, not wanting to dispel the soft intimacy of the moment. “Sorry I woke you.”
Without saying a word, Austin reached for my hand and pulled me down onto the couch beside him. I fell somewhat ungracefully, landing half on top of him before shifting to fit into the space between his body and the back of the couch.
“You didn’t wake me,” he murmured, his arm curling around my waist to hold me in place. “I was just resting my eyes while watching game tape.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I teased, feeling some of my nervousness dissolve at his easy affection.
He made a rumbling sound, half laugh and half groan. “How was your networking thing?”
“Excruciating. I had to talk to people who weren’t covered in bacterial cultures.” I paused, gathering my courage. “Austin, about yesterday—”
“You don’t need to—”
“I do,” I insisted, pushing up on one elbow to look at him. “I’m sorry about what I said. About who you’d be without hockey. It was insensitive, especially considering what you’re going through with your injury.”
His eyes studied my face with that intense focus that always made me feel like I was the only person in his world. “You were just asking a question.”
“A stupid, thoughtless question.” I placed my palm on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers. “I’d hate if someone asked me who I’d be without science. It’s not just what I do—it’s part of who I am.”
“Exactly.” His hand moved up to cradle the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “Hockey isn’t just my job, Kate. It’s been my identity since I was five years old.”
“I know. And I wasn’t suggesting you should be okay with losing it.” I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. “I guess I was trying to say that even if the worst happened—which it won’t—you’d still be you. And you’re...pretty amazing.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Don’t get cocky. I’m still mad at you for what you did during my call with Dr. Barnes.”
His almost-smile bloomed into a full grin, transforming his face. “No, you’re not.”
“I am,” I insisted, even as I shifted closer to him. “Dr. Barnes probably thinks I have some weird neurological condition now, given how I kept twitching and stuttering.”
“Should I apologize?” His fingers traced lazy patterns on my back.
“Absolutely not. That would imply you won’t do it again, and we both know that’s a lie.”
Austin laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest against my palm. “Tell me about your day. Besides the torturous networking.”
I nestled my head against his shoulder, breathing in his clean, masculine scent. “I made progress on my antibiotic-resistant strain. The aminoglycoside approach is showing promise.”
“In English, Lab Bunny.”
“The super-bacteria might have a weakness after all.” I traced my finger along the collar of his t-shirt. “What about you? How was PT?”
His expression sobered slightly. “It was good, actually. Better range of motion, less pain. Jen thinks I might be able to increase resistance next week.”
“That’s fantastic news!” I propped myself up again to see his face better. “You don’t look as excited as I’d expect.”
Austin was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on some point beyond me. “Coach called today. Mendez is out with a hip injury. They need me back.”
My heart sank. “But you’re not ready.”
“According to the team doc, I’m close enough.” His jaw tightened. “They want me skating with the team next week. Full practice, not just the modified drills I’ve been doing.”
“Austin, that’s too soon. Your ACL needs more time to—”
“I know,” he cut me off, frustration edging his voice. “But hockey’s a business, Kate. They’ve got playoff hopes riding on this season, and I’m getting paid millions to play, not sit in the press box.”
I sat up fully, unable to contain my scientific objections. “Rushing back too soon statistically increases your risk of re-injury by sixty-seven percent!”
He raised an eyebrow. “You researched that specifically?”
“Of course I did,” I said, heat rising to my cheeks. “I needed to know what we’re dealing with.”
“We?” His expression softened as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I just meant...I care about what happens to you,” I stumbled, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “And the science is clear on this. Your body needs time to heal properly.”
Austin sat up, bringing our faces level, his eyes serious. “I’ve been playing through pain my entire career, Kate. It’s part of the game.”
“This isn’t just pain,” I argued. “This is structural integrity. Your knee—”
“Is my problem,” he finished, though his tone remained gentle. “I appreciate your concern, but this is what I do.”
I swallowed my frustration, recognizing the stubborn set of his jaw. “At least promise me you’ll be careful. Listen to your body, not just your coach.”
“I always do.” His hand came up to cup my cheek. “Now, can we talk about something else? Like how fucking beautiful you look right now?”
“That’s not fair,” I breathed. “You can’t just compliment your way out of medical discussions.”
“No?” His eyes darkened as they drifted to my mouth. “What if I do this instead?”
He leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened as I responded. My body reacted instantly, melting against him as his tongue slipped between my lips. I moaned softly, my hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders.
Just as things were getting deliciously heated, Austin’s phone rang shrilly from the coffee table.
“Ignore it,” I murmured against his lips, my fingers already slipping beneath the hem of his shirt.
He groaned, pulling back just enough to glance at the screen. “It’s Dennis. Might be important.”
“More important than this?” I asked, deliberately rolling my hips against him.
“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes darkening further before he reluctantly reached for the phone. “This better be good, Dennis.”
I sat up, trying not to pout as Austin listened to whatever Dennis was saying. His expression shifted from mild annoyance to something more serious, his jaw tightening in that way I’d come to recognize as his “hockey face.”
“Wait, how bad is it?” he asked, sitting up straighter. “Shit. When did they get the MRI results?”
I could hear Dennis’s voice on the other end, though not clearly enough to make out his words. Austin’s eyes flicked to me momentarily before returning to stare at the blank wall ahead.
“Tell Martinez I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Yeah...I know...Thanks for the heads-up.”
He ended the call, setting the phone down deliberately on the coffee table. The playful atmosphere of moments before had evaporated entirely.
“What happened?” I asked, placing my hand on his forearm.
Austin exhaled slowly. “Mendez’s injury is worse than they thought. Complete labral tear in his hip. He’s out for the season.”
“Oh no,” I murmured, immediately understanding the implications. “And they want you to—”
“Step up. Yeah.”