Chapter 10
Harper
Okay, the festival wasn’t that bad. We had fun, and I’m glad I fought the urge to stay in. Making good on their promise, the guys took us all to dinner last night, and I don’t remember the last time I laughed that much.
“Why did you go?” Grandma grunts from the other end of the line when I tell her about dinner with Baptiste and his friends. “Was it for an article or something?”
My brows furrow. “What do you mean? Hanging out with them?”
“They’re up to something shady, aren’t they? Come on, spill the beans.”
I chuckle, rolling onto my back on the hotel bed and staring at the ceiling. “No, they’re just nice people, Grandma. I didn’t think I’d like them, but I do.”
“Mm-hmm,” Grandma hums skeptically. “That’s not like you at all, making friends and all that, but I guess it’s good for you. Just be careful. You know how these people are. We’re not from the same mold.”
I twist my mouth to the side. “Actually, I think we are. They all come from modest backgrounds and are surprisingly down-to-earth. If you didn’t know it, you wouldn’t even realize they’re famous.”
“Still,” she says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Harper.”
I know exactly why she’s standing her ground on this, so I don’t insist. Instead, I tell her about Lois, Beth’s grandma, and encourage her to introduce herself, maybe make a friend of her own, but Grandma is even more set in her ways than I am.
Which makes sense—she’s been entrenched in them for way longer than me.
I spend the rest of the day working on the interview, having received several head shots from Baptiste’s PR team. I choose one where he’s not in hockey gear, for a change—relaxed, approachable—and send the content to my boss before heading to the arena for the game.
Getting to the arena is an experience in itself.
The streets are buzzing with chaotic energy.
Fans in jerseys stream toward the entrances, music thumps from speakers outside, and the air feels electric with anticipation.
I can feel the vibration of the crowd before I even step inside, the distant roar fighting through concrete and steel.
I’m in an area reserved for the press, and I’m glad to see it comes with a nice VIP lounge, complete with a sprawling buffet that offers up everything you could dream of, including lobster.
Maybe my first hockey game won’t be so bad after all.
Baptiste
We’re losing 2–0 as the second period starts, and frustration is building on my teammates’ faces. We knew it was going to be a tough feat, but taking two shots in the first period is still a hard pill to swallow.
I glance at the packed arena as we get into position, wondering where Harper is right now. She’s at the arena—she texted me earlier to say she was on her way—so I know she’s witnessed our slow, painful start. Still, I hope she’s having a good time, wherever she is.
Before I can gather my thoughts, the puck drops, and the game is on again.
The Stars team presses, hard and fast, cycling the puck deep in our zone.
Sticks clash, skates scrape the ice, bodies collide along the boards.
We manage to snag the puck, but we barely get past center ice before they force a turnover.
After a fierce brawl, Kingston Brewer from the Stars picks up the puck near the blue line, winds up, and releases a quick snap shot through traffic. Our goalie doesn’t even see it coming. The puck hits the back of the net with a sound that makes my stomach drop, and the scoreboard flashes 3–0.
Coach Sully Paul yells at us to get back in the game, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd, and I force myself to concentrate—block out the noise, push down the feeling that we’re about to lose this game.
A few shifts later, our guy Jayce Brady intercepts a pass in the neutral zone and chips the puck forward. Jackson Reeves crashes into the net, dragging two defenders with him. I jump into the play from the blue line, calling for the puck. Brady spots me and sends a clean pass across the ice.
I don’t hesitate. I tear in and fire a slapshot through the gap between the defender’s legs, aiming far side. The puck rockets off my stick, whistles past the goalie’s glove, and buries itself in the top corner.
Half of the arena explodes into cheers and applause, and suddenly, all I can see is the sea of waving banners from our Stripes fans seemingly turning the inside of the arena crimson.
“Eye of the Tiger” starts playing over the speakers—my goal song.
I throw my arms up, skate toward the glass, and break out my best dance moves, hyping the fans and my teammates as the noise swells around us.
Brady slams into me first, yelling something I don’t catch, and Reeves follows with a heavy glove to my helmet. I laugh as Coach Sully Paul leans over the boards and slaps my back hard when I skate past.
Unfortunately, this goal isn’t the kick we needed to flip the game, and it ends with a 4–1 win for our adversaries.
Faces are tight and shoulders slumped as we shuffle back to the locker room.
Beaumont and Adler aren’t cracking jokes or arguing about something stupid.
And Miles, despite having had little game time, is muttering to himself that he could have done better.
Hawthorne, who’s serving as alternate captain of our Stripes team, is talking in hushed tones with Taz Houlihan, the captain.
Wally is silent, staring off into the distance, even though he didn’t play tonight either.
I sit down, dropping my gloves on the bench next to me and grabbing some water. Crap, this is not how I wanted to start off this tournament. And I know my teammates feel the same. This is our one shot of making history—we have to do better next time.
Coach Sully Paul strides into the locker room, and that’s exactly what he tells us. He’s not angry, but he does tell us we weren’t at our best, and he knows we could have dominated this game.
“This blows,” Adler grumbles, bending over to untie his skates once the coach wraps up his speech.
“Yeah,” Beaumont says simply, staring at the floor. “The girls are going to be so disappointed.”
I feel even worse for him now. The girls are only here for the first two games. Then they’re flying back to New York, since they have to work, and will only come back to DC for the last game.
“I know,” Hawthorne says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “Guess we’ll just have to win the second one. We can do it—I know we can. We just have to find our footing, that’s all.”
We keep chatting about our loss, trying to pump ourselves up for the next game, then we do our post-game ritual before going back to the hotel.
My heart jolts when I see Harper in the lobby, talking with the receptionist.
“Oh, if it isn’t Froggy’s not-girlfriend,” Adler jokes, and I roll my eyes in response.
“Nor friend,” Miles adds.
“Bye, guys.” I wave them off with a forced smile before walking toward her. I can hear their whistling and low, exaggerated “ooohs” trailing behind me, but I choose to ignore them. It’s not hard; when Harper’s around, she’s the only thing I can focus on.
She’s just wrapping up her conversation and is turning to walk away, but she stops when she sees me.
“Hey,” I say, approaching. “Room trouble?”
“Oh, hey.” She flashes a smile, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “The mini fridge stopped working in my room. But they’ll send a new one in a few minutes.”
“Gotcha. So, how was your first hockey game?” I ask, already bracing myself.
“Meh. Better than the practices, for sure, but still kinda boring.”
Boring.
My brain actually short-circuits for half a second.
My eyes are wide as pucks. “You came to a hockey game and got bored? I’ve never heard that one before. My team may have been off its game, but there was plenty of action tonight. Goals, penalties—a guy even stopped the puck with his shin.”
I know I sound defensive, but I don’t care.
Hockey is anything but boring. It’s speed, precision, and controlled chaos. It’s the crack of sticks, the roar of the crowd, the split-second decisions that can make or break a season. It’s everything, at least to me. And she just—meh’d it.
“Right,” she says, averting her gaze. “Guess I was too busy exploring the buffet in the VIP lounge. Did you know they have lobster there?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish.” I give her a pointed look. “So, you’re reporting on a sport and you’re not even watching it?”
She shrugs. “Stripes lost, right? Even with that goal from you, the Stars were better. I got the highlights. That’s what matters.”
A ridiculous spark of satisfaction flickers in my chest. At least she watched something. She paid attention. Even if she pretends she didn’t.
Still. Boring?
Beneath that spark is a sting under my ribs I didn’t expect.
I don’t need everyone to love hockey the way I do.
But part of me—the stupid, hopeful part—wants Harper to see what I see.
To feel the surge of electricity when the puck hits the back of the net.
To understand why this sport built me, saved me, gave me a life.
“Unacceptable,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. My tone is playful, but there’s a thread of real protest hidden there. “You can’t say hockey is boring if you haven’t watched it properly.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Properly? Am I supposed to be perched in the front row, wearing a jersey and shaking around a foam stick or something?”
“Um, yeah. That’s a good start. I’ll send some stuff over for the next game.”
If she’s going to cover this tournament, she’s going to feel it. Even if I have to drag her there.
“I’m not doing it,” she says, leveling me with a stare that makes me feel more alive than I have in a long time.
“Yeah, you are.” I lean closer. “And in return, I’ll take you to a charity gala tomorrow.”
“Charity gala?” she asks, her curiosity clearly piqued.
“For the preservation of the oceans. A cause that’s dear to my heart.”
“I haven’t seen anything about a gala on your schedule, except the one on the eighteenth.”
“Oh, you’ve memorized my schedule?” I say, grinning despite myself. “I’m touched.”
“I’m just doing my job. Don’t flatter yourself, Baptiste,” she says—and the sound of my name rolling off her tongue sends a shiver through my entire body. It’s the first time she’s used it. Looks like the stupid nicknames are finally out the window.
“Suure.” I nod. “So, we have a deal? I guarantee it won’t be boring, and they’ll probably have lobster.”
She cocks her head to the side, a smile building slowly on her lips. “Well, then I have no choice but to say yes.”