Page 16 of From Ice to Home (The Heart of a Ranger #1)

The sound of footsteps on the stairs draw all our attention.

My heart stumbles when Hannah walks into the kitchen.

Her long blonde hair is still damp, like she just stepped out of the shower.

She’s wearing a loose camp T-shirt over denim shorts, her feet bare and silent on the tiles.

Her expression shifts from confusion to something entirely unreadable.

“Lucas…” Hannah’s eyes are wide, her voice soft and anxious. Essie is behind her, her attention razor focused on the two of us. “What are you doing here?”

I get up from my seat, careful not to bump the table when I do so.

Essie looks between us, like she’s waiting for some kind of bomb to explode.

Her expression is a mix of curiosity and sympathy as she looks between the two of us.

Talking in front of her entire family is not ideal, but if this is the only chance I’ll get—I’m going to take it.

“I had to see you, Hannah,” my voice sounds too desperate to my own liking, and I clear my throat. “We have things we need to talk about.”

She starts shaking her head, taking a step backward like she’s trying to create more space. “Not now,” she says, refusing to meet my gaze. “I have to finish getting ready and then we have to go to the campsite. I’ll have to catch up with you some other time.”

Her words don’t make sense at all. How can she be so calm and dismissive? A week ago she held my hand like she never wanted to let go. She kissed me senseless on the Strip. She stood in front of me, made vows with me, married me.

And now she can’t even look at me.

“Are you serious right now, Sanders?” My tone is a bit sharp, but the unbelief and frustration has reached its level. “I couldn’t find you for a week, and now you want to bail on me again?”

Hannah’s gaze slips to her father for a second and my jaw tightens.

We’re not going to be able to have a meaningful discussion about this if she hasn’t even told her family yet.

The feelings swirling around inside of me feels strange to the usual confidence I carry when on the ice.

When I’m playing, I know who I am and what my role is.

My next move, my goal—it all makes sense.

But right now? I have no idea who I need to be, who she wants me to be.

I’m not just her ex-boyfriend anymore, I’m her husband. Her secret husband.

“Hannah?” Pastor Mark asks, straightening from where he’s leaning against the counter, his calm presence filling the kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s nothing—“ she starts, shaking her head.

“Just talk to him and get it over with,” Essie cuts in from behind her, clearly as frustrated by Hannah’s silence as I am.

“Stay out of it, Essie,” Hannah whips toward her sister, her eyes sparking with frustration.

“How can I?” she asks, immediately defensive, her hands on her hips. She gestures toward me. “There's a giant hockey player in the middle of our kitchen.”

“Essie, that’s enough,” Pastor Mark’s voice cuts through the drama. “Why don’t you help your mom get the car ready, we’ll leave in a few minutes.”

“But—“

“Now,” Pastor Mark says, gently and firmly.

Essie groans and stomps toward the door.

“It’s nice to see you again Lucas,” Mrs. Sanders says before following her youngest daughter from the kitchen, trays of snacks in hand.

My gaze slips to Hannah, she’s chewing her bottom lip, momentarily torn.

“Dad,” she says finally. “I need a moment alone with Lucas, please.”

Pastor Mark glances between us, his brows furrowing with concern. It’s strange, unsettling even, to see him looking at me like that. He’s never looked at me like that before. Not even when I was a teenage boy who sat too close to his daughter on the couch.

He scratches his beard thoughtfully before nodding.

“I’ll give you five minutes,” he says, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Then we need to leave.”

“That’s fine,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

He walks out the back door, giving us one last look before leaving us alone. The kitchen feels empty, quieter, save for the heavy tension hanging between us. Hannah steps closer, her presence overwhelming in a way I can’t describe.

Despite the frustration and anger I’ve felt this week, seeing her in front of me now brings comfort and a sense of relief.

I’ve missed her this week and with her standing this close to me just cements the fact that I haven’t been dreaming about being with her.

My skin burns with the thought that she’s my wife—something I’ve barely had a chance to process properly.

She’s beautiful—that’s always been true. And now, after everything, her beauty hits me differently. Her hair catches the morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, and her green eyes, though clouded with worry, still hold the same kindness I’ve loved since we were teenagers.

God, please. I need Your help here. I need her.

“Let’s talk outside?” she says finally, her voice softer now, like she’s trying to hold back something deeper. She moves past me, her shoulder brushing against my arm so lightly it’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something in me.

I follow her through the house, toward the porch, where the morning air feels thick, heavier than it should. My stomach twists when she doesn’t stop on the porch to sit on the swing, but instead heads down the steps toward my truck.

This is not a good sign.

“Sanders—“ I finally find my voice. The need to intervene before she kicks me to the curb, beats strongly through me.

“Lucas, you can’t just come here unannounced.

” Her tone isn’t angry—more exasperated, like I’ve complicated something she was desperately trying to avoid.

“What did you think would happen? I didn’t answer your calls or texts for a reason.

You’re the last person I expected to show up at my doorstep. ”

Her words hit harder than an unexpected check to the boards. My own ego and pride flare up. This time I’m not cushioned by a helmet or the roar of the crowd. I’m standing here alone, vulnerable.

“Really, Hannah? The absolute last person?” I huff, looking toward my truck and wondering if I shouldn’t just get in and drive away.

Maybe I was wrong in coming here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t things that need to be figured out.

“I’m your husband. How could I possibly be the last person you expected to see? ”

“Would you keep it down,” she says, her voice tight and low, glancing back toward the house.

I follow her gaze to the window, where Essie’s face is barely visible behind the curtain. The moment she realizes we’ve spotted her, she lets the curtain drop, but it doesn’t take a genius to know she’s still watching.

Hannah turns back to me, her voice a near whisper. “I haven’t told anybody about what we did,” her words hurried and tense. “I need to find the right words, the right time.”

Her gaze flickers away from mine, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

She’s really trying to bury this, to act like it never happened, like I never happened. Placing my hands on my head, I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The reality of it all is hitting me hard…she’s running.

“So, this means nothing to you then?” My voice is quieter than I intended, but the hurt is there, plain and raw. I look at her, hoping for something—anything—but all I see are the tears of fear and regret filling her green eyes.

“Everything that happened was a lie?” I ask. “You regret all of it?”

I’m struggling to accept it. The woman who sat next to me in the restaurant, the one who laughed with so much freedom once we said ‘I do’, is not the woman staring at me now.

Her hand flies to her mouth as if to stifle a sob, and she shakes her head.

“Lucas…” she begins, her voice trembling. “We made a mistake last week. We acted impulsively, and look what it got us. In one night, we changed everything. Your entire life…mine. This isn’t right, and you know it.”

“I don’t know that.” My reply comes without hesitation because I believe it. We were impulsive, maybe even a bit reckless. But this…us…has never felt wrong.

“You do.” Her eyes search mine, begging me to see things from her perspective.

“Tell me why?” I demand, my voice thick with frustration and desperation. “Explain to me how this can’t be right. We might not have done this the right way, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be together.”

She looks away, her hands trembling at her sides. The morning breeze moves a strand of her golden hair across her face and she tucks it behind her ear. Her gaze meets mine again, this time with a deep sense of fear. Or regret.

“We got married after spending a few hours together,” she says, shaking her head again. “Lucas, we hardly know each other.”

“That’s not true, Hannah.” My voice rises slightly, not believing the words that are coming from her mouth. “You can say so many things about the two of us, but saying that I don’t know you?”

I step toward her, my hands finding her arms, my grip gentle but firm.

She shivers beneath my touch, tilting her head up to look me in the eye.

This close, my eyes run over every feature of her beautiful face…

every feature I’ve already memorized. The exact location of her freckles, the slight dip in her ch eek when she really smiles, the way her eyes shift to deep blue if she’s wearing darker clothes.

How can she stand there and tell me we don’t know each other?

“I know you, Sanders,” I whisper, wiping a tear with my thumb. “Don’t tell me I don’t.”

She shakes her head, her expression unreadable.

“I don’t know why you even want this,” she admits, her words landing like a punch to my gut.

“You have a perfect life in New York. You have your team, you’re on your way to win the playoffs, you have your entire career ahead of you.

This…” she exhales shakily, like she’s forcing herself to say the words, “this was just a set-back. Something that happened in Vegas while you were taking a few days off. It doesn’t mean anything. ”

“How could you think that?” I shake my head, stepping away from her, completely baffled.

“I don’t understand where this is coming from.

We’ve known each other our whole lives. Hell, we dated for two years before you called it quits.

How can you stand there and act like there’s nothing between us?

Like this was some kind of drunken mistake with a stranger? ”

“There’s nothing but a past between us,” she says, her tone resigned, her words like ice water over my hopes.

She knocks the wind out of me.

It’s clear now that I made a mistake coming here.

Maybe she got caught up in the moment last week, swept away by nostalgia and the thrill of seeing someone she once knew.

Or maybe that’s what happened to me. I got swept up in the hope that maybe God had answered my prayers and given me back the woman I’ve always wanted.

Maybe I was the only one who thought this meant something.

“If that’s the way you feel, then why are you still standing here, talking to me?” My voice is tight, the frustration now impossible to hide.

“Because we need to figure this out,” she says, her tone unsteady, her green eyes searching.

“What’s there to figure out, Hannah?” I ask, taking a step back, the space between us is already too big to fix right now.

“You already decided what you want. You’ve made that pretty clear.

And I guess I should honor your decision.

You don’t want this. You’ve never wanted this.

So why don’t we just get in touch with a lawyer and figure out our next step to undo this. ”

I move toward the truck, done with this conversation. I don’t know what else she wants from me. She doesn’t seem to want a discussion—a real discussion. She’s made up her mind.

“Lucas, wait,” she calls after me, her voice breaking, her eyes full of tears. “I just…I just want to go back to the way things were before all this.”

“That can’t happen,” I say, backing further away from her, straight toward the truck that’s waiting for me.

“No matter how much you wish it. It’s done.

I’m leaving tomorrow, and then I’ll get in touch with my lawyer in New York.

I’ll have to explain this to my manager and let the PR team try to get ahead of it.

Maybe they can help keep all of this quiet if that’s what you want. ”

Her lip trembles, but she doesn’t respond. I exhale sharply, pulling open the truck door. “If you want to sign papers and pretend none of this ever happened…” I pause, swallowing hard. “I guess I can’t stop you.”

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I start the ignition, the rumble of the engine breaking the thick silence. I pull away, not bothering to glance in the rearview mirror, knowing exactly what I’d see: the golden-haired girl standing there, telling me to leave again.

I’ve done this once too many times before.

But this time…this time it’s the worst.