Chapter 21 - Nicole
Nicole
I gripped the steering wheel until my fingers ached, staring at the chain-link fence across the lot.
My pulse hammered, uneven, threatening to pull me under.
I couldn’t believe it had come to this. Bail.
Jail. Me, sitting here, waiting to scoop him up just when things between us had started to feel like they might actually go somewhere.
My stomach twisted, nausea curling through me, and I pressed my palms to my thighs, trying to anchor myself, trying to stop my thoughts from spinning.
The lot smelled faintly of asphalt and exhaust. The engine thrummed under me, a steady reminder of reality, of the decision I’d made. I tried to count the cracks in the concrete, tried to will the minutes to pass without unraveling. My hands felt too tight, too hot. I shouldn’t have to be here.
A metallic clang cut through my thoughts. My head snapped up just as the gate groaned open.
He stepped into the lot, walking tall but cautious, shoulders tensed as if bracing against something I couldn’t see. But then I did—cameras, flashes, phones rising like flaming torches in Landon’s face. A dozen voices hurled probing questions from all directions, each one slicing the air.
I hadn’t noticed them before, hadn’t registered until now that the world was waiting to pounce on him.
“Landon!” My voice cracked, but it carried.
I shoved the door open and ran across the asphalt, heart stinging with each step. Gravel dug into the soles of my shoes. I didn’t care about the flashes, didn’t care about the shouting. Only him.
He moved through them, ducking under an arm, sidestepping a phone. His expression was tense and rigid, but something in his face shifted when he spotted me. The distance closed, the press of bodies shrinking to nothing.
And then he was in my arms. Everything I’d been holding in—fear, relief, frustration—spilled out. My hands tangled in his jacket, gripping as if letting go meant losing him all over again. I cried even as I tried to stop myself, tears spilling down unchecked.
He pressed his palms to my cheeks, wiping the tears I couldn’t control. “Hey,” he murmured, a rough thread of a sound. “Hey. I’m here.”
I couldn’t answer, not with words. My body shuddered against his, seeking some impossible stability in the middle of the swarm.
“Sorry. I’m an idiot,” I sniffled. “You’re the one getting out of jail. I have no reason to be bawling like a baby.”
Without checking or asking or glancing at the paparazzi, Landon’s lips found mine, a quiet claim against the noise and the flashing lights.
As if it was all he could think to do in the moment that would both shut me up and make me feel better.
He kissed me as if we were all alone, and the press looking on didn’t matter to him.
We pulled apart just enough to breathe. The cameras kept firing, voices still yelling, but we didn’t move. We stayed pressed together until I could ground myself enough to step back.
“Get in the car,” he said after a pause, voice steadier. I slid around to my side, and killed the engine that had been idling this whole time.
The world shrank to the interior, and finally, the doors closed.
“Thanks for posting my bail,” he said, voice softer now, almost casual, but there was an edge of something I couldn’t place.
“It’s the least I could do.” I tried to keep my own voice steady, but the tremor in my hands betrayed me.
I pressed my face to my palms, letting my elbows rest on my knees. “James isn’t taking my calls. He’s taken time off work, so he’s not at the hospital. If he were… I’d claw his eyes out myself.”
Landon laughed, dry and uneven. “Probably best if only one of us breaks the law for now.”
I shook my head, the guilt thick and bitter. “I’m sorry. For everything. This arrest… it’s my fault. If I’d stood up to him ages ago, dumped him like I wanted to, none of this would have happened.”
He touched my hand, his thumb tracing steady circles on my skin. “He’s a world-class dick, Nicole. That’s on him. Not you. None of this was your fault.”
My shoulders slumped. I let out a shaky exhale, tasting the remnants of panic and relief in the air filtering through the cracked windows.
“I need to talk to him,” he said then, voice tight with urgency. “Will you drive me to his place?”
I gaped at him, mouth dropped open. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I should just take you home.”
“No.” His face looked about as hard as the word sounded. “I need to talk to him. Just talk. That’s all.”
My stomach twisted into several knots. There was no way I could do this with a clear conscience after everything that had just happened. “Landon… You’ve already gone through enough. Another confrontation isn’t—”
“I have to do this,” he interrupted. He wasn’t angry or on edge. If anything, he seemed clearer than ever. “Please, I promise it won’t get out of hand and if it looks like it’ll go that way, I’ll leave.”
I hesitated, fear pressing against my ribs, but the determination in his eyes broke through. “Okay.”
I pressed the seat belt over my chest, heart still clattering, hands trembling against the wheel. His presence in the passenger seat was a solid weight next to me, but did little to smooth the fraying edges of my nerves.
The engine thrummed beneath us and we rolled out of the lot with the cameras and shouts fading into the distance. I put my foot down, still waiting for something to give, for Landon to tell me he’d changed his mind.
“We’re doing this?”
He rested a hand on my thigh and squeezed lightly, a faint pressure. “Yes.”
I pulled up outside James’s place and cut the engine. The house sat dark, windows blank, porch empty. I stayed behind the wheel, eyes on the driveway.
“His car isn’t here,” I said, nodding toward the curb. “He’s not home.”
Landon was already unbuckling. “I’ll check.”
He stepped out before I could argue, shoes crunching over gravel as he crossed the yard.
I stayed put, hands locked around the steering wheel, watching him mount the steps and raise his fist. The knock echoed louder than it should have.
The porch light stayed dead. No footsteps answered. No door opened.
He knocked again, longer this time. The house held its silence.
When he turned back, shoulders set, I felt my lungs finally work again. He walked toward the car, each step steady, and slid into the passenger seat. I exhaled, a long spill of relief I couldn’t stop.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” I said. “For today, at least.”
He stared through the windshield, jaw tight, eyes too focused. All that energy he’d wound up for a confrontation had nowhere to go now, and it sat there with him, restless and sharp in a way that made my skin prickle.
“Let’s get you home,” I said. “You should take a hot shower. I’ve got the day off. I’ll order takeout. We can put on a movie and pretend the world is normal.”
His fingers tapped the clock on my dashboard. “I can’t go home. There’s a practice.”
I turned to him. “Landon, you just got out of jail.”
“If I miss practice, I don’t play.” He kept his eyes forward. “Playoffs start in less than a week. I can’t let them down now.”
“McAvoy will cut you slack for one day.”
He shook his head once. “That’s not how it works. You want to be the best, you show up. Every time.”
I watched him for a beat, then nodded. “Okay. Arena it is.”
The drive settled into something lighter than it had any right to be. He reached over and adjusted the vents, then frowned.
“Your car hates me,” he said. “It’s blowing arctic air.”
“It’s character,” I said. “Builds resilience.”
“Pretty sure this is how villains are made.”
I laughed, the sound surprising me. “You say that now. Wait until you see what it does to take-out when you’re more than five minutes away from home.”
He glanced at me, grin tugging at his mouth. “If I lose a finger, I’m suing.”
“You can’t sue me. I posted your bail.”
“Fair point.”
By the time the arena came into view, the knot in my chest had loosened. The building glowed against the night, familiar and comforting in a way that still felt unreal to me. I parked, and he was out of the car before I’d finished unbuckling.
“Come on,” he said, already moving.
We slipped inside and picked up speed, shoes skidding on polished floors.
Voices carried from the rink ahead, skates carving ice, sticks knocking.
Landon lowered his head and cut toward the hallway, and I followed, pulse spiking with the ridiculous thrill of it.
We ducked past the open doors, past familiar shapes and jerseys, keeping to the shadows until we reached the locker room.
He grabbed my wrist and tugged me inside, door swinging shut behind us.
The room was empty, lockers lined up in neat rows, the air cool against my skin.
He pressed me back against a locker, metal cold through my shirt, and kissed me with everything he’d been holding in.
His hands slid over my waist, up my sides, urgent and unrestrained, and I hooked my fingers into his shirt to keep him close.
His body crowded mine, heat and pressure and want, hips moving in a way that left no room for doubt.
I met him there, breath coming short, mouth hungry, the clang of the locker a dull echo beneath us.
His hands roamed, claiming, and I let myself get lost in it, the edge of adrenaline sharpening every touch.
I pulled back and caught my breath. “I thought you said you can’t be late.”
He groaned, forehead tipping forward for a heartbeat before he stepped away. “I can’t help myself around you.”
He stripped out of his clothes with quick efficiency, muscle memory taking over as he pulled on his gear. I stayed where I was, watching, my pulse still racing.
“You better get a handle on that,” I said, eyes flicking pointedly to his hard-on. “Or training might get awkward.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I have an old trick: Ducks on a pond. Works every time.”
I followed him back out toward the rink, my steps lighter now. The ice spread out before us, bright and loud, the team already in motion. He squeezed my hand once before skating off.
“Sit wherever you want,” he said.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Last time everyone kept making fun of me.”
He shot me a look over his shoulder. “Rookie of the Year nominee gets a final say.”
As he approached the bench, I hung back, close enough to see without being in the way. McAvoy stepped into his path, hand up. Landon stopped, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Sorry I’m late,” Landon said. “I’m ready to jump in.”
McAvoy shook his head. “I can’t put you out there.”
Landon blinked. “Coach?”
“Until this assault mess dies down, you’re benched. We can’t afford more bad press. Not now.”
I watched the words hit him. His shoulders sagged, just a fraction, but it was enough. He’d walked out of a cell with more composure than this. Jail hadn’t broken him. This did.
He nodded, once, swallowing hard. “Yes, Coach.”
I stood there, useless, as the one thing he lived for was pulled out from under him. The rink noise faded, replaced by the hollow look on his face, and I knew this was the wound that would take the longest to heal.