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The intensity of our connection leaves us both trembling, our bodies slick with sweat and glowing as we collapse onto the couch, a tangle of half-dressed limbs and disheveled clothes.

My head rests on his chest, rising and falling with each rapid breath he takes, as we both struggle to regain our composure.

"I think we christened your man cave properly," I laugh softly, my fingers continuing to explore the contours of his body.

"Careful," he warns with a smirk, his voice still ragged from our exertion. "Coach Brody probably has cameras set up in here. He'll hear you."

"Cameras?!" I gasp, my eyes widening in alarm as his hand slides under my blouse again, reigniting the fire within me.

I'm about to protest when we hear the sudden, unmistakable sound of a door opening at the back of the room. The noise makes me jump straight up, my heart pounding in my chest as I frantically grab for my clothes, trying to cover myself as quickly as possible.

I scramble to fix myself up as Blake Maddox—captain of the Icehawks and my husband's fuckingteammate—stands in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips.

His muscled torso glistens with droplets from a recent shower, a water bottle dangling from his fingers.

He freezes, taking in the scene… My disheveled hair, Jackson's bare chest, the unmistakable flush on both our faces.

"Great," he mutters, running a hand through his damp hair. "Another horny couple christening the lounge. Just what this team needs."

I screech, fumbling with my blouse buttons while Jackson just laughs, completely unbothered by our captain's intrusion.

"You're just mad because we're having more fun than you," Jackson calls out, casually zipping his pants.

Blake grumbles as he stalks past us toward the lockers. "No one's having fun when we're 4-10. Maybe if people focused more on puck handling than stick handling..."

The door slams behind him with a heavy thud.

"Well, that was mortifying," I whisper, smoothing my skirt down.

Jackson grins, pulling me close. "He's just tense. It's been a rough month."

"Sophia said it's not just the season." I button my blouse, remembering my lunch with my best friends last week. "Something's been brewing for a while now. She won't say what, but I swear to God, she'sdefinitely not just his assistant."

Jackson pauses mid-belt buckle. "You think? They really seem to hate each other."

"Iknow. And I cannot wait to see how that disaster explodes." I grab my purse from the floor. "The way she talks about him—all that 'Blake Maddox is impossible' and 'Blake Maddox needs everything perfect'—it's textbook sexual tension. Trust me."

"Like us in Vegas?" Jackson smirks, taking my hand as we head for the exit.

"Please. You were way more obvious."

"Speaking of obvious," he says, squeezing my fingers, "I'm cooking dinner tonight. That pasta you like."

I raise an eyebrow playfully. "How about… dessert first?"

"God, I love you, Cassie Hawthorne."

"I love you too,Jax From-the-Bar."

I smile against Jackson's lips, feeling that familiar flutter in my chest that hasn't faded in the six months since he crumpled those annulment papers on stage.

The Iron Ridge winter wraps around us, but I'm not cold anymore.

Not here in his arms. Not in this town I once desperately fled.

"Take me home," I whisper, and for the first time in my life, I mean it.

Iron Ridge isn't just where I'm from; it's where I belong.

With my hockey star husband, my rekindled relationship with my father, and a career I built on my own terms.

Sometimes the best things in life aren't planned at all. Sometimes they happen in Vegas, with tequila and Elvis and a stranger who becomes your forever in the most perfectly accidental way.

- THE END -