24. Ethan
24
ETHAN
Suits and ties are definitely not my thing—they are awkward, stiff, and about as comfortable as wearing a straitjacket. Whoever invented tuxedos clearly wasn’t imagining a guy who’s more at home on a sheet of ice than on a red carpet. But tonight, there’s no getting out of it. The Blizzards end-of-year awards event awaits.
My car rolls into the driveway of the tall building dripping in twinkling lights and holiday decor like someone let Christmas explode all over the place— that will be Holly’s handiwork .
I shift in my seat, loosening the bow tie that’s currently threatening my ability to breathe. This party’s been the main event on Holly’s calendar for weeks, and it comes at the time the regular season’s hitting pause for the holiday break—even though we still have a couple of important charity games over the holidays.
A reduced schedule means my attention is permanently tethered to Holly while she has a whole lot of organizing to do. Two of the biggest are this night and the player-fans gala event coming up later.
My knuckles tighten on the wheel as I pull up to the massive hall, decked out with more wreaths, lights, and candy-cane decorations than any one building has a right to hold. There’s only one way to get through it: get in, find Holly, and attempt to have a decent night without losing my mind.
Because if being forced into a tux isn’t bad enough, Holly’s been missing from my side for days, locked away in “planning mode,” which, by my calculations, ranks right above “voluntary hibernation.” Holly’s promised to give me her full attention—whenever she finds a free second between event planning—that might be worth all this buttoned-up suffering.
In the meantime, I have been stuck hanging out with Ryan and Liam more than usual.
A car honks nearby, and two grinning faces appear. Speak of the devils.
Ryan and Liam are dressed to the nines in tuxes, predictably looking like extras from some lost GQ shoot and somehow managing to look like they actually belong in them.
As soon as I step out of my car, Liam raises a brow, letting out a low whistle.
“Look at this guy,” Ryan says, smirking. “If hockey doesn’t pan out, we could definitely get you a modeling gig.”
Flashing him a glare, my fingers work at adjusting the jacket’s starched sleeves. “Save it, Connors. It’s enough that I had to wear this monkey suit. Don’t make me regret showing up.”
“He’s right you know?” Liam chuckles. "Making some money off your looks might be a good thing. It’s wasted on the ice."
“Yeah, I’ll do that. Right after I break every mirror I own,” I growl, shaking my head. "Or maybe you’re more suited to that, Mr. Three-Mirror Selfie Per Hour.”
We all laugh, an easy rhythm falling between us, the familiar kind of banter that carries through locker rooms, training sessions, and recently—late-night takeout orders.
Liam tilts his head. "Hey, not my fault. Mirrors just happen to enjoy my company."
“Nonsense.” The scoff escapes my lips smoothly.
Ryan, leaning against the side of his car, shakes his head with mock sorrow. “Someone get the man a cape. Brooding this hard should come with a warning label.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I adjust my collar, while trying my best impression of a deadpan look. “You two think you’re funny. Say one thing out of order and I’ll take you both down like we’re on the ice. And don’t think this suit will hold me back.”
Ryan and Liam laugh, completely unfazed. We move toward the doors, banter echoing against the marble floors of the massive hall. Between the glinting chandeliers and the snowflake-shaped decorations hanging from the ceiling, it’s hard to know where to look without being blinded by holiday cheer.
“So,” Ryan says, nudging me with an elbow, “any reason you’re actually wearing a tux, or did you just have an epiphany to actually start dressing well for these things?”
My head swivels around, eyes searching for one person in particular. “Why do you think something changed?”
Ryan scoffs, tugging his jacket into place. “Look at you, you always used to think tuxes were somehow 'too formal' for a night like this.”
“Ryan, you’ve got a lifetime pass to banter as the unofficial fashion police,” I let out a chuckle, “but remember, tonight’s about looking respectable.”
“So, you’re saying you just changed your mind?”
“Let’s just say, I’ve got my reasons.” The only reason is my new motivation to look good enough for an event my housemate worked so hard on.
Liam’s grin widens. “I’ll bet you do. Don’t look so tense, man. You’re among friends.”
Friends. They’ve been glued to my side for years, on and off the ice. No wonder Holly calls them my “hockey brothers.” But right now, there’s only one person my mind’s dying to see, and the moment we step inside, my eyes begin the search.
The place is filled with Christmas decorations strung up with more sparkle than a jewelry store, gold and silver lights glittering against walls that usually host far less glamorous faces than the ones flooding in now. But for me, all that glitz fades.
She’s here somewhere—I can almost feel it before actually seeing her. And then, there she is.
The sight nearly stops me in my tracks.
Holy moly. Holly in that dress ... well, there aren’t words that do it justice. If words were even close, they’d still be woefully inadequate. The dress glitters in the soft light, a deep green that is sure to make her eyes look even brighter, the fabric hugging every curve, her hair a perfect cascade over one shoulder. She’s a vision, one that’s going to live rent-free in my head for a long time to come.
It should be illegal, looking that good. It has to be.
My feet move without my brain’s permission, pulling me toward her like some lovesick fool—and I nearly get there, too, when Coach Andrew steps up, followed by a few other teammates, all laughing and raising glasses. They greet me with slaps on the back and hearty “Great party!” shouts that leave little room for escape.
Ryan and Liam answer each person in turn, their cheer contagious, while my own responses are gruff mumbles, eyes darting back to Holly, only to find that she’s now surrounded by more people—including Jonathan Reid.
Jonathan Reid, the Blizzards team manager, clearly lacks an idea of “personal space” because he’s standing too close to Holly while telling her something.
An uncomfortable twist of jealousy flares up, spiking unwelcome tension that pricks in the back of my neck. Jonathan’s got this lean-in thing going on, whispering in her ear as if they’re on the brink of sharing some inside joke that only they’d get. For God’s sake, the place isn’t even that loud—why does he need to whisper in her ear?
Beside me, Liam catches my change in expression. “Everything alright?”
“Fine,” I mutter, jaw tightening. “Nothing’s wrong.”
It takes effort, but I rip my gaze away, forcing a neutral expression. Ryan catches me glancing over and smirks. "You don’t look like it.”
Before I can deny anything further, Ryan gives a knowing chuckle. "Hey, just saying."
Reluctantly, I wave it off. "Just wondering if they stock anything here strong enough for this tux.” I sidestep over to the bar to grab drinks for myself, Ryan, and Liam. I don’t even want a drink; it’s just an excuse to take five, and maybe a round of drinks wouldn’t hurt. Maybe it’d help drown out the buzzing irritation that’s turning my mood sour faster than I’d like.
I head toward the bar, weaving through the crowd, but slight tension remains coiled in my stomach like it’s waiting for something or someone to set it off. And, as fate would have it, “someone” turns out to be a pair of teammates—two forwards. Cain and Roberts, both notorious gossip-mongers, lean against the bar, voices lowered but not lowered enough.
“I’m telling you, she’s impressive. Holly’s given these events a serious glow-up.” Roberts says, signaling the bartender for another. He’s shaking his head as if still in disbelief.
Cain sighs, swirling his glass. “No kidding. Add in she’s stunning, and it’s no wonder she’s got half the team drooling. Would probably ask her out if it weren’t for the whole ‘workplace decorum’ thing.”
I stiffen, my jaw tightening.
Roberts snorts. “Come on, who cares? It’s not like any of us are under scrutiny here. If she were interested…”
Cain nods. “You’re right. We’re all adults here. Consequences are part of the game. I’m thinking tonight’s as good a night as any to feel her out.”
I make my presence known, clearing my throat, stepping between them and raising a brow. “You’re gonna want to rethink that plan.”
The two turn to face me, both looking slightly startled. Roberts stammers, “And, uh, how would you know, Carter?”
A moment of silence stretches before an answer comes from me; the words stumble out almost automatically. “She’s dating. Heard it through the grapevine. And, by the way, even if she were single, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
The guys exchange puzzled glances, and one of them mutters something about the weird vibe, but my attention’s already turned to the bartender, and I barely hear them leave. The thought nags at me as I order the drinks, the frustration mixing with something else—a fierce need to protect Holly, to shield her from even a hint of this locker-room gossip.
But there’s no staying away from her now, and after grabbing the drinks, I head back to my friends, hand them their glasses, and raise my own in an automatic toast, the weight of my decision heavy and resolute.
As the evening drags on, the awards ceremony finally starts, which means people start settling down, and the players get called up in turns. I’m up for recognition tonight, something I’d normally brush off as just another formality. But tonight, there’s this different pulse to the whole thing. And it’s probably because, while my award feels like just another plaque for the shelf, Holly’s watching. Right there in the front row, a smile just for me, the kind that gets locked in memory, burned there for a good long time.
As I walk past her on my way to the stage, the scent of her perfume slips past—a mix of vanilla and warmth that should come with a warning label. I miss her more than I want to admit and tell her just that, mouthing, “I miss you,” as I pass. She winks back, her lips curving into a teasing smile, like a silent promise. It’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms then and there. After this event, we’re back to our world, our real world.
Applause fills the hall, and faces blur together in the crowd, but I only see Holly. Even with the award in my hand, her gaze meeting mine is the only moment that matters.
Later in the evening, I see Cain and his buddy sidle up to Holly, laughing at something she’s said, clearly working every ounce of charm he’s got on her. The sight of them hovering around her like overeager puppies makes me grit my teeth, fingers itching to break it up, but I hesitate. This whole "hiding in plain sight" deal is for both our sakes. But when he asks her to dance, my fuse snaps.
My jaw tightens as I watch the redhead lead her onto the dance floor, her laugh floating back to me, completely oblivious to how it feels like a punch straight to my chest.
“Hey, Ryan,” I storm over and pull him away, not even trying to hide the frustration in my voice. “I need you to break up that dance.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow. “And what do I get for causing a scene on the dance floor?”
I smirk, offering my best bargaining chip. “First pick of any new gear next season. Signed.”
His eyes light up. “Deal.”
Without missing a beat, he glides across the room, cutting in with all the charm he can muster. I can see Holly’s surprise as Ryan whisks her away, a laugh on her lips, probably telling her where to meet me.
The terrace air is cool as I step outside, feeling the tension melt away as I wait. A few seconds later, the door opens, and Holly steps through, eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Jealous much?” she teases, slipping her arms around my neck, pulling me close. “Sending the cavalry to ‘rescue’ me? Are we at a high school prom or what?”
I chuckle, pulling her in by the waist. “Prom or not, I wasn’t about to let rookies step in where they don’t belong.”
She laughs, pressing a kiss to my lips, her fingers sliding into my hair. “You could’ve just asked if you wanted a dance.”
“I didn’t come out here for a dance,” I murmur, my voice low as I brush my lips against hers. “But now that we’re here…”
Our lips meet in a slow, deep kiss, releasing every bit of frustration and longing I’ve felt tonight. Her hands slide up to my shoulders, her laughter softening into a sigh as she pulls me closer, and for a moment, everything else fades.
Until—
“Ahem.”
The sound jolts us apart, and we turn to see Lauren standing there, arms crossed, giving us a look that practically screams, “Really?”
“Really, you two?” She smirks, her tone both exasperated and amused. “Out here, where anyone could’ve walked by?”
Holly giggles, covering her mouth, while I clear my throat, scratching the back of my neck. “We, uh … just needed a moment.”
Lauren rolls her eyes, pointing back toward the hall. “Maybe find a more discreet ‘moment’ next time. Just saying.”
As she disappears, Holly bites her lip, glancing up at me with that playful glint I can never resist. “Guess we’re not exactly subtle, huh?”
I smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Subtle’s overrated.” I trace her cheek with my thumb, her warmth sinking into my skin. “But … maybe we should be a little more careful.”
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, probably wouldn’t hurt. But tonight? Just for tonight … let’s not think about that.”
I pull her close again, laughing softly as I press my forehead to hers. “Sounds perfect.” And with her in my arms, the world fades away, leaving only us and the endless possibilities of whatever comes next.