Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Annabelle
“Absolutely not.”
That is the first thing out of my mouth the second I see the event program.
Harper blinks at me like I just announced penguins are taking over Nashville.
She tilts her head, amused. “Annabelle, sweetheart… you work in PR. Saying ‘absolutely not’ is adorable, but not a real boundary.”
I glare at her. “There is a snowflake, no, snowstorm’s chance in hell I’m letting Bryce Blackhorn hand-feed a baby goat for the public without a media strategy or emotional support team.”
Harper lifts her coffee cup in a mock toast. “You say that like you aren’t the emotional support team.”
My pulse betrays me.
It skips.
Okay… maybe explodes.
Because even though it’s been three days since the home game and that… wall-kiss-that-should-never-have-happened… I can still feel it.
His mouth. His hands. His stupid confidence.
I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Completely fine. Zero thoughts, zero feelings, zero stress. And yes, before you ask, I’ve already mapped out my schedule so I can be there in case any paparazzi gets ‘creative’ and tries to manufacture another scandal. It’s called preventative crisis management.”
Harper smiles like she knows I’m lying.
Which is rude.
***
Zoolumination is… breathtaking.
Glowing silk lanterns shaped like animals tower above the pathways: tigers, cranes, jellyfish, dragons. Strings of warm lights loop through trees, and music drifts through the nighttime air while families drink cocoa and wander through the exhibit.
The Nashville Outlaws are sponsoring tonight.
Which means I’m responsible for: ? The merch tent ? Autograph station ? Photo booth ? Raffle board ? Livestream interviews ? Preventing Bryce Blackhorn from doing anything that becomes a viral headline.
So really, just a light workload.
I finish taping the last raffle sign, then step back.
Everything’s good. Professional. Controlled. For now.
And then, because the universe hates me, my brain drags forward the memory I am trying to bury:
Bryce’s breath against my throat. The way he said stop me… or don’t. The way I didn’t.
I groan quietly and rub my temples.
“Thinking about your boyfriend?”
I nearly launch my water bottle like a weapon.
Dex Harper grins, holding two cups of hot chocolate and demonstrates no sense of personal space.
“He’s not my...”
“Yep. There it is,” he says smugly, handing me one. “The denial pitch. Heard it before. Often means yes.”
I inhale slowly. “Thank you for the drink. Please leave before I commit a felony.”
Dex beams. “Love the energy.”
***
The rest of the team arrives in scattered waves.
Colby signs autographs with hearts over the i’s. Eli lets toddlers slap his helmet. Gabriel Shelly silently draws a penguin doodle on a kid’s hoodie like some mysterious dad-energy Picasso.
And then…
I feel him.
Before I see him.
Bryce walks in wearing a black coat, leather gloves, and a hat with unfairly soft-looking hair peeking out from beneath the fabric.
A little girl tugs on his sleeve.
“’Scuse me… are you the one who hit the puck super fast?”
Bryce kneels to her level.
“Yeah, that might’ve been me.”
She hands him a foam stick shyly. “Can you sign it?”
He smiles. Soft. Gentle. Devastating.
“Of course.”
My heart does something very stupid.
I immediately pretend to reorganize a stack of pamphlets. Violently.
When I look up, he’s watching me.
Not smirking. Not taunting. Just… watching.
I look away first. Like a coward.
"Hey," he says, voice low and warm like he didn’t just destroy my ability to function three nights ago.
I straighten my back and force professionalism into every cell of my body. "Blackhorn. Good turnout tonight. You’re scheduled for photos, merch signing, and community meet-and-greets. Please stay within the assigned areas so we avoid confusion or…"
"Mayhem? Scandal? Worldwide panic?" His mouth tilts up. "Snowstorm of emotional collapse?"
I narrow my eyes. "Public relations. It’s my job. I shadow, I monitor, I prevent preventable disasters. The end."
He steps closer, not invading, just existing in my airspace like my nervous system asked him to. "So… you’re shadowing me tonight?"
I open my mouth. Shut it. Then open it again. "Yes. Professionally. Because statistically speaking, the probability of you turning something wholesome into front-page gossip is astronomically high."
His grin goes slow. Dangerous. Familiar.
"Annabelle," he murmurs, "just say you want to stay near me."
My pulse trips.
"I want to keep you out of trouble," I counter.
He leans an inch closer. "Same thing."
No. No, it’s not.
Before I can respond, a young boy and his father step forward.
The kid clutches a mini Outlaws jersey in both hands and looks up at Bryce like he’s staring at a Marvel character come to life.
“I’m taking skating lessons,” the boy tells him breathlessly.
“I'm gonna be a hockey player one day.” Bryce crouches to eye level, listening like this is the most important announcement in the world.
“Yeah?” Bryce says, tone warm. “Then you keep practicing. Fall a hundred times. Get up a hundred and one. That’s how pros are made.”
The boy beams like Bryce just knighted him.
The dad chuckles, shaking Bryce’s hand. “We watch every Outlaws game. My son thinks you’re the coolest player in the league.”
Bryce smiles, small and genuine. “What’s your name, buddy?"
"Jared."
"I want you to remember this, Jared. You’re already doing the hardest part. You keep showing up.”
"Yes, sir. I never miss a lesson."
"Good for you. Keep it up and one day, you may be in the big leagues!"
Bryce ruffles his hair gently, and the kid beams like he’s been handed the moon.
The man nods, grateful, and leads his son away, the kid bouncing like Christmas came early.
And I hate it.
Because watching him be soft, gentle and good with kids?
It turns something molten in my chest.
I cross my arms tighter. "Just stick to the schedule, Blackhorn."
He looks at me again, softer this time.
"I will," he says. "But if you want to walk with me instead of hiding behind that folder… you can."
My stomach flips.
I pretend to scan the event map.
"I’m not hiding. I’m working. There’s a difference."
"Sure," he says, amused. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
I exhale through my nose. "Bryce?"
"Yeah?"
"Behave."
His smile deepens and it’s slow, wicked, and annoyingly confident.
"Make me."
***
So far, so good with mild chaos happening at the team's booth area. To be expected, of course.
Dex attempts glow-stick juggling and drops all seventeen. Eli pretend argues loudly with a six-year-old about whether penguins can play hockey. Colby begins signing merch with XO, future trophy husband, and is now banned from the Sharpies.
Bryce is running a slapshot booth for kids.
Every time a puck trickles into the net, he cheers like it’s the Stanley Cup winner. Parents adore him. Kids worship him. And me?
I watch from a safe distance. Pretending.
Pretending my pulse isn’t misbehaving. Pretending I didn’t memorize that kiss. Pretending he isn’t undoing every rule I swore I lived by.
***
And then I see him. And he sees me.
Mark.
Standing near the stage. Guitar strapped over his shoulder. Backup singers clustered around him. Fans already recognizing him.
My stomach drops.
I knew he would perform here. I did not expect him to walk toward me at this very moment.
“Annabelle.”
His voice is smooth. Too smooth.
“You look incredible. I was hoping we could talk.”
Before I can respond, movement shifts around me.
Dex appears. Then Colby. Then Gabriel.
Like a wall. A ridiculous, oversized, accidentally-intimidating human wall.
Mark blinks. “Oh. Wow. Security detail?”
Dex smiles at him with the sweetness of a shark. “Nah. Just standing here. Being tall.”
Colby passes me a hot cocoa. “Here, Belle. Try this one. It’s better than whatever he’s selling.”
Mark’s jaw twitches.
And then Bryce arrives.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just closer than anyone else.
Like gravity chose sides.
He just watches Mark. Quiet. Unblinking. Dangerous.
Mark clears his throat. “Anyway. Could we talk alone?”
“No,” Colby answers.
“I didn’t ask you.”
“You didn’t have to,” Dex says. “We answered anyway.”
My cheeks burn. “Guys, please…”
Bryce finally speaks.
“If she wanted to talk to you, she would have by now.”
Mark freezes.
The air is suddenly colder.
I force my voice steady. “Good luck with your set, Mark. We’re done.”
His mouth tightens before he walks away. Not defeated. But mad.
Whew! Glad that encounter is over.
I step away from the crowd, heading toward the lantern tunnel.
The lights glow pink, gold, and blue. They're soft and dreamlike. A giant illuminated phoenix stretches across the archway.
Families wander past.
I breathe.
Finally.
Footsteps sound behind me. Slow. Non-threatening. Intentional.
I don’t turn.
“You okay?” Bryce asks quietly.
“I’m fine.”
It comes out too fast. Too sharp. Too obvious.
He stands beside me, not touching, just… near.
“You handled him.”
“I always handle things.” I retort with a smile.
“I know.”
Silence settles. Soft. Tense. Almost intimate.
I exhale.
“This is complicated,” I whisper.
“What part?”
“All of it. You. Me. Rumors. Work. My father. My ex. The internet. The team. My job. Your reputation. And the fact that I…”
I stop.
He waits.
I hate that he waits.
“I shouldn’t feel whatever this is,” I say quietly.
He looks at me.
Not smug. Not playful. Real.
“I didn’t plan the kiss,” he says. “But I’m not sorry it happened.”
My pulse slips.
He steps closer. Slow. Measured.
His voice lowers.
“If I kiss you again… you’ll have to tell me to stop.”
My breath catches.
He leans in. Not touching. Just close enough that I feel his warmth.
I whisper, barely audible, “Not here. Not anywhere. We can't do this, Bryce.”
He nods once. Controlled. But his eyes burn.
We walk back toward the crowd together.
Not talking. Just existing in the same gravitational pull neither of us knows how to escape.
I look at my watch. "Bryce, let's move it. We have the goat feeding exhibition in five minutes."
He deadpans, "Please. I'll have it eating out of my hand in thirty seconds. Especially if it’s a female. Females never resist me."
I give him the slowest stare known to mankind. "Right. Just remember, if she bites you, that’s a review, not flirting."
He chuckles with his devilish grin.
Within a few minutes, a volunteer appears with a bucket of hay and a very enthusiastic baby goat who clearly has zero respect for personal space or Bryce's reputation.
"You’re up, Blackhorn," Dex calls, way too delighted.
Bryce blinks at the goat like it’s a trap. The goat stares back like it has already decided custody of the kids and the house, and the crowd gathering around us is clearly here for the drama.
Before he can protest, I hand him a handful of hay. "Feed the goat," I say flatly. "Smile. Pretend you love nature. Try not to start another rumor."
The goat immediately latches onto his glove and starts chewing with the intensity of a chainsaw. Then, apparently deciding that’s not enough, she plants her hooves on his thigh and tries to climb him like he’s a tree.
Colby bursts out laughing. "Should we charge admission? Because this is better than television."
Cameras fire. Flashes light up.
Eli calls out, "Ladies and gentlemen… the G.O.A.T. feeds the goat. The Greatest Of All Time feeds the goat!"
Someone yells, "G.O.A.T feeding the G.O.A.T!" and the crowd howls.
Bryce mutters under his breath, "If she headbutts me, I’m retiring."
I school my face into calm PR neutrality, but inside? I am screaming. Because this might be the cutest disaster I’ve ever witnessed.
I hand out more hay to the other players as parents snap pictures.
Kids squeal. Fans record videos. A reporter livestreams the moment like it’s breaking national news.
Within minutes my phone vibrates.
Headline: G.O.A.T FEEDS GOAT — Bryce Blackhorn Shows His Wild Side Off The Ice.
My breath catches.
Good press. Finally.
My cheeks lift into an uncontrollable smile.
For the first time since I took this job, and this disaster of a man, I feel… relief.
Maybe even pride.
And when I look at Bryce, still holding hay, still being lightly mugged by a goat…
Yeah.
My dad is going to love this one.
Except the second that thought settles… another one hits me hard enough to steal my breath:
If moments like this make my dad proud… what happens when I’m no longer pretending I don’t want the very trouble I’m trying to contain?
And God help me… I’m terrified I won’t stop it.