Page 11

CHAPTER 11

ELLE

T he morning after feels strangely surreal, like waking up from a vivid dream that leaves you unsure of where reality begins. I’m at work—somehow—and the memory of last night is still a blur of headlights, ice, and adrenaline. Hayden insisted I take a cab, her mom-voice kicking in the moment I tried to protest.

The second I stepped out of the car, it was like someone had activated a GPS tracker. Pete was already at the back entrance, waiting with the kind of grim determination that makes you feel like you’re starring in an action movie. He didn’t say much, just nodded, opened the door, and walked me to my office like I might shatter if left unattended.

Inside, it’s no better. Sutton has called at least three times before nine, each conversation a blend of concern and her signature over-the-top flair. “Elle, you’re lucky you didn’t become a hockey rink pancake! Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor again? Or a therapist? Or both?”

Meanwhile, Ben and Cannon are doing a bad job of pretending they’re not hovering. They exchange glances every time I so much as shift in my chair, like they’re afraid I’ll keel over. It’s sweet, in a slightly overbearing way, but their constant concern is making me more self-conscious than I care to admit.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Ben asks for the second time in fifteen minutes, his voice low, like he’s testing the waters. “No dizziness? No nausea?”

I close my laptop and lean back, exhaling slowly as I rub the bump on my head. It’s swollen, tender to the touch, but nothing too severe. The doctors already told me I’m not concussed, but I know better than to dismiss it. “I’m fine, Ben. My side’s a little sore, my head has a lump, but I’m lucky.”

Cannon leans forward, his brow furrowed. “And the headache? Is it lingering?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse after a late night out. I swear, if you two don’t stop hovering, I’m going to call in a nurse to get you off my back.”

Ben and Cannon exchange a look, but neither of them backs off. They’re both still and focused, scrutinizing me like I’m a delicate piece of glass.

The door creaks open, and Pete steps in, his face tight. Sweet Pete. I think I scared him, too. He’s not been himself since I arrived. Ben, the ever-intense one, immediately straightens in his chair, his gaze snapping to Pete.

“Pete,” Ben snaps, his voice carrying the weight of his frustration. “Make sure the salt trucks are out there. It’s still icy in the lot, and I don’t need a repeat of yesterday.”

Pete, who’s generally cool-headed, hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line before he nods. “I’ve already called them, Ben. They’ll be here soon.”

Ben leans back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s fighting a headache of his own. “Sorry, I...everyone’s on edge today. We can’t afford to have another incident. Not after yesterday.”

Pete glances over at me, his eyes softening a fraction. “You need anything, Elle?”

I give him a half-smile. “I’m fine. Thanks, Pete.”

Ben exhales sharply. He lets the air settle for a moment before he shifts his gaze back to Pete, his voice quieter. “I know I’m edgy and I’m sorry.”

Cannon shifts in his chair, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I think we all are.”

I notice the way Ben clenches his jaw, the way his fingers tap against his knee as he tries to rein in what he’s dealing with, and I get it. Boy do I ever.

Pete steps forward, his demeanor calming down as he looks at Ben, aiming to please and placate. “I’ll check with the truck drivers personally, make sure they’re on their way.”

Ben nods, but he doesn’t look entirely relieved. “Thanks.” He exhales again, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get through today, you guys. One step at a time, right?”

Pete’s trademark grin is back. “We all rise togeth?—”

Cannon’s arm shoots up. “Nope!”

Pete shoots Cannon a side-eye, but leaves as quickly as he arrived, the door clicking shut behind him, and the three of us are left in silence for a beat.

“I’m fine, you know,” I say, breaking the quiet tension. “I can handle this. I’ve been through worse.”

Ben’s expression softens, but only a little. “I’m taking you at your word.” A beeping tone signals a text, followed by Ben grabbing his phone from his desk and scanning the screen. “Sutton’s asked me to come to her office for a quick meeting.”

“Go,” Cannon says, waving his arm toward the door. “Elle and I can get the guys started with drills, right, Elle?”

I nod, sitting up a little taller. “Sure can.”

Ben’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. “I want you gone at lunchtime.”

“You’re going to make me go home?”

“I will drive you there if I have to, but yes. You will go home and rest,” he calls out over his shoulder as he leaves with Cannon right behind him.

I stand up and stretch, the ache in my head reminding me that yesterday’s scare still lingers. But, I can’t let the team see that I’m rattled. I start heading toward the rink, pulling open the door and stepping into the cold air, the sound of skates against ice filling the arena.

I take a few steps when I hear Dixon’s voice behind me, rough but with an edge of concern. “Hey, Elle, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I turn to face him, trying to keep my tone steady, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “Thanks to you.”

Dixon’s eyes lock on mine, his brows furrowed in that familiar, guarded way. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“I’m good. No concussion, just a bump.” I hold his gaze. “Hayden tells me you were at the hospital?”

Dixon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his cheeks flushing pink as he nods. Talk about curiosity killing the cat. I’ve been waiting since she told me last night to ask him why he was there. Savior complex? Sad I wasn’t hit?

“I was. I––” He reaches out, and for a split second, it’s as if he might take me in his arms. However, just as fast as it almost happened, he drops his arms down and stands stiffly. “How’s your side?”

“It’s good,” I say, patting his bicep, because I apparently have zero impulse control. The moment my fingers press into the hard muscle, I second-guess every decision I’ve ever made. Why did I do that? I love biceps, that’s why. I can’t help it, my hand is drawn to ones like this like a magnet. Especially the kind Dixon has, sculpted and strong. They look like they were designed specifically to tempt me into bad decisions.

But he doesn’t seem satisfied. I still push forward, already thinking about the drills we need to run, what I need to address before practice. I step around him, wanting to press about him being there last night but I don’t. If he wants to tell me he can, so instead I stay the course and continue toward the ice.

However, Dixon has other plans as he follows me, his tone harder now. “You don’t have to act like nothing happened. You’re not invincible, you know.”

I stop, spinning around to face him, a little annoyed. “I know I’m not, and I also know exactly what I’m doing, Dixon. I don’t need you hovering.”

His jaw tightens, and I see the defensive walls go up. “You think I’m hovering? You were almost hit by a truck yesterday, Elle. Do you think I’m not going to hover?”

“That was yesterday.” Even as I say the words, I want to scold myself. Was I affected by the near-death experience of it all? Of course I was, but I don’t need to unpack it here. And with Dixon of all people. I need to keep going. So, I fold my arms, glaring at him. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m fine. We’ve got drills to run, and you’re not getting out of them just because you think I need some special treatment.”

Dixon’s nostrils flare, his posture rigid with frustration. “I’m not treating you like glass, but I’m not going to stand here while you brush off what happened.”

“I’m well aware of what happened,” I snap. “But that doesn’t mean I need to be monitored.”

“You think I’m trying to monitor you?”

“Yes,” I say, tossing my hands in the air, exasperated. This man makes me so crazy, I both want to shake him and pull him close to me at the same time. “I’m lucky and thankful that you were there yesterday. If you hadn’t been, who knows what would have happened, but why were you at the hospital too?”

Wasn’t I just telling myself a moment ago that I was going to let him come to me when he was ready? I guess I like options, and I love having the option to change my mind.

“Because I wanted to be there.” Dixon’s eyes widen with surprise as he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “I was trying to help, like I am now.”

“Help?” I shoot back. “By treating me like I’m incapable of doing my job?”

“You are overthinking this.” He takes a step toward me, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe I was simply checking on you and want to make sure your head is in the game today.”

“Ah-ha.” I wag a finger in the air. “There it is. Are you calling it back to the article?”

Dixon’s hands form fists, then flex outward again by his side as he closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I really wish you could understand that I’m coming from a good place.”

“You need to take care of yourself, Dixon.” My heart races, irritation bubbling up into something deeper. It’s as if every emotion in my body is rising to the top, like cream in milk. I’m usually an expert at keeping my own feelings in check, but I’ve obviously hit my limit. “Stay in your own lane.”

“Stay in my own lane?” He glares at me, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Oh, so now we’re playing that game? You have no idea what it’s like?—”

I cut him off. “I know exactly what it’s like. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with the dumpster fire that life hands us sometimes, but you’re not the center of the Universe. Get. Over. Yourself.”

For a moment, we just stand there, inches apart, our breath coming in quick bursts, our words sharp as knives. The tension between us is so thick I can barely breathe. My shoulders rise and fall in unison with his with each inhale and exhale we take, like a drumbeat. And then, I notice it, or rather them.

The press huddles near the entrance of the rink, a couple of cameras trained in our direction. “Are they always around?” I ask, my tone low yet incredulous.

“No, but they’ve made a point of being around more often ever since we brought in a certain defensive coach,” he sniffs.

Not good. Last thing I need is for the local press to toss up a picture of me arguing with Dixon for the world to see.

I turn abruptly, grabbing his arm and pulling him with me. “Come with me,” I say, my voice tight. “We’re not doing this in front of those guys.”

Dixon barely reacts as I tug him out of their line of sight and toward the nearest storage room, the door shutting behind us with a soft click. He’s still breathing heavily, and I can feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, mixing with my own frustration.

We stand there in the dim room, the silence between us deafening. I can’t stand it anymore.

“What is going on with you?” I mutter, breaking the silence.

“You’re the one who’s overreacting,” he snaps back.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. “Look, we’re not getting anywhere with this. We need to fix whatever this is between us if we’re going to get along.”

“Fine.” Dixon’s expression hardens, but something else flickers in his eyes, something I can’t quite place. “Let’s fix it.”

“Okay.”

He takes a step closer. “Any suggestions?”

We’re standing so close now, the air between us charged, the tension mounting with every breath we take. I know I should pull back, end this before it escalates, but instead, I find myself taking a step closer. I don’t know why I do it, but I’m not thinking clearly anymore. It could be the whiff of sandalwood coming from Dixon’s cologne, it’s like catnip.

“I have ideas.” Dixon’s eyes flicker down to my lips. My traitorous hand automatically slides to his chest, operating on its own accord as if someone else was pulling a string. The warmth of his body is like fire under my fingertips, and I’m okay if I’m the moth coming in because of the flame. His heart races, like mine, and I can feel the muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt flex as I touch him.

His breath hitches, his jaw tightening like he’s holding himself back from something, but it’s too late. I don’t know why nor do I know what’s happening, I can’t even understand what exactly possesses me, but before I can stop myself, I’m on my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his. It’s hesitant at first. Soft, tentative, but then it deepens, the moment expanding in a rush of heat and need.

His hand finds the back of my neck, fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer. I can feel his breath on my lips, feel the way his body tenses at first, like he’s unsure whether to pull away or give in. But then his delicious lips start to move with mine, slow and hungry, like he’s been waiting for this, too. His fingers slide down my back, over the curve of my spine, and I gasp into the kiss, arching against him.

He pulls away, maneuvering his lips to the soft flesh of my neck now, trailing a line to my earlobe, every breath searing my skin and making it feel alive. I let out a sigh as his hand grips my hip, pulling me hard against his body.

The feel of him, his strength, his warmth, the solidness of Dixon makes my body hum with a mixture of desire and something deeper. I can taste the bitterness of the fight we just had, the frustration we both carry like medals, but there’s a softness now, too, a tenderness underneath. He’s kissing me like he wants to put all his emotions into it. Anger, confusion, maybe even regret…and I’m kissing him back with everything I’ve got, like I’m trying to answer every unspoken question in the space between us.

His thumb brushes against the curve of my jaw, tracing the line of my face like he’s memorizing me. The touch is so tender, it almost breaks me. I press myself closer, needing to feel every inch of him, my fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, the roughness of his stubble. He smells like ice and something more, something all Dixon. It’s sharp, familiar, intoxicating. Delicious.

I don’t know how long we stay like this, locked in the moment, but it feels like time stops. It’s dizzying, overwhelming. His touch, his lips, the way he holds me as if I’m something precious, but also something he’s been waiting to claim.

Finally, I pull back, breathless, my chest heaving as I try to steady myself. His forehead rests against mine, and for a second, neither of us moves.

“What was that?” he asks, his voice rough, a little disoriented.

I can’t find the words to answer right away. I don’t even know what to say, because to tell the truth, I’d like answers too. What was that? It felt like too much. Oh boy, way too much, but also not enough, because here I am wanting more.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my fingers still lingering on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips.

His hand is still on my back, pulling me a little closer and tightening his grip, like he’s reluctant to let go. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except feel. His thumb moves gently, grazing my skin where his hand rests, a touch so tender it almost breaks me.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I say, almost to myself. “And I should not have done that . This is a mess.”

Dixon doesn’t pull away, but I can feel the shift in his energy, like he’s struggling to figure out what just happened between us as much as I am.

“You’re right,” he says softly, but there’s no anger in his voice anymore, only what I would call rawness. “It’s a mess. But maybe we needed to get messy.”

For a moment, I’m afraid to move, afraid to break the fragile thread we’re hanging by. But then I pull away, only slightly, my hand lingering on his chest for just a second longer than I should.

His eyes are still on me, searching, like he’s trying to read something in my expression.

For a second, it feels like the world is holding its breath, or at least the two people who are in this world I call a storage room, and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, we’ve crossed a line we can’t come back from.