Page 18

Chapter eighteen

~ROWAN~

The last time I did this interview, I almost told the guy to go fuck himself.

This time, I lean back in my chair, stretch my legs out, and smile at the journalist like we’re old friends.

“Rowan, thank you for sitting down with us again,” the guy—Michael something—says, clearly wary. He probably thinks I’m gonna bite his head off this time.

I glance at Livia, standing off to the side with her arms crossed over her green dress, watching me like a hawk. She doesn’t trust me to behave.

Fair.

“Pleasure’s mine, Michael.” I tilt my head and give him an easy grin.

Livia takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the shitshow she’s expecting. Well, she’s not getting one today.

Michael hesitates, then clears his throat, flipping through his notes.

“Right. So, last time we spoke, things got a little…heated.”

“And you’re still breathing. Looks like your luck’s turning around.” I flash him a grin and lean forward to tap his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Michael exhales a laugh, loosening up. “Let’s keep that luck going, yeah?”

The interview starts with the usual mundane questions and predictable mundane answers. Livia shifts her weight, still watching me and waiting for me to snap.

I won’t.

Not today.

Because the only reason I’m even doing this is because of her. I don’t want to fuck this up for her any more than I already have.

“Alright.” Michael relaxes a little after the first few questions, tapping his pen against his notepad. “Let’s talk about the team. How’s the upcoming season shaping up for you guys?”

“We’ve got a strong lineup.” I shrug, crossing an ankle over my knee. “Our guys are putting in the work. You’ll see it on the ice, I promise.”

“Do you think you have a shot at the cup this year?” he asks, looking up at me from behind his glasses.

“We always have a shot.” I arch a brow. “It won’t be our first time earning it.”

“Confident.” He chuckles.

“I’m not in the habit of losing, Michael.” I shrug with an easygoing smile.

From the corner of my eye, I see Livia exhale sharply, shaking her head, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips.

“So we’ve seen.” Michael flips to another page in his notes. “You’ve had a bit of a reputation in the past for being…let’s say, aggressive. Have you changed, or is that something that contributes to your winning streak?”

My gaze flicks to Livia, who stiffens slightly. She knows this is a loaded question.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve changed.” I drum my fingers against the armrest. “But I’m trying to keep my emotions in check. I’m human, and sometimes, the adrenaline gets in the way. We’re all giving it our best out there, and I guess my best is a bit heated sometimes.” I give a small laugh. “But I am trying to be better.”

“So, it’s a conscious effort?” Michael asks, nodding.

“Something like that.” I tilt my head.

Livia shifts again, arms still crossed, but there’s something softer in her expression now.

Michael studies me, then grins. “Alright, let’s lighten things up. I’ve got a few rapid-fire questions for you.”

“Hit me.” I give the armrests a little slap, leaning back. I can do that.

“Favorite pre-game meal?”

“Steak. Rare.”

“Biggest hockey superstition?”

I think about it for a second.

“I always put my left skate on first.” Odd how I’ve never noticed until now.

“Go-to cheat meal?”

“Cereal and sushi.”

“Something you’re not good at,” Michael asks with a little smirk.

“Singing. I won’t be demonstrating,” I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “My sister threw a shoe at me one time.”

“That bad, huh?” Michael laughs.

“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s worse.”

Michael laughs harder. “Okay, okay, last one. If you weren’t playing hockey, what would you be doing?”

“Not sure,” I shrug with a shake of my head. “I never really had a plan B. Hockey was always the plan.”

“You wouldn’t want to be a doctor like your parents?” Michael asks, and I stiffen.

“No,” I answer truthfully. “My parents were damn good at what they did, and so am I. I don’t bother myself with what-ifs.”

For a second, there’s silence. Even Livia seems caught off guard.

“Well, good thing it worked out for you.” Michael nods with a smile.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

The moment the interview wraps up, Livia is on her feet.

I watch as she thanks Michael, shaking his hand like the perfect PR pro she is, all polished smiles and firm nods. But as soon as we exit the room, she turns to me, her eyes flashing.

She takes three quick steps forward, stopping just shy of my space like she’s physically stopping herself from grabbing me by the hoodie and shaking me.

“What the hell was that?” she demands as we walk toward the parking lot.

“What?” I arch a brow.

“That! You…” She gestures wildly toward the building. “You were actually…nice.”

“Were you hoping I’d punch him?” I smirk.

“No, but I expected you to be a little bit of an asshole, at least. You were charming.”

“Charming, huh?” I drag a hand over my hair. “You think I’m charming, Liv?”

She blinks like she just realized what she said. “That’s not…”

“Why are you blushing?” I furrow my brows with a smile.

“I am not.” She makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

“You are.” I take a slow step toward her, crowding her just enough that she has to tilt her chin to keep glaring at me. “Should I behave more often? Or would you miss my bad attitude?”

“I would love for you to behave more often.” Livia glares, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“You seemed to like my bad behavior yesterday.” I grin.

She presses her lips together to keep herself from smiling, but her cheeks betray her, turning pink.

And fuck, it makes her even cuter.

I reach up, toying with the end of her blonde hair before I tuck a loose strand behind her ear.

“Let’s go.” I take her hand, leading her to my car, knowing the club still hasn’t sorted out the leasing on hers.

“Go where?”

“I’ll drop you off,” I offer as I unlock my Porsche.

“Rowan…” Her brows pull together.

“After you.” I hold the door open for her.

She suspiciously eyes me but slides into the seat anyway, and I don’t miss the way her lips purse as she fights back a smile.

As soon as I shut her door and round the car, I can already feel her staring at me.

“What?” I ask as I slide into the driver’s seat.

“Why do I feel like you’re up to something?” She narrows her eyes.

“I wanna have dinner with my favorite PR rep after a successful interview,” I say as I pull out of the lot.

“I’m the only PR rep you have,” Livia scoffs.

“Exactly.”

She exhales, shaking her head, but I can tell she’s fighting back another smile.

The drive is quiet except for the occasional chirp of Livia’s phone as she answers emails and arranges more interviews for the rest of the team. I can feel her stealing glances at me from time to time, but she doesn’t question where we’re going. Not yet.

It’s only when I turn into the long, private driveway and pass the security that she stiffens.

I don’t say anything. I just keep driving up toward the house.

Livia slowly lowers her phone.

“Um.” She glances around, taking in the massive, gated entrance and long stretch of pavement leading to my house. “Rowan?”

“Yeah?” I keep my face neutral.

“Where the hell are we?” She shifts in her seat.

“My place.” I glance at her like it’s obvious.

“Your place ?” She blinks.

She stares at me like I’ve just told her I’m secretly a lizard person.

“Rowan.” Her voice rises slightly. “You said you were dropping me off.”

“Did I?” I smirk.

“Yes!” She makes a strangled noise.

“I said we were getting dinner.” I pull up to the circular driveway, killing the engine before turning to her.

“And we couldn’t do that in a restaurant?” Her eyes narrow.

“Could’ve.” I shrug. “Didn’t want to.”

Her mouth opens, then closes.

“You…” She throws her hands up. “You can’t just kidnap me, Rowan.”

“You got in the car willingly, baby.” I grin, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“And if I say I want to leave?” she groans, rubbing her temples.

I lean over, bracing one hand on the console between us, bringing my face close to hers.

“Then I’ll take you home. But we both know that’s not what you want.”

She swallows, her pulse visible at the base of her throat. She exhales, long and slow, before throwing me the world’s most skeptical look.

“Fine.”

That’s all I need.

I hop out of the car, coming around to open her door before she can even try to protest again.

Livia steps out, her eyes immediately scanning the house.

“Jesus, this is…” She lets out a breath, taking in the glass walls, sleek modern architecture, and wide stone steps leading up to the grand entrance. “This is ridiculous.”

“So, you like it?” I ask, guiding her toward the front door.

“I hate that I like it,” she scoffs.

“Then you’re gonna hate how much you’re about to love the inside.” I chuckle, pushing the door open for her.

She stops dead in the foyer, her head tilting back as she takes in the high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the grand staircase, the modern art pieces on the walls that I didn’t pick out.

“What the hell is this?” Her voice comes out slow like her brain is buffering.

“My house.” I shrug.

“No, this is not a house,” she says, still frozen in place. “This is some billionaire’s sex den.”

I bark out a laugh, but she’s not done.

“You have a chandelier the size of my bathroom.”

“That’s dramatic,” I scoff, closing the door behind me.

“That thing could kill someone.” She whirls on me, pointing a finger at the crystal chandelier hanging above the entryway.

“Only if it falls.” I give her my best grin before walking past her, urging her to follow me.

“And how exactly did you get this place?” she asks from behind me. “This isn’t just hockey.”

“I own a real estate agency with Damien and Ares,” I throw over my shoulder.

“I should’ve Googled you harder,” she sighs. “Wait, do you have staff?”

“Yeah.” I laugh, enjoying this way too much.

“Like, maids? And a chef?” Her jaw drops.

“A housekeeper comes by a few times a week.” I stop in front of the bar, turning to face her. “I got a guy who takes care of my cars and security. And yeah, I have a chef who comes from time to time when I don’t feel like cooking.”

Livia drags a hand down her face.

“You have a chef for when you don’t feel like cooking?”

“Relax, hellcat.” I push off the bar, strolling toward her. “I’ll tell him to come and make you something if you want.”

“You’re not dragging the poor man here just to cook for us.” She levels me with a look as if I’m not paying him to do it.

“We’ll just order takeout.” I chuckle, shaking my head. I pull out my phone.

“What are you hungry for, baby?” I step closer, my voice dropping. “I know what I’m hungry for.”

Her breath hitches.

Got her.

Before she can combust, I hand her my phone with the food app pulled up. “Pick something.”

Thirty minutes later, we take our food outside, the air warm against my skin as I lead Livia to the poolside dining area. The infinity pool glows a soft blue in the setting sun, stretching toward the edge of the hill, making it look like it spills straight into the city below.

Livia sits next to me, kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs onto the chair, looking way too comfortable in my space like she belongs here. Like she’s been here a hundred times before. And I love it.

I pass her the takeout container, watching as she picks at the food, her expression quiet, different from before.

“What? I arch a brow. “Still worried that my chandelier might kill you on the way out?”

“No.” She huffs a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ve already accepted that you live like a Bond villain. It’s fine.”

I smirk, but she’s still playing with her food, not really eating.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I tilt my head.

“It’s just…” She exhales, setting down her chopsticks. “This is so different from where I’m from.”

“Yeah?” I lean back in my chair, studying her.

She nods. “I grew up in a small rural farming town.” She half-smiles, but there’s something tight in it. “Nobody leaves. Nobody does anything big. You’re just born there, you grow up there, and then you die.”

I don’t say anything. I just let her talk. This is the first time she’s opening up to me, and I’m afraid to even breathe too hard in case I scare her.

“My parents didn’t want me to come to LA,” she admits. “They told me I’d fail. That I’d come crawling back, beg for a job at the ranch, and settle down with some nice, safe guy like I was supposed to.”

Her voice tightens, her fingers pressing onto the table.

“But I don’t want that life. I hate the idea of just existing, never pushing for more, never dreaming bigger.” She looks up at me. “I wanted more. So, I left. And if I don’t make this work, if I don’t prove to myself that I can do it, then I’ll be exactly what they said. I’ll be a failure.”

A beat of silence stretches between us, the city lights flickering in the distance as the sun sets. That explains her determination and her need to prove herself, no matter how big the room or the audience.

I stare at her, feeling something tighten in my chest.

Because fuck . I know that feeling.

“I get it.” I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Mansion with a Personal Chef.” She scoffs.

“No. I mean, I really get it.” I shake my head.

Livia stills, eyes searching mine as I set my chopsticks down.

“As you know, my parents were both doctors,” I say, my voice even. “Good ones. Respected. The kind of people look up to.”

Livia sets her food down and looks at me with a focus I’ve never seen. Shit. I force myself to keep going.

“They wanted Avery and me to follow in their footsteps, go to med school, have real careers. It didn’t matter to them that Avery wanted to keep figure skating, and I…well, all I ever wanted to do was play hockey. ” I let out a dry laugh. “To them, hockey was just supposed to be a hobby. Something to keep me busy. And when I started getting serious about it, when I told them I wanted to play for real, they shut that shit down fast.”

Livia watches me, completely silent.

“When I got my first AHL deal, they told me to quit,” I continue. “Said I was throwing my life away and threatened to kick me out if I didn’t turn it down.” My jaw flexes at the memory.

“So, I left first. I was young and cocky as hell. Playing hockey was all I wanted to do with my life.”

Her lips part slightly.

“The local media found out about the fallout, and they ate that shit up. They painted my parents as the heartbroken intellectuals and me as the reckless, spoiled kid ruining their perfect image. It almost ruined my career before it even had the chance to take off. Every interview turned into a fucking therapy session. Does it hurt that your parents don’t support you? Do you regret choosing hockey over your family?” I let out a bitter chuckle. “It shredded the last remaining hopes of me and my parents making up.”

“And then, one day, they tried.”

“What do you mean?” Livia tilts her head slightly.

“They reached out.” My throat tightens, but I force myself to keep talking. “It was years later, and I was already drafted into the NHL. I had made a name for myself in the league, and I guess…I don’t know, maybe they had regrets, maybe they wanted to fix things. They texted me that they were coming to my game. That they wanted to see me play.”

Livia’s expression shifts like she already knows where this is going. Maybe she does if she googled it.

I take a shaky breath, closing my eyes. I hate going back there.

“They never made it.” My jaw clenches. “Their car crashed on the way to LA. My father died at the scene, and my mother on the way to the hospital. And I played the whole fucking game, not even knowing.”

Silence. The kind that presses against my ribs, suffocating.

“Oh my god,” Livia whispers, her hand going up to her mouth.

“I didn’t even text them back,” I admit, my voice hollow as I fight to keep the tears in. “I saw the message, and I fucking ignored it. I thought it was too little, too late. And now?” I force a bitter laugh. “Now, I don’t even know what they would have said. If they were really proud, or if they just wanted to tell me, one last time, that I fucked up. And this…this guilt is eating me alive. I can’t stand it when people ask about them. I can’t stand any of it, Livia. It took losing them to realize that all the bullshit and stubbornness wasn’t worth it. That there’s not always going to be more time to make things right. At the end of it all, I loved my parents. But it was too late.”

I hate the way something in my chest feels like it’s cracking open under her gaze.

I clear my throat and take a deep breath.

“That’s why Avery lived with me before she moved in with Damien.” My voice is rougher now. “She was just out of high school when it happened. I wasn’t gonna let her go back to an empty house after that. So, I moved her in with me. Kept her close.” I exhale, shaking my head. “Became way too overprotective, too controlling, and didn’t know how to stop until Damien and Ares opened my eyes. I was terrified that something would happen to her and I’d be powerless to help. Just like I was powerless to help my parents. Fuck, I was oblivious; I didn’t even know they’d passed until after. The press circled me like never before; cameras flashed in my face, and reporters shouted at me. That’s how I found out they died. They had found out first. And they got exactly what they wanted. They got my reaction on camera.”

Livia blinks, her lips parting slightly. Her eyes are full of unshed tears.

“That’s why you hate the press,” she says softly.

“That’s why I hate the press,” I confirm, nodding. “That’s why I hate PR. I’ve always said it’s the worst part of my job. These people don’t care about the truth. They just want a story.”

Livia doesn’t say anything. But I see the shift in her expression. Her gaze softens, and her posture relaxes just a little.

“I try not to talk about them,” I tell her. “Not publicly. Not at all.” I glance at her, my voice quieter.

“Why are you telling me?” she asks, but it’s not accusatory. It’s curious.

“I guess I wanted you to know.” I shrug.

Her throat bobs, and for the first time since we sat down, she looks genuinely speechless.

And then, finally, she exhales.

“Rowan.”

Just my name. Just that. But it feels like something heavier, something real.

“Now, you get why that first interview was so fucking annoying.” I shake my head, forcing a smile.

“It makes me appreciate what you did today even more.” A small smile tugs at her lips, but her eyes still hold something deeper. Something warm.

“Yeah?” I hold her gaze.

“Yeah.” She nods. “After the first interview, I didn’t understand why you went off like that. That night, I found out about your parents, but I didn’t know the whole story, Rowan. I didn’t know that…” she falters, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry.”

Her small hand rests on top of mine, warm and reassuring.

For a second, neither of us moves. Just sitting there, watching each other, the tension shifting into something different. Something softer.

I hook a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to me.

“I like seeing you like this,” I murmur, running my thumb along her jaw.

“Like wh—”

I kiss her, silencing her. She stiffens for a moment before her soft lips start moving against mine.

Her fingers clutch at my hoodie, pulling me closer as I lean down, deepening the kiss. She tastes like soy sauce and something equally sweet, and I groan against her mouth, angling my head to drink her in. She exhales sharply, parting her lips, and I take it, sweeping my tongue against hers, kissing her deeper, slower. Livia presses closer, her body tilting up toward me, her nails curling into my hoodie more.

Her breath is still uneven as I pull back and look at her. Her eyes flicker open, dazed and wide like she’s still catching up to what just happened.

“You good, baby?” I smirk, brushing my thumb against her cheek.

She blinks and then sucks her bottom lip between her teeth with a smile.

I run a hand up her arm, watching her lips part.

“Your parents were wrong. You’re not going to fail.” I keep my voice steady.

She blinks up at me, lips parting slightly.

“You’re already proving them wrong.” I tilt my head. “You came out here with nothing but a dream, and now you’re running PR for a fucking NHL team and doing a damn good job at it.” My voice softens. “You’re not going back, Livia. This is where you belong, with us. With the risk of stroking your ego, the guys won’t shut up about you. You’re part of the team now. Part of the family.”

She just stares at me, looking completely caught off guard.

And for the first time since I met her, she has nothing to say.

“No snarky comeback?”

“Not this time.” She lets out a soft laugh, her expression still dazed, still off-balance. “Thank you.”

I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering for just a second before pulling back.

“You smell like soy sauce,” I tease her with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Oh my god, you ruin everything.” She shoves me with a laugh, but I grab her hand and pull her back against me.

“Let me ruin you,” I murmur, my lips an inch away from hers as I slide my hand up her thigh.

“You’re insatiable,” she breathes, her chest rising with a deep breath.

“And you’re brilliant,” I say with a twitch of my lips.

And it’s my turn to be caught off guard when her hands yank on the front of my hoodie, pulling me into a kiss.