Chapter Six
Travis
I pull my wool beanie down lower over my forehead and adjust my sunglasses for the third time in as many minutes.
“You look ridiculous,” Beau says from the driver’s seat. “It’s overcast. Nobody wears sunglasses when it’s overcast.”
“I’m protecting my eyes from UV rays,” I say defensively.
“Uh-huh. And the scarf wrapped around half your face?”
“It’s freezing.”
“Freezing? It’s forty degrees. Snow is literally melting.”
Riley laughs from the backseat. “Leave him alone, Beau. If Travis wants to cosplay as a criminal about to rob the skating rink register, that’s his choice.”
I twist around to look at her. “I don’t look like a robber.”
“You kind of do. A really well-dressed one who shops at expensive outdoor stores,” she says with a grin.
“I’m trying to be inconspicuous.”
“You’re failing,” Beau and Riley say in unison, then laugh.
I slump back in my seat and roll my eyes, even though I’m biting back a smile. “You two are the worst.”
“We’re the best, and you know it,” Beau says as he pulls into a parking spot near the town square. “Besides, you’re overthinking this. It’s Maplewood Springs, not Times Square. Most people here have known you since you were in diapers. They’re not going to swarm you.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, but I still unwrap the scarf from my face and wear it around my neck like a normal person.
The Christmas market is in full swing when we arrive.
The town square has been transformed into a winter wonderland straight out of a Hallmark movie, with white lights strung between bare trees and wooden stalls selling everything from handmade ornaments to hot cider.
A booth from the local visitor center and museum offers bear-carved souvenirs, with a cardboard sign noting that all proceeds go toward trail maintenance.
And in the center of it all is the ice rink, packed with people gliding and stumbling across the ice.
We make our way toward the skate rental booth, weaving through clusters of families and couples. Christmas music plays from speakers hidden somewhere in the trees. And the local, giant Christmas tree is filled to the brim with tinsel and shiny baubles.
It’s perfect. Cozy and uncomplicated. And for a brief moment, I experience a pang of resistance about having to leave again in a few days.
I love my career as an NFL player. Love working myself to exhaustion during training, then still pushing even further.
Love the crowds when our team scores a touchdown on the field. But this… I also love this.
“What can I do for you?” the teenager manning the skate rental book asks without looking up.
“Three pairs of skates, please,” I tell him.
He does a double-take when he looks up at me. “Wait, you’re… you’re… Travis Steelbird!”
Great. So much for being inconspicuous.
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” I give him what I hope is a friendly but please-don’t-make-a-scene smile.
“Dude, I have your jersey! The signed one from the charity auction last year! My mom bid on it for my birthday! Can I get a picture? Please? My friends are never going to believe this!”
“Sure, why not?”
I pull down my sunglasses and lean in for a quick selfie.
“This is so cool,” the kid says, already typing furiously on his phone. “Wait until I post this. Everyone’s going to freak out.”
Perfect. There goes my low-key afternoon. And I still don’t have our skates.
“So, three pairs of skates?” I remind the teenager.
“Right, gladly,” the kid says, almost vibrating with excitement.
We get our skates and find a bench to lace them up. Riley struggles with hers, and without thinking, I kneel in front of her.
“Here, let me.”
“I can do it myself,” she protests, but she doesn’t pull away when I take over.
“I know you can. But I’m faster,” I say as I take her foot in my hands like she’s Cinderella. “Too tight?”
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you, Travis.”
Our eyes hold for a moment longer than necessary, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are, of my hands still on her skate, of the way her cheeks are flushed from the cold. Or maybe not just from the cold.
“You two done making googly eyes at each other? Because I’d like to actually skate at some point today,” Beau says, giving us a look.
“We’re not making googly eyes,” Riley says, but her voice is a bit too defensive for it to be true.
I swallow. Is Beau right? Were we really looking at each other like that? Was I?
“Sure, keep telling yourself you weren’t,” Beau says with a laugh and steps onto the ice. “I’ll be out here when you’re ready to stop pretending.”
Riley and I exchange a look, but neither of us comments on her brother’s remarks.
I stand up and offer Riley my hand. “Come on. Let’s show your brother how it’s done.”
She takes my hand, and even through our gloves, I can feel the warmth of her palm against mine. As soon as we hit the ice, she tightens her grip.
“I probably should’ve told you, but I’m still the worst ice skater in town.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
And I mean it. I keep a firm grip on her hand as we glide onto the ice. Well, I glide; she mostly wobbles. Her other hand immediately shoots out to grab my arm for extra stability.
“Okay, this was a terrible idea. Why did I agree to this?” she asks, her legs doing this awkward spread thing that makes her look like a newborn deer.
“Because you wanted to hang out with me.”
“That was clearly a lapse in judgment.”
“Come on, you’re doing great. Just relax. Don’t fight it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re basically a professional athlete.”
“Okay, fair point. But skating isn’t that different from walking,” I tell her.
We make it about ten feet before her skate catches on something, and she tips forward. I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her back against me before she can face-plant on the ice.
“Whoa, careful,” I say.
She’s pressed against my chest now, breathing hard, and I can feel her heart racing. Or maybe that’s my heart. Hard to tell when we’re this close together.
“Thanks. You’re a hero,” she says as she tilts her head back to look at me.
There’s a teasing edge to her voice, but her eyes are serious and search mine for something I’m not sure I should give her.
Not when pictures of Sienna and me are plastered all over social media. Not when I’m leaving in three days. Not when everything about this is complicated in ways I can’t explain to Riley without violating the terms of my contract.
So I force myself to step back and put a safer distance between us. I still hold on to her hand, though. “Come on. Let’s try again. Slower this time.”
We continue around the rink, and gradually, Riley starts to relax. Her movements become less jerky, and pretty soon she’s actually skating.
“See? You’re getting the hang of it,” I say.
“I’m not falling, which is different from getting it, but I’ll take the win.”
Beau zooms past us, skating backward with his arms crossed, showing off his incredible skills. “You guys are adorable, by the way.”
Riley rolls her eyes but doesn’t serve him with a clever comeback. We make another lap around the rink, and her grip on my hand loosens slightly.
“You know what? This isn’t so bad,” she admits.
“Told you so.”
She laughs. “Don’t get cocky. I’m still one wrong move away from breaking a bone.”
“I won’t let that happen, Riley. I promised.”
She looks up at me with a soft smile that does things to my body it shouldn’t. “I know you won’t.”
Beau joins us, and we skate for another twenty minutes. Riley actually manages a few solo glides without holding onto me, and when she doesn’t fall, she throws her arms up in victory.
“Did you see that? I did it! I actually did it!”
“You’re a natural,” I say.
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m definitely not the worst person on this rink anymore.” She gestures to a middle-aged man who’s currently sprawled on the ice while his wife tries to help him up. “See? That guy’s worse.”
“The bar is low, but you cleared it. I’m proud.”
She beams at me, and wow, I’ve missed this. Missed her. Missed how easy everything feels when we’re together. Missed how I can be Travis instead of Travis Steelbird, NFL star. I wish it never had to end.
By the time we return our skates, I’m feeling better than I have in months. Lighter somehow. More relaxed and myself.
“Hot chocolate?” Beau suggests, pointing to Summit Sweet’s booth.
“Yes, please. With extra marshmallows for me,” Riley says.
“I’ll grab them. You two find a spot to sit,” Beau offers.
Riley and I find an empty bench near the rink and sit down. She’s still smiling, her cheeks pink from the cold and the exertion. Man, she looks so genuinely happy that I want to freeze this moment.
“Thank you for this. I needed it. I didn’t realize how much until now.”
“Yeah, me too,” I admit.
And then my phone buzzes in my pocket. Then buzzes again. And again.
“Wow, someone really wants to talk to you,” Riley says with a laugh.
I pull out my phone, and my stomach drops. Twelve missed calls from Maxwell, my agent. Fifteen text messages. And three voicemails.
“Everything okay?” Riley asks.
“I’m not sure.”
I tap on the voicemail, and Maxwell’s voice explodes through the speaker. “Travis, what the hell were you thinking? Call me back. NOW.”
I frown. Why should I have to call him? He knows I’m with my family for the holidays. He promised he wouldn’t call or text me.
But the second voicemail is even worse. “I’m serious, Travis. We need damage control ASAP. This is a disaster. CALL ME.”
I don’t even dare to listen to the third one. My hands are shaking as I open the text messages.
Maxwell: Check TMZ. Now.
Maxwell: You’re holding hands with someone who is NOT Sienna Montgomery.
Maxwell: Do you have ANY idea what this means for your contract???
Maxwell: The photos are everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
Maxwell: Call me, or I’m flying to Montana myself.
I open my browser and search for my name. The first result makes my blood run cold.
“NFL Star Travis Steelbird Spotted Getting Cozy with Mystery Woman. Is He Cheating on Sienna Montgomery?”
There are photos. Lots of them. Riley and I on the ice. Me tying her skates. Me with my arm around her waist, her pressed against my chest, both of us smiling at each other like… like… I swallow. Like there’s no one else in the world.
“Travis? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Riley says.
I’m frozen. Paralyzed with fear and panic.
My contract. The endorsement deals. The PR relationship with Sienna worth millions of dollars that’s supposed to boost both our profiles.
The clause that explicitly forbids any real relationships or even the appearance of one during the campaign period.
One leaked photo of Riley and me together could cost me everything.
Except it’s not one photo. It’s dozens. From multiple angles. Crystal-clear shots that leave zero room for interpretation.
“I have to go.” I stand. “I’m sorry, I have to, um, I need to make a call.”
“Travis, what’s going on?” Riley asks.
I can’t think. Can’t process any of this. All I know is that I’ve just potentially blown up my entire career and Sienna’s career because I wanted to hold Riley’s hand while ice skating.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I’ll explain later. I just have to fix this first.”
I practically run toward the parking lot. My phone is already ringing again before I reach the car. Maxwell. Of course.
I accept the call, and before I can even say hello, he’s yelling at me: “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”