Chapter 8
EIGHT
LIZ
For an hour after Stevie and Grady’s surprise arrival, the cabin hums with laughter and holiday noise.
Stevie tells stories, Grady eats half a tray of cookies, and Thatcher keeps refilling everyone’s cocoa like a man trying not to think too hard.
But the longer I watch him, the more I feel the air shifting. He smiles at all the right moment, but his mind’s somewhere else. No doubt it’s on the ice he’s about to return to.
As it should be. He only came her to escape his infamy. Now that the league, and his team, want him back, he should be focused on the game.
So why does my heart ache thinking about that?
When the others drift into the kitchen for seconds, I find him by the window, staring at the snow.
The tree lights flicker over his face, softening the edges that used to look so hard.
“Big day tomorrow,” I say.
“Yeah.” His breath fogs the glass. Then, quietly, “I don’t know if I should go back.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
He turns, shoulders tense. “I mean it, t’s been good here. Better than anything I could have expected. I’ve been thinking maybe I could stay awhile. There’s a youth league in Anchorage looking for a coach, and—”
“Thatcher.” I step closer, heart hammering. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk like you’re going to throw away everything you worked for your whole life.”
He frowns. “I’m not throwing it away. I’m just—re-thinking priorities.”
“Your priority has always been hockey.”
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
The words land like a crack across ice. I should be touched—he’s saying I changed something in him—but all I can hear is the panic underneath.
If he stayed because of me, he’d hate me for it later.
And that breaks my heart more than the thought of this interlude of ours ending.
“I just think you’re overreacting,” I say. “You’ve been here a week. It’s Christmas brain talking.”
His eyes narrow. “Christmas brain?”
“You know—snow, cocoa, temporary insanity. It makes people say ridiculous things.”
“That’s what you think this is? Ridiculous?”
“I think it’s unrealistic,” I bite out. “Next week you’ll remember who you are and what you’ve spent your life building. You’ll regret saying any of this.”
He stares at me for a long moment, jaw tight. “Glad you have so much faith in me.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Sure it is.” He snatches his coat from the peg. “Forget it, Liz.”
“Thatcher—”
But he’s already out the door, boots crunching in the snow. Grady shoots me a look, mutters, “I’ll go,” and follows him into the cold.
The silence that follows is deafening. Stevie slips back into the room, confusion creasing her brow. “What happened?”
I sink onto the couch, fingers twisting the edge of a blanket. “I think I messed up.”
“Tell me.”
“He said maybe he didn’t want to go back. That he could stay, find something here. And I—” I swallow hard. “I panicked. I told him it was crazy.”
Stevie’s smile spreads slowly. “You panicked because you care about him.”
“I panicked because I’m falling for him,” I admit. The words feel too big, but true. “And it’s a disaster. He loves the game. He’s finally getting a second chance. I can’t be the reason he blows it.”
“You’re not making him do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
“I’m making him think he wants something else.” I press a hand to my chest. “It’s not right. If I love him—and I do—I have to let him go back.”
Stevie studies me, eyes soft. “For what it’s worth, you’re the first thing that’s made him look alive in months.”
That doesn’t make it easier. It makes it worse.
The world outside the airport glitters. Our breaths cloud in the air as we stand by the curb. Thatcher’s duffel hangs from one shoulder. The phone carrying his one-way ticket away from here—and out of my life— is clutched in his hand.
“I’m glad they eased up on the suspension,” Grady says. “And that the owners let Coach invite you back for warm-ups tomorrow.”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s great.”
“Yeah,” Thatcher says, but his voice is quiet. He turns to me. “I guess this is it.”
I step closer, close enough to smell his aftershave, to see the tiny scar near his temple. My throat tightens. “I’m proud of you.”
He laughs under his breath. “Don’t be. You’re the one who reminded me who I am.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Sure it was.” He shifts the bag higher. “You gave me the best Christmas I’ve ever had, Liz. I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favor.”
My eyes sting. “You did.”
He leans in, kisses me once—soft, slow, full of things we don’t have time to say. When he pulls back, his smile is small but real.
“Maybe I’ll see you later,” he says.
I nod because it’s easier than words. “Maybe.”
Then he’s walking toward the gate, broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd until he’s gone. Taking my breaking heart with him.
The cabin feels emptier than it should with three people still inside. Stevie and Grady bustle around the kitchen making cocoa, filling the space with chatter that’s meant to help but only reminds me of the silence where Thatcher’s laugh should be.
When I finally sit, Stevie plops beside me. “Okay, you look like someone stole your Christmas cookies. Talk.”
“I let him go.”
“You did the noble thing.”
“It doesn’t feel noble. It feels stupid.”
Grady leans against the counter. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t leave the same guy who got suspended. You did that. He’s calmer. Focused. He kept saying he didn’t want to screw up what he found here.”
Stevie nudges me with her shoulder. “Maybe what he found was you.”
I shake my head, though my chest aches with hope I can’t quite kill. “He’ll go back to his world. Big games, big lights. People like me don’t fit there.”
“People who love him fit anywhere he is,” Stevie says softly. “Trust me. I’ve watched that man my whole life. He finally looks like he has a reason to come home after the buzzer.”
I stare into the fire until the ornaments on the tree blur. All I can see is his grin, the way he looked at me like I was worth staying for.
Maybe love isn’t about letting someone chase glory alone. Maybe it’s about standing next to them when they do.
I exhale, shaky but sure. “Maybe I should see when the next flight home is.”
Stevie’s smile blooms wide and knowing. “I’ll grab my laptop.”