Chapter 9 #2
That word lingers in the air like a spark waiting to catch.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching me closely. “You’re not some mistake I made after too many drinks. I know exactly what I’m doing. And I want to be seen with you. Not hidden.”
My chest tightens. God. How does he do that? Just…say things like that and mean them?
I reach down and grab a pair of leggings from my suitcase. “Well, if you’re going to come, you better finish getting dressed. Unless you plan to skate like that.”
He grins, glancing down at his bare chest. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten attention for my form on the ice.”
I roll my eyes and pull on my sweater. “God, you’re impossible.”
Once we’re both dressed, and I’m pulling my hair into a loose ponytail, trying not to look like I just got thoroughly ruined in this room, Tyler’s phone buzzes.
He glances at the screen and something in his face shifts. Not panic, exactly, but focus. The athlete smile fades into something sharper.
“I need to handle something with my brothers,” he says, already typing. “I’ll meet you at the rink in a bit.”
I nod like that’s normal. Like my pulse isn’t still sprinting. Like I’m not suddenly aware of how quiet the room feels when he isn’t filling it with heat and jokes.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go down.”
He steps close, presses a quick kiss to my forehead, softer than I expect. “Don’t let anyone get in your head. And if Jason so much as looks at you wrong…”
“I’ll handle it,” I say, even though we both know that’s only half-true.
His gaze lingers on me for a second like he wants to say more, then he slips out, phone in hand, moving with purpose. The door closes behind him.
And suddenly it’s just me. Alone. Breathing. Listening to the faint sounds of the lodge outside. Remembering where I am.
I stare at myself in the mirror, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes too bright.
I look…alive.
Which is a problem.
I grab my coat, take a steadying breath, and head downstairs.
The lodge is warm and loud, all pine scent and champagne laughter and expensive winter gear. People drift through the corridors in clumps, already in that giddy mood that happens when you give rich wedding guests an activity and alcohol and tell them it’s festive.
The rink sits outside, just beyond the terrace, lit by strands of white lights that make the snow glitter like sugar. Music plays from speakers tucked near the benches. I can see couples wobbling on the ice, arms linked, pretending they’re graceful.
This place is a piece of my childhood. Summers here meant sunburn and lake water and my father’s rules. Winters meant skating at night, cheeks stinging, hot chocolate waiting like a reward.
“Miss Mia.”
I turn to find Mr. Beattie standing there by the rink entrance, bundled in a dark coat like he belongs to the lodge itself. He holds out a mug with both hands, steam curling up into the cold air.
Hot chocolate. Exactly the way he used to do it.
My throat tightens. “Thank you,” I say, taking it.
He studies me with that gentle, knowing expression that staff perfect over decades. Not nosy. Just present.
“I heard what happened earlier,” Mr. Beattie says quietly.
I wince. Of course he did. Of course everyone did. The last thing I want is resort staff gossiping about me like I’m a headline.
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly.
He gives a tiny nod. “People talk when they see a woman stand still while someone tries to shake her. They should talk about him. Not you.”
I blink at him. Heat crawls up my neck, not from embarrassment this time. From something like gratitude.
“I don’t want it to become…a thing,” I admit.
“It won’t,” he says, calm as always. “Not here.”
I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers.
“I remember coming down here every summer,” I say, more to myself than to him. “I’d beg to skate even when it wasn’t cold enough. I’d wear those ridiculous rental skates and pretend I was…I don’t know. Someone important.”
He smiles. “You were always important.”
That makes my chest ache in a way I don’t have time to unpack.
“Enjoy the party, Miss Mia,” he says, stepping back. “If you need anything, I’m nearby.”
I nod, and when he walks away, I take a sip of hot chocolate and let myself breathe. Just for a minute. The ice, the lights, the music, the familiar smell of cold air and pine. It should feel safe.
It almost does.
“Mia!” Sarah calls, waving as she skates toward the boards, cheeks rosy, hair tucked under a knit hat. She looks excited in that bright, careless way that makes my stomach twist. She’s happy. She shouldn’t be.
“I’m so glad you came,” she says, then points toward a couple of gear bags piled near the bench. “I grabbed extra skates. Those should fit you.”
I force a smile and set my mug down. “You’re a lifesaver.”
I kneel by the bags and unzip the closest one, expecting the clatter of skates and maybe a spare scarf.
Instead, I find a neatly folded dress shirt. A leather wallet. A set of cuff links in a little box. A travel-size cologne. A phone charger. A stack of papers clipped together like someone was trying to keep them organized.
Jason’s things.
My stomach drops.
My fingers freeze over the open bag.
A phone sits tucked beneath the dress shirt, not in one of those glossy, obnoxious cases Jason usually carries. This one is plain. Cheap. Black. The kind of thing you buy in cash and never register under your real name.
A burner.
My heart starts beating so fast it makes my throat feel tight.
I lift my head and scan the rink. Guests laugh and wobble in circles. Someone wipes out near the far boards and the crowd cheers like it’s a show. Sarah is still beside me, chatting with another bridesmaid, distracted.
No sign of Jason.
No sign of him anywhere.
I swallow hard and slide my hand into the bag, fingers closing around the phone like I’m stealing something off an altar. The plastic feels cold even through my gloves. My pulse is in my ears.
The screen lights up the moment I touch it. No passcode. Of course not. Burners aren’t meant to be protected from someone who already knows you have something to hide. They’re meant to be tossed the moment they become inconvenient.
A message banner flashes across the top, and I read it before I can stop myself.
You’re my husband, true, but that money belongs to my company and if you don’t return it, I will be sued.
For a second my brain refuses to process it. The words don’t land like words. They land like a slap.
My mouth goes dry. My stomach drops so hard I feel it in my knees.
Husband.
My husband.
I stare at the screen as if it might change into something harmless if I stare long enough.
Jason is married?
I feel a cold rush crawl up my spine, cutting right through the warmth of the rink lights and the music and the holiday cheer. My mind races in jagged pieces.
No. That can’t be right.
He’s about to marry Sarah.
He’s been parading around the lodge like the perfect groom. Smiling, charming, shaking hands, making speeches, acting like he’s the prize.
Married men don’t do that. Married men don’t stand under twinkle lights and let wedding guests toast to their future.
Unless.
Unless he’s done this before.
Unless he’s doing it again.
My fingers tighten around the phone until the edges bite into my palm.
Jason isn’t just a cheating ex. He isn’t just a liar with a polished smile.
He’s a con man.
A man who collects women like stepping stones and empties them out.
My throat tightens as I glance toward Sarah, laughing with someone at the boards like nothing in the world can touch her. She looks so happy it makes me feel sick.
I lower the phone into my lap, trying to shield it with my coat, and my eyes flick across the rink one more time. Still no Jason, but I can’t count on that lasting. He could skate up behind me any second, all charm and cold eyes, and ask what I’m doing.
My heart pounds harder at the thought.
I force my face into something neutral and put the phone back where I found it, opening the correct bag and shifting things around until I find what I need, a pair of skates that looks close enough to my size. I pull them out and set them on the bench.
Sarah turns back toward me. “Found some?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice too bright. “These should work.”
She beams. “Perfect.”
I sit and start lacing the skates, hands moving automatically while my mind screams.
Jason is married.
Jason stole money from his wife’s company.
Jason is doing this again.
My pulse hammers. I keep my head down, letting my hair fall forward like a curtain. I can’t let Sarah see my face right now. I can’t let anyone see.
A laugh bursts from the rink and I flinch, irrationally sure it’s about me.
I tie the last lace and stand carefully, wobbling a little as the blades bite the packed snow near the boards. I grab the railing for balance, forcing a slow inhale.
Think.
Do something smart.
Tyler’s meeting me here. He said he had to handle something with his brothers. He’ll come. He will.
Until then, I have to act normal.