4. Harper
4
I crushed a throw pillow against my face and screamed into it, then removed it, gasping for air dramatically.
“What did I do wrong? I followed all the steps. Get him alone—strip him naked, and the guy ended up being the hero of the night,” I growled.
Some things never changed.
Nic shook her head in bewilderment. “You’ve got me—I swear this works all the time. It’s a classic. The ultimate revenge tactic, and it’s healed so many broken hearts.”
I pursed my lips. “Well not for me. He just went out there and strutted his almost naked self in the middle of—”
“Whoa-whoa, hold up.” Nicole stood and pointed a finger at me. “What do you mean almost naked?”
My cheeks heated. “I…let him keep his underwear?” I winced at my own words.
“You what?” she howled. “Why?”
I jumped off the cushions and shook my hands as if I’d touched a hot stove. “Because I didn’t want to look at it. The rest of him was…” Too much to handle.
After a minute of flat staring, Nic crossed her arms in front of her. “How long has it been? Honestly.”
I wasn’t about to tell her I was still a virgin. “Long, could we drop this now?”
My friend took a deep breath and shook her head in disappointment, reaching for her wine. “Can’t believe you let him keep it on…”
Nic and I had only known each other for the better part of the two months I’d been back in the city, and now I was losing her respect too. I snatched my coffee ice cream and sank back onto my couch.
“What are you going to do?” she finally asked.
I frowned, unsure of what she was getting at. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? You can’t just leave it like that. You need to redeem yourself. Otherwise you’ll be known as the crazy chic who’s still obsessed with the high school boyfriend who dumped her on prom night…” she whispered the next part like it was the juiciest part of the story, “For a brunette .”
I groaned. “You’re right—gahh—you’re right. But how? I never want to see his stupid face again,” I whined.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, showing you’ve matured is out the window.”
“Nic, when it comes to my list…”
“I know—” She sank next to me and held me. “Everything is fair game and nothing is off limits. I know, Harp,” she sighed. “Okay, well, does this count as crossing him off your list?”
“Permanently,” I assured.
“Well, then you at least owe him an apology.”
I scoffed.
“It’s the only way to prove you’re not a psycho.”
“I suppose I just march up to him at next year’s party, and we’ll laugh about it?" I scrunch my nose.
“Oh, someone will be laughing. But it ain’t gonna be you,” she muttered.
“You’re the worst.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
There was no way I was going to thank anyone for this. Especially not my dear mother. I sighed heavily when I stood outside of the Brooklyn Arena, where I knew the Blades were scheduled for a practice to start shortly.
It was easy to get practice and game schedules when you worked at The Bridge Lineup—a sports magazine. Not that my job at The Bridge was very fancy—not yet, at least—but you didn’t need a fancy title for a game schedule and a building badge.
Of course, that confidence fell somewhere into my stomach when I approached the security desk.
“Hi there, I’m Harper Maxwell with The Bridge Lineup.” I flashed him my building badge.
“Closed for private practice,” he barked without so much as a glance.
“I know. I’m not here for the team. I’m actually here for the new lounge that was built on the third floor.” I held up my camera. “Just want to snap my photos and be on my way.”
“You need to call ahead to get clearance.”
Oh well…you tried. Now run along, Harper.
I shut my eyes, knowing Nic was right. Since my plan crashed and burned, I’d only made a bigger fool of myself and needed to do something .
“I am so very sorry, I realize that, but my article is due tomorrow, and if I come in empty-handed, I could lose my job,” I pleaded.
He drew in a breath. “Alright.” He reached into the drawer, pulling out a guest pass. “My shift is over in twenty minutes, and this is only valid for the duration of my shift—so make it quick, or you’ll have a hard time getting out of here. And you need to be out before the next guy comes in. Lou will have you hauled out of here without a second thought.”
“Twenty. Got it. I really appreciate it.” I started for the rink when the guard stopped me and pointed me to the opposite side of the building.
“New lounge is that way.”
“That’s right,” I turned on my heel and began speed walking to the elevator until I was out of sight. The detour had me circling the entire damn stadium just to get to where I needed to be.
After what felt like forever, I reached the practice rink and scanned the area for him—but he wasn’t on the ice.
“Figured after yesterday’s game, you’d be getting all the practice you could get,” I muttered dryly.
I huffed and turned on my heel, in search of the locker room. Wishing I had stopped for a map of this place on my way in.
Lockers…where would the locker room be?
I checked my watch. Shit. Nine minutes before my pass expired. There was no way I’d find Troy, offer a thirty-second apology, and find my way back out in nine minutes.
Moving behind the bleachers, I ducked all the way across until something blocked my escape in the last row. I looked up.
Troy. He wasn’t in uniform, but he was wearing a jersey.
“Lost?”
I cleared my throat and stood straight. “Not at all. I know exactly where I am.” I flung up my pass that was set to expire any minute. Only for the damn thing to go flying out of my hand.
Troy bent to pick it up, flipping it between his fingers like it was a discarded business card.
“Yes, see. I belong here as much as you do.”
“Hardly. How did you get this?”
I snatched it away from him. “Look, I don’t have time to chat, but I do want to say one thing.”
He stared at me. Arms crossed at his puffed chest. Waiting.
Come on Harp, you rehearsed this . “I’m not crazy.”
His brows jumped, but he also didn’t laugh, so there was that.
“I know I sound it, but I’m usually quite rational. I just—sometimes I take extreme measures to get what I want.”
A devastatingly gorgeous grin spread his face. “And you wanted me naked?”
“No.” My finger shot up. “Let’s make one thing clear—I never have and never will want you naked. I wanted to—” I swallowed and my eyes fell slightly. “I wanted for you to see me in a way you never did. To seduce you, I suppose, and then—to humiliate you, just when you thought you had it all.”
His expression shifted as the smirk on his face fell. “Harper.”
There it was again. “Please stop saying my name like it meant something to you. Like you really do have regrets, because I still am the only one with them. You will never change. You’ll never feel what I felt and… that’s just not fair.”
His Adam's apple bobbed, and his jaw tightened. There was conflict in his eyes I’d probably never understand but it didn’t matter at this point. I needed to go.
When he didn’t say anything, I shrugged. “Maybe someday you will, but it won’t be because of me.”
I stormed off and pushed against the back door. When it wouldn’t open, I flashed my card in front of it, and a red light flashed.
Fuck.
I closed my eyes and let my forehead bang against the door.
Why me?
Behind me, Troy closed the distance. His voice low and rough. “Have a seat. I'll escort you out shortly.”
Have a seat? Escort you out? What in the diction-loving hell is happening right now?
Before I had a chance to argue—or ask if he swallowed a thesaurus, he turned at the sound of his name.
“Hartman, get your ass in uniform. Now,” Coach called from the bench, pointing his clipboard toward the blue doors, which I imagined led to the locker room.
Troy didn’t nod, but he didn’t move either. Instead, his eyes shot to the team’s alternate captain, Ryan Flemming. The guy who was with Troy last night at Finnigan’s. Ryan skated over, whispering a few words to the coach, who shook his head in response.
“Time? What do you mean he needs time?” He turned to Troy, who was already a few feet from the rink. “You have ten minutes to get your ass on the ice.”
His face blank, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and disappeared down the hall.
Making my way back to the bleachers, I wondered how long I was supposed to sit there. I looked around for another visitor—or anyone who could wave their pass for me so I could slip out.
But I was alone.
Great thinking, Harp. Another one for the books.
Fifteen minutes had passed before Troy came back. He was in full uniform, minus the helmet and looking angrier than I’d ever seen him.
Man, hockey players sure are hard on themselves.
Ryan seemed nervous for some reason as he watched number nineteen—Troy—step onto the rink. Was there usually this much drama during practice?
If I were a reporter, this would be a field day for me.
With that thought, I withdrew my sketchbook.
Troy froze at the brink and did a quick scan. He banged his stick against the side twice. That was new.
I wondered if his anger had to do with my coming here or something I said. His jaw had been clenched so tight since the moment he found me here it was hard to believe this was about anything else. His eyes were distant, and even though I couldn’t see his face well, I knew he didn’t entirely have his head in the game. Yet he was undoubtedly and completely aware of everything around him.
He missed the first pass from whoever number thirty-two was and then another one from an unexpected passer. He straightened, rolled his neck around once and started gliding in circles, almost as if he were warming up to the ice, feeling it beneath him. He moved so smoothly, barely moving his stick. You’d think he was in a trance. Until he slammed a puck that came flying at him straight into the net.
Damn.
My eyes flicked to Ryan, who froze at the sight of the goal and then passed him another, watching as Troy moved with it, practicing puck control and blocking.
I watched for another half hour, glancing down at the book that sat on my lap, adding shading and sharpening the edges. My lips quirking every so often as I perfected every inch of number nineteen.
The coach called practice for the night and Troy glanced my way. I let our eyes lock for a moment before he disappeared once again, this time with the rest of the team.
Several minutes later, I was ready to go. I stood and attempted my pass at another door, knowing the result. Yep, still red.
“You know that’s the definition of insanity.”
“It’s a different door. If I were to use the same door, that would be insane.”
He came up behind me, dressed in loose jeans and a gray t-shirt, smelling of pinewood and sweat. His hair slicked back and wet. He reached past me and held up his badge to the device on the wall as it turned green.
He nudged it open. “Alright, wise ass. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“I’m showing you out.”
“You couldn’t do that an hour ago?”
“There are about five more doors you’ll need a pass for and I was dealing with something.”
“What, practice?”
“Yeah.” We started down the hall of the lobby. “Listen, Harper, you need to know something before you get yourself all worked up again.”
The nerve. I was never worked up. I dumped my pass in the deposit bin and signed out, then dropped the pen down and glared at him. “I wasn’t all worked up.”
“Fine, but I need to explain something…before you do whatever it was you came here to do.”
"No need. This was a mistake." I huffed and pushed my arms through my jacket roughly, sending my work badge flying out of my pocket and landing on the floor.
Troy shook his head, lifting it for me. “Okay, whatever, look, I’m not the one you’re—” he paused, lost in something in my badge.
“Wait. You work for The Bridge Lineup?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a reporter?” He took a step closer.
“Not…exactly.” Not unless you counted weekly reports on coffee inventory and sales on specialty drinks.
His gaze was heated now. “What are you really after? Is it to screw up my bro—”
I drew back. “Did I miss something in this conversation?”
“Cut the shit, Harper. You can tell whoever sent you to get the scoop on what’s going on with Troy Hartman to shove it. Because he’s coming back and he’s coming back strong.”
“Do you usually talk about yourself in third person?”
“Get lost.”
“Wow. Okay. Well that’s completely fine, it wasn’t my idea to come here today anyway.”
“Goodbye Harper and stay away from my... stadium.” He turned and stormed back into the lobby, leaving me just outside the gate.
What the hell?
I stayed up staring at space way past the midnight hour that night. Trying to pinpoint the exact moment he’d turned on me. And I was talking present day—not five years ago.
There was no mistaking—I was missing something. And it was right after he’d lifted my badge.
Did he think I was after a story just because he tanked opening game? Lots of players tanked. And he wasn’t the only one on the team.
Paranoid much?
I picked up the piece of paper from my notebook. “Sorry, Mom, this one’s just not worth it.” I crossed it off my list and turned off my light.