Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The chill hit Madison the second they stepped through the double doors leading down to the ice. The air smelled like sharp cold. She zipped her jacket higher as the sound of practice echoed around them—hollow puck claps, shouts, the unmistakable scrape of blades carving into the ice.
Garrett walked beside her, a bag holding his skates in hand, his arm still in a sling, eyes already scanning the rink. “We’re a little early. Just catching the end of the league skate.”
“Should you be skating with your arm injury?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Madison nodded, keeping her stride steady on the rubber flooring that led to the benches. The glass lining the boards was smudged and fogged in places, a testament to the relentless intensity unfolding on the other side.
Players in navy Blizzard jerseys darted across the ice in coordinated drills—passing, shooting, talking without saying much. Efficient. Focused. Fast.
And then, out of the group, one figure peeled away and coasted toward them.
Maverick Monroe.
Madison recognized him instantly, even before Garrett lifted a hand in greeting. He skated with the easy confidence of someone who was born on skates. Controlled power and effortless grace. She’d watched enough NHL games back when Maverick played for Arizona to recognize the way he carried himself.
But this time, he wasn’t on a screen. He was thirty feet away. And getting closer.
You’ve met generals. Diplomats. One foreign intelligence chief who tried to recruit you over cocktails. Hold it together.
Still, her stomach flipped.
“Monroe,” Garrett called as Maverick coasted to a stop at the boards, the sharp bite of his blades carving a spray of snow against the glass.
“Reid,” Maverick said, tugging off one glove and resting a forearm on the top of the boards. “Ready to wrangle a bunch of twelve-year-olds on the ice?”
“Always. I wanted to introduce you to someone.”
Maverick’s gaze flicked to Madison, curious but unreadable.
“This is Madison Mitchell,” Garrett said. “She’s working with me on the Northern Lights launch.”
Maverick nodded. “You skate?”
“I can hold my own,” she said.
It wasn’t bragging—it was truth. Years of figure skating under her mother’s watchful eye.
She’d spent most of her childhood perfecting double Salchows and spins when all she wanted was to wear a helmet and crash into someone fully padded.
Eventually, she quit the ribbons, rhinestones, and competing, to her mother’s disapproval.
Maverick looked like he appreciated the answer. “Good. You’ll fit in fine around here.”
Before she could reply, a burst of noise filled the tunnel behind them. A dozen young voices, all talking at once, bounced off the walls as Roman entered with his twin daughters and their youth hockey team in tow.
Garrett smiled. “Looks like it’s time.”
Maverick gave the girls a quick wave. “We’ll be ready in five,” he said to them. “Tell your goalie she owes me a rematch.”
The girls erupted in laughter as they skated past, chattering about drills, jerseys, and whether Maverick would sign their sticks. Madison stepped back as they spilled onto the bench, the energy contagious.
A small, unexpected smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She sat alone near center ice, hands wrapped around a cup of lukewarm coffee she’d grabbed on the way in.
Below her, the ice buzzed with movement and laughter as the youth team darted across the rink, cheeks flushed and eyes bright beneath their helmets.
It was barely controlled chaos, but it was beautiful in its own way.
The Blizzard players were scattered across the ice, giving instructions and tossing out encouragement. Maverick Monroe looked exactly as composed and intimidating as he had when he was a captain in the NHL—only now he had a pint-sized defenseman hanging off his arm and didn’t seem to mind.
And then there was Garrett.
He had removed his sling, keeping his arm close to his body as he skated backward and called out instructions to a cluster of girls working on passing drills, his voice low but confident.
When one of the smaller players wiped out during a pivot, Garrett was there in seconds, crouching to help her up without making a big deal of it.
He was good with them. Patient, calm, and steady.
Not exactly the man she’d first met with his dry sarcasm and untouchable shell.
He gave a girl a fist bump after she nailed her crossovers, and then skated down the rink to set up cones for the next drill.
He’d be a good dad. The thought slid uninvited into Madison’s mind before she could stop it.
Sophie had said as much once—how much she loved the year she’d spent hovering around Mason and Garrett, back when they started the brewery and Mason was dating Eve. Sophie said Garrett always made time for her. Made her feel safe and seen.
The whistle blew and the girls began filtering toward the bench, chattering about the drills and crowding around Maverick to get their sticks signed.
A few of the Blizzard players started removing their helmets, laughing as the girls asked for selfies and autographs like they were celebrities—which, to some of them, they probably were.
Garrett skated to the bench, pulled off his gloves, and said something to Roman before his gaze shifted up and found Madison.
He didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. Just gave her a nod and turned toward the side entrance, cut around the edge of the rink, put on his skate guards, and walked up the steps toward the seating section.
She stood as he reached her.
“How’s the coffee?” he asked.
“Questionable. But the entertainment was solid.”
He smirked. “We don’t charge extra for the chaos.”
She nodded toward the girls still laughing as they circled Maverick. “They’re good. Confident.”
“They’ve worked hard,” he said, glancing over. “Most of ’em started out barely able to stop. Now they could outskate half the adults I know.”
His gaze returned to her, assessing in that quiet, unreadable way of his. “Still sure you can hold your own?”
One corner of Madison’s mouth tipped up. “Is that a challenge?”
“An invitation.”
“I didn’t bring skates,” she said, though the idea of gliding across the ice tugged at her chest in a way she hadn’t expected.
“There’s a gear room. Roman keeps extras. Bet we can find you a pair that would fit.”
She looked back at the ice, then at him. His expression was calm, almost neutral—but there was something in his eyes. Something that made her feel like he wanted her to say yes.
“I haven’t skated in years,” she said.
“I’ll be gentle.”
She laughed. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”
He didn’t blink. “Then I guess you’d better keep up.”
The borrowed skates weren’t broken in to her feet the way her own had been, but the fit was close enough. Madison stepped onto the ice with a slow, measured push, knees soft, posture instinctive. The cold bit through her leggings, and she breathed in the crisp smell of ice in happy nostalgia.
One of the Blizzard players still lingering near the bench plugged a phone into the arena sound system. A beat later, music pulsed through the speakers.
She pushed off, taking steady strokes, her blades carving long, confident lines across the rink. The movement came back to her quickly. It wasn’t something one forgot—not really. Her muscles remembered what her mind had tried to file away under “past life.”
She arced around the far end, accelerating, feeling the wind lift her hair as she tucked into a tight spin.
Her skates whispered against the ice, the familiar pull of gravity and control curling through her like an old friend.
She opened the spin with a flourish—one hand out, chin lifted—and came to a gliding stop at center ice.
She hadn’t meant to show off. Not exactly.
But maybe a small part of her wanted Garrett to see what she could do. To feel like herself again—sharp and powerful and not just the woman stocking shelves and chasing permits.
When she looked toward the bench, he was watching her.
He skated out toward her, slow and sure, stickless. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he drew closer, their blades circling each other in quiet choreography.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, voice low, a little rough.
“I told you,” she replied. “I can hold my own.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her skates, then back up. “That was more than holding your own.”
They moved in slow arcs, the space between them closing, narrowing.
“I used to figure skate,” she admitted. “Not by choice. My mom thought it was more . . . appropriate.”
He snorted. “Let me guess. Mason played hockey.”
“Of course he did. I watched him from the other side of the glass in my sequins and white tights.”
Garrett’s expression shifted—just barely. Not quite a smile. Not quite sympathy.
“You must’ve hated that.”
“At first.” Her voice softened. “I hated every minute of it back then. But all those early mornings and endless hours on the ice taught me discipline and made me strong. I had figure skating to thank for my strength during boot camp.”
They glided in silence for a few beats, the music echoing off the boards.
“I almost forgot how this felt,” she said quietly. “The cold. The movement. The way it clears your head.”
Garrett’s voice was quiet too. “You look like you belong out here.”
Something fluttered in her chest. She turned slightly, skating backward, watching him as he mirrored her motion with an ease that surprised her. “You skate well.”
“Grew up on a lake,” he said. “Played hockey all through school.”
They circled again, a slow orbit. Closer this time. It was just them on the ice. Moving.
Unspoken tension settled between them, not sharp or awkward—just present. Like the beginning of a question neither of them was brave enough to ask.
Finally, Garrett broke the silence with a quiet breath. “You’re something else, Madison.”
She didn’t respond because part of her didn’t know what to say. And the other part? Hoped he would kiss her. She didn’t know why, but she’d always been drawn to Garrett Reid.
The sound system clicked as the next song started, softer than the last. The lights above the rink seemed to dim just slightly, and the first quiet piano notes of Taylor Swift’s “You Are in Love” filtered through the speakers.
The chill that slid down Madison’s spine had nothing to do with the ice.
She pushed off again, slower this time, letting the long glide stretch beneath her.
The rink had emptied. Roman and the girls had filed out, gear bags thudding softly behind them, their laughter echoing down the tunnel.
A few Blizzard players lingered by the benches, chatting, stripping off gear, but none of them paid attention to Madison and Garrett.
Garrett skated closer, his strides smooth and controlled, eyes locked on hers. He didn’t speak, didn’t smile—just moved with her. Orbiting again. Matching her pace.
The music swelled as the verse gave way to chorus. Madison exhaled, feeling the moment slide through her.
Garrett coasted closer yet, so near now she could feel the warmth coming off him even in the cold air. Their hands brushed again. This time, she didn’t even think about pulling away.
His hand found hers, carefully, like he wasn’t sure she’d let him. She did. And they skated like that—slow, connected, and quiet—as the song unfolded around them, Taylor’s voice ringing out as she sang about home and true love.
Madison glanced up at Garrett, and he was already looking at her. And something in her chest cracked open . . .
The last note lingered through the rink like a breath they were both holding.
When it faded, neither of them moved right away.
Finally, Garrett spoke, voice soft. “Didn’t expect that.”
She swallowed. “Me either.”
She stood there in the middle of the rink, heart thudding in her chest, suddenly and completely certain of one thing: She wanted him something fierce. Her lips pressed together, barely holding back a smile. “You’re saying you don’t regularly slow dance to Taylor Swift in a hockey rink?”
He gave a soft snort. “Can’t say it’s part of my routine.”
“No late-night skating dates? No smooth moves under arena lights?” she teased, skating a slow circle around him to lessen the attraction they were both feeling but afraid to recognize.
He gave her a dry look. “You’re the first.”
Her heart skipped. But she kept her tone light. “So, this wasn’t part of some secret brewery marketing plan?”
“Only if you’re planning to bottle confusion and mild panic.”
She laughed, and that did it—broke the tension. He looked at her now, more like the Garrett she was used to. Steady and guarded.
“You know,” she said, nudging his arm, “you’ve got decent rhythm.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m just saying, if the brewery ever tanks, there might be a future for you performing at wedding receptions. Line dances. Maybe couples’ skate nights.”
He made a face. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on.” She grinned. “I’d pay good money to see you teach choreography.”
He started skating toward the edge of the rink. “Now I know you’re dangerous.”
Madison followed slowly, heart warm, smile lingering, but her thoughts were still tangled somewhere back at center ice, in the place where his hand had held hers and it seemed like neither of them had wanted to let go.