Chapter 28 Ryan
The past month had been nothing short of incredible.
Life had settled into a rhythm I never knew I needed–a balance between work, coaching hockey, and every moment I could steal with Harper and Connor.
If someone had told me six months ago that sneaking into a woman’s house late at night just to hold her in my arms–feeling like a damn teenager again–would be the highlight of my days, I would’ve laughed.
Now, though? Those quiet hours were what I looked forward to most.
I’d mastered the art of climbing the creaky porch steps as quietly as possible, slipping in through the back door with a single knock or a quick text to let her know I was there.
And the way Harper’s face lit up when she opened the door–her hair a little messy, drowning in one of those cozy sweatshirts that always seemed too big for her–got me every time.
Sometimes, we’d sit on the couch and just talk, her head resting on my shoulder while the house settled into silence around us.
Other times, the second the door clicked shut, I’d have her backed against the wall, kissing her senseless, her laughter turning into quiet gasps.
Of course, Connor made sneaking around… tricky. Like when I’d steal a kiss in the kitchen, only to hear footsteps on the stairs, forcing us to break apart and pretend we were just… standing there. But those moments? Half the fun.
It wasn’t just about Harper, though. Connor had worked his way into my life in a way I hadn’t expected.
Whether it was playing street hockey in the driveway or sitting on the floor with him, building LEGO towers that inevitably turned into spaceships, he’d become part of my day-to-day life.
It felt as natural as breathing. I couldn’t imagine not having him around, not hearing his laughter filling whatever room he was in.
The six of us–me, Harper, Connor, and the little circle we’d built with Nina, Shane, and Liam–felt like a makeshift family in a way that warmed something in me I hadn’t even realized was cold.
Whether it was chaotic game night or taking the kids sledding again, the past month had been filled with moments I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Then there’d been yesterday.
Harper standing in my living room, looking at that old photo of me, Shane, and Kyle.
Her voice had been curious, light, and the second she started asking questions, something in me had locked up.
I’d given her clipped answers without even meaning to, retreating behind a wall I’d built years ago.
I didn’t want to. Hell, I’d been so close to telling her everything.
So close to finally saying out loud the thing that still kept me awake some nights.
But I wasn’t ready. That wound… it didn’t matter how many years had passed–it still bled if I touched it. And talking about Kyle meant pulling the scab right off.
The other option would’ve been to tell her the whole truth. Get it over with and see the way her face changed when she looked at me. I couldn’t risk that. Not yet.
I just hoped I hadn’t screwed things up by shutting down on her like that.
And then there was the memory of Harper’s Christmas Day email that still lingered. It wasn’t like I thought about it every minute of the day, but when things got quiet, it crept in.
I hadn’t meant to see it, but I’d caught a glimpse that afternoon when her phone buzzed, and she’d gone pale reading it.
Reid. The name was burned into my brain.
I didn’t need a full sentence to know the email wasn’t anything good.
Harper had shut her phone quickly, but the tension in her shoulders had told me everything I needed to know–Reid had the power to rattle her.
She’d been different for a couple of weeks after that.
Quieter. Distant, sometimes. Like she was carrying something too heavy to set down.
I’d wanted to ask, but every time I started to bring it up, I’d see that wall she put up so effortlessly and decide against it.
She’d talk to me when she was ready. I had to trust her on that, even if it killed me to see her hurting and not know how to help.
Maybe that’s why we got along so well… we both had things from our past we were keeping to ourselves.
The bell over the bakery door jingled, and the smell of sugar and butter hit me like a freight train. Harper was behind the counter, boxing cinnamon buns like she was training for a speed competition.
She looked up, spotted me, and her brow went up immediately.
I walked up, holding out the coffee like it was some kind of trophy. “Morning.”
Her eyes narrowed just enough to make me wonder if I should’ve added a muffin to the peace offering. “Ryan, I work at a bakery… with an espresso machine.”
“I know,” I said, setting the cup in front of her. “But this is… different.”
“Different how?”
“It’s… uh…” I cleared my throat, searching for anything but the truth–that I didn’t know how to say sorry I dodged your questions yesterday and used sex as a way out without actually saying it. “It’s better coffee. Because… I made it myself.”
She crossed her arms, lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Better coffee, huh?”
“Definitely,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Also, I’m not sure you’d want me messing with your espresso machine. I’d break it. Or burn the place down.”
That earned me a laugh–small, but real–and some of the tightness in my chest eased.
She took the cup, her fingers brushing mine for just a second, then took a sip. “Hmm. I’ll give it a six out of ten.”
I put a hand to my chest. “Six? That’s harsh. I risked my life out there for this.”
“It’s drizzling.”
“Exactly. Treacherous conditions. I’m used to snow.”
Her laugh came easier this time, and I let myself watch her for a beat too long, the way the corners of her mouth softened, the way her eyes lit up when she was trying not to grin.
I glanced past her to the tray of still-warm scones cooling on the counter. “Are those…?”
She caught me looking and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
But I was already reaching, swiping one off the tray before she could stop me.
“Ryan!”
“What?” I took a bite, not even pretending to be sorry. “It’s good. I’m doing quality control for your customers.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, but I brought you coffee, so…” I shrugged, licking a stray crumb from my thumb.
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her mouth twitched again, the corners threatening to give me another smile.
I set the scone down long enough to reach across the counter and hook a finger in the pocket of her flour-dusted apron, tugging her a fraction closer. “See you tonight,” I said, voice low enough that it wasn’t just casual.
By the time I climbed back into my truck, Harper’s smile was still stuck in my head. I was halfway through the drive home when my phone lit up on the passenger seat.
Shane.
“I’m sending you an address. Meet me there in an hour.” He said when I answered. No explanation. Just Shane being Shane.
I plugged the address into my phone. Forty minutes away.
An hour later, I pulled into the parking lot of a multiplex sports center that looked…
tired. The building was massive, low-slung brick with a faded green roof, its sign missing two letters so it read “SRTS COMPLEX” in weathered black font.
The lot was half-empty, dotted with patches of ice and snow that had been pushed into uneven piles.
The kind of place that had clearly been thriving… about fifteen years ago.
I shot him a text.
Ryan: I’m here.
Shane: Come inside.
The front doors groaned when I pushed them open, a blast of warm, chlorine-scented air hitting me in the face.
The lobby was big but dated–tiled floors scuffed from years of skates and sneakers, the paint on the walls faded from too many winters.
A half-moon reception desk sat in the center, the surface clattered with flyers for everything from “Learn to Curl” classes to local swim meets.
Flat-screen TVs lined the walls above, each showing a live feed of the building’s different corners–hockey rinks, pickleball courts, a shimmering blue pool, and what looked like a lacrosse box. It was a sports buffet, though the whole place had a run-down, echoing feel that screamed underfunded.
I finally spotted Shane, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, standing near a vending machine that looked like it hadn’t been stocked since summer.
“What’s up?” I asked, coming to a stop beside him.
“C’mon.” He jerked his head toward a hallway, already moving. “You gotta see the rest.”
I hesitated a second before following, wondering what the hell I was even doing here. Shane had a habit of roping me into things that started with “just come check this out” and ended with me knee-deep in some half-baked project.
We walked through the building–past the rink with its tired boards and dim lighting, the cracked pickleball courts, the gym that smelled faintly of sweat and dust.
“It needs a lot of work done,” Shane admitted, sweeping a hand out in front of him, “but it’s got potential. I want to buy it.”
I stopped, blinking at him. Not the least bit surprised. This had Shane written all over it. “You want to what?”
“Buy it. Fix it up. Make it the kind of place this town and the next ten around it want to drive to every weekend.” He was grinning now, eyes bright.
“I’m already talking to a couple teams about relocating here.
Hockey. Lacrosse. Maybe even a junior swim program.
The market’s there, Ry. We could build something big here. ”
I let out a low whistle. “Shane, this is a huge job. You’re talking about a full gut, new equipment, new lighting, rebranding–”
“Exactly.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “So… will you help me? I’ve got the vision, but you’ve got the hands and the brain for the build. We’d make a hell of a team.”
I shook my head, half laughing. “You’re crazy.”
“Yeah, but I’m right,” he shot back without missing a beat.
And the truth was, he probably was. For all his impulsive ideas, Shane was a smart businessman.
He already owned more than a few properties, and they were all thriving.
If anyone could turn this beat-up sportsplex into something worth driving for, it was him.
I looked around again, really seeing it this time–not the peeling paint or the outdated fixtures, but the potential. The place could hum with life again.
“You should do it,” I said finally. “And if you do, I’m in. Let’s make this dump look like your dream.”
Shane’s grin widened, and for a second, I could already picture the place alive again–full stands, bright lights, and that electric buzz of a game night.