Chapter 24
Avery
The seat belt sign dings off, and I immediately pull out my laptop. Four hours on a commercial flight from Toronto to New York is plenty of time to catch up on work I've been neglecting while playing tourist with my secret boyfriend.
Secret boyfriend.
The words still feel surreal in my mind, like something that belongs to someone else's life. Not mine. I'm Avery Carter, the woman who plans everything, who maintains professional boundaries, who doesn't do messy and complicated.
Except now I do.
I open my work email, scanning through the accumulation from the past two days. Sponsor inquiries, media requests, coverage reports. All routine. All manageable.
But my mind keeps drifting back to Sunday night in that hotel suite, to Monday exploring Toronto hand-in-hand like normal people, to this morning's goodbye.
Liam had to take an earlier flight. I'm on a regular commercial flight at ten, maintaining the illusion that we weren't together.
And now I'm here, thirty thousand feet in the air, trying to focus on work when all I can think about is how his face looked when he talked about his father leaving, about his mother choosing her new family over him.
The vulnerability in his voice when he admitted he doesn't really know his half-brothers.
The man the public sees isn't the real Liam Novak. Not even close.
I know this now. I've seen behind the facade to the man underneath.
I pull up the social media monitoring dashboard, scanning through the coverage from Thursday's game in Toronto.
Then I notice the photos from after the game. The team out celebrating at some club called The Rake. Instagram shows the VIP section packed with players, drinks flowing, the usual victory celebration.
I scroll through more posts, more photos. Fan accounts that captured the players leaving the club. I scan the headlines.
And then I see it: Where was Nova?
The gossip blog has compiled all the photos, circled the players present, and noted the obvious absence. The comments section is full of speculation.
Maybe he's finally growing up?
Probably with some girl. That's more his style.
Nova missing a party? Hell must have frozen over.
I smile at my laptop screen like an idiot.
Liam chose to be with me instead of doing what everyone expected him to do. And even though no one knows why he was missing, even though the world still sees him as the player who can't commit to anything, I know the truth.
He's changing. Slowly, maybe. Imperfectly, definitely. But he's trying.
For himself. For his career.
For us.
The flight attendant's voice crackles over the speaker, announcing our descent into LaGuardia. I close my laptop and stare out the window at New York sprawling below, the familiar skyline coming into view.
Liam is probably at practice. I wonder if he's thinking about me the way I can't stop thinking about him.
My phone buzzes the second we land, and the pilot gives permission to use electronic devices.
Liam: Have you landed yet?
Warmth floods my chest. I like having someone checking in on me.
Me: Just landed. Waiting to taxi to the gate.
Liam: Hudson's waiting for you. Baggage claim, near carousel 3.
Me: Liam, you didn't have to.
Liam: I wanted to. Let him drive you home. I’ll feel better that way since you refused my upgrade.
I let out a laugh. I did refuse an upgrade. No way am I letting him spend more money on me. The Toronto suite was already too much.
Me: Okay. Thank you.
Liam: Text me when you're home safe.
The plane finally pulls up to the gate, and I gather my things, joining the shuffle of passengers deplaning.
I navigate through to baggage claim, scanning the crowd near carousel 3, until I spot Hudson.
“Ms. Carter,” he greets me with a slight nod as I approach. “Welcome back to New York. May I take your bag?”
“Thank you, Hudson.” I hand over my carry-on, relieved to not have to navigate the subway with luggage. “I appreciate you coming out here.”
“My pleasure.” He leads me toward the exit with the efficiency of someone who's done this a thousand times. “Mr. Novak wanted to ensure you arrived home safely.”
The car is waiting in the pickup zone. Hudson opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat with a sigh of relief.
New York traffic is terrible as always. I pull out my phone, meaning to catch up on more emails, but instead I find myself opening my photos.
There aren't many. We were careful about taking pictures together, hyperaware that one wrong photo could expose everything. But there are a few.
A selfie from the CN Tower observation deck, Liam's arm around me, the city spread out behind us. Another from brunch at St. Lawrence Market, his hand reaching across the table for mine, our food forgotten.
And one from Monday night, back at The West Peak. We'd been lying in bed, the room dark except for the city lights through the windows, and I'd grabbed my phone on impulse.
The photo is mostly shadows, but you can see us. My head is on his chest, his arm around me, and both of us are looking at the camera with satisfied smiles.
That's the one that makes my chest ache. Because we look happy. Like a couple who belong together.
“Ms. Carter?” Hudson's voice pulls me from my thoughts. “We've arrived.”
I look up, startled. My building is right outside the window. I'd been so lost in my phone, in memories of the weekend, that I didn't even notice the drive.
“Thank you.” I gather my things. “I really appreciate the ride.”
“Anytime, Ms. Carter. Have a good evening.”
The elevator ride up to my apartment feels strange.
Because Liam isn’t here. This is the first time I'm coming home alone after being with him.
The absence feels physical, like there should be someone beside me, making terrible jokes, kissing my neck while I try to unlock the door, generally making everything more chaotic and wonderful.
I shake off the melancholy and head to my bedroom, dragging my suitcase behind me. Unpacking is therapeutic, sorting through clothes and toiletries, putting everything back in its proper place.
I'm hanging up a dress when something falls out of my suitcase onto the bed.
Rose petals.
A handful of deep red petals from the roses in our hotel suite, scattered among my folded clothes.
My hand flies to my mouth, emotion flooding through me so suddenly it takes my breath away. Liam must have done this today morning while we were packing.
You're such a romantic, I think, even as tears prick my eyes. Who would have guessed?
I carefully gather the petals, pressing them between the pages of my journal on my nightstand.
My phone buzzes.
Liam: Are you home?
Me: Just got here. Thank you for sending Hudson. And thank you for the rose petals.
Liam: You’re welcome.
Me: How was practice?
Liam: Brutal. Coach is pissed about the Toronto game. We won but apparently we didn't win pretty enough. He had us doing bag skates until Ryan almost puked.
Me: Bag skates?
Liam: Conditioning drills. Skating until your legs are dead. It's torture. But a good setup for Thursday's game. Montreal is third in our division so it's a big game.
Me: You'll be great.
Liam: I play better when you're watching.
Me: That's a lot of pressure.
Liam: You can handle it.
I smile at my phone, pleasure spreading through my chest.
Me: Get some rest.
Liam: Yes, Coach.
Me: I'm serious, Liam.
Liam: I know you are. It's cute when you get all bossy.
Me: Goodnight, Liam.
Liam: Goodnight, Avery. Sweet dreams.
Two days together and we're already texting like teenagers. This is exactly the kind of messy, unprofessional, completely inappropriate behavior I swore I'd avoid.
And I don't care even a little bit.
Wednesday morning, I'm at my desk by seven-thirty, determined to make up for the work I neglected over the weekend. The PR department is quiet this early.
I dive into emails first, responding to the backlog systematically. Media requests, sponsor inquiries, coverage reports.
By eight-thirty, the office starts filling up. Eliana arrives first, her usual bright energy filling the space as she settles at her desk with a massive iced coffee.
“Morning, Avery,” she calls across the open workspace. “How was your extended weekend?”
“Productive,” I say, which is technically true. Just not in the way she thinks. “I caught up on some planning.”
“You're the only person I know who considers work productive relaxation.” She grins. “But hey, that's why you're good at your job.”
Miles arrives next, followed by Liz, and soon the department is buzzing with the usual Wednesday energy.
I'm deep in a sponsor proposal when Jennifer appears in my doorway.
“Avery, do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk, my heart rate kicking up. Does she know? Did someone see something?
“I wanted to check in about Liam's extended stay in Toronto,” Jennifer says, settling into the chair. “What was he up to?”
Relief washes through me. She's asking, but she doesn't know. She's just being thorough.
“Honestly? He laid low.” I pull up my carefully prepared notes, because of course I prepared notes for this exact conversation.
“I checked in with him on Monday. He mostly stayed at the hotel, ordered room service, and caught up on rest. He said he needed some downtime after the intensity of the season so far.”
Jennifer's eyebrows rise. “That's not very Liam-like.”
“I know.” I allow myself a small smile. “But maybe that's the point. He's changing. Making different choices.”
“Well, I'm not complaining. Whatever you're doing with him is working, Avery. The board mentioned him in our last meeting, in a positive way. That hasn't happened in years.”
Pride swells in my chest, mixed with guilt. Because yes, Liam is changing. But not because of any PR strategy I've implemented. He's changing because he wants to. Because he's choosing to be better.
For himself. For us.
“I'm glad to hear it,” I say.