7. Lucy #3
I wanted to stop wanting things that had Lucy Thomas attached to them.
Then I saw her.
The hotel bar sat just off the lobby, tucked beneath a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown.
At this hour, the city looked expensive.
Glass towers glowed against the dark sky. Headlights streamed through the streets below like ribbons of white and red. Somewhere behind me, a piano version of a song I couldn't quite place drifted through hidden speakers.
Most of the Frosthawks crew had disappeared hours ago.
The loss was bitter. Most were not in the mood for anything other than counting sheep and drooling on a pillow.
Lucy sat alone at the far end of the bar with one elbow resting on polished black stone and a half-finished Old Fashioned in front of her.
Her blazer was gone. The sleeves of her white button-down were rolled to her elbows. Dark hair spilled over one shoulder. The ice cubes in her glass shifted as she rotated it slowly between her hands.
She looked exhausted. The kind of tired that settled somewhere deeper. The kind that didn't go away with sleep.
I hesitated for exactly two seconds. Then I headed straight for her. Because apparently I had learned absolutely nothing over the last eight years.
The empty stool beside her scraped softly across the floor as I sat down.
She didn't look surprised.
That somehow annoyed me. "You're terrible at hiding," I informed her.
Her gaze remained fixed on her drink. "Hello to you too."
I grinned.
There she was. The Lucy I remembered. Sharp enough to draw blood before the conversation even started.
"I expected at least a little panic."
"Why would I panic?"
"Because I'm incredibly charming."
That finally earned me a glance.
Fuck.
Big mistake.
Her eyes were still exactly the same.
Dark.
Smart.
Dangerous.
The kind of eyes that made a man think saying something stupid was worth the risk.
"You walked directly into a decorative ficus this morning."
I pointed at her. "That plant came out of nowhere."
"It was stationary."
"The jury is still out."
Her lips twitched. Just barely. And suddenly the entire day felt worth surviving.
The bartender appeared. I ordered a beer. Lucy took another sip of her drink. Neither of us spoke for a moment.
"What are you doing down here?" I finally asked.
She shrugged. "Thinking."
"Dangerous hobby."
"I know."
I studied her profile. The tension in her shoulders. The slight crease between her eyebrows. The way she kept staring at the window like the skyline had personally offended her. "Tough day?"
She let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh. "One donor tried to pitch me a cryptocurrency startup."
I winced. "Brutal."
"Another spent twenty minutes explaining hockey to me."
I laughed.
Her eyes narrowed. "I am serious."
"No, I know. That's objectively hilarious."
"He asked if the players got tired skating so much."
The beer I had just swallowed nearly came back up.
Lucy shook her head. "Then Keith called."
"Oof."
"Then my inbox exploded."
"Double oof."
"And then Marco somehow locked himself inside a service elevator while you were being interviewed."
I blinked. "Actually, that one's kind of impressive."
"He was in there for forty-five minutes."
"Did he deserve it?"
"Probably." The smile she tried to hide finally escaped. It transformed her face.
For a second I wasn't sitting in a hotel bar.
I was seventeen again. Standing outside a coffee shop. Listening to her laugh at one of my terrible jokes. Thinking maybe the world had accidentally given me something too good to keep.
The memory hit hard enough to steal my breath.
Lucy looked away first. "How are you still awake?" she asked.
"Elite athletic conditioning."
She shook her head.
I watched the movement. The small smile. The warmth that appeared whenever she forgot she was supposed to dislike me.
And for one dangerous second, I forgot too. Forgot the years. Forgot the silence. Forgot all the reasons things were different now.
Because this felt familiar. Easy.
The way it always used to be. The way it should have stayed.
"You know," I said quietly, "you don't have to carry the entire organization on your shoulders."
Her expression softened. Just a little. "I know."
"You absolutely don't know."
She stared into her glass. "Maybe not."
The admission surprised me. Lucy rarely admitted weakness. Especially to me.
The silence stretched between us again.
Not awkward. Not forced. Just... there. The way it used to be. The way I missed more than I would ever admit out loud.
When she finally looked at me again, something had changed.
The city lights reflected in her eyes. The amber glow from the bar softened the sharp edges she'd carried all day. And suddenly she looked less like the woman who kept the Minnesota Frosthawks running.
More like the girl I'd once loved. The girl I had never really stopped loving.
Lucy glanced down at her drink. Then back at me. "Ty?"
I swallowed. "Yeah, Shortcake?"
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Neither of us breathed.
Then she set her glass on the bar. And quietly asked, "Do you want to come up to my room?"