Page 19

CHAPTER 19

DIXON

E lle asking me out is a boss move if I’ve ever seen one. No games, no tiptoeing around, just a straight-up invitation. She’s always been like that. Direct, confident. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about her, even when we were at odds.

And now, after a few back-and-forth texts, all somehow making me grin like an idiot, here I am, pulling up to her house. We agreed on keeping things low-key, heading somewhere out of the way. She suggested burgers, which just solidifies how cool she is. None of that “let’s make it weird and formal” crap. A burger and some conversation? Perfect.

I park the car and step out, nerves buzzing under my skin like they did the first time I suited up for a game. I mean, this is or could be a first date, right? I’m still weighing it out when the porch light flickers on. Elle opens the door, stepping out with her hair pulled back and a leather jacket slung over her shoulders. She looks relaxed, casual, and absolutely stunning.

“Hey,” she says, locking the door behind her. “Thanks for driving.”

“Any excuse to get out of town,” I reply, trying not to sound too eager. “You ready?”

She nods, and we head to the car. I open the door for her, because Nan drilled some manners into me, and then slide into the driver’s seat.

The drive is quiet at first, but not awkward. Elle fiddles with the radio, settling on a station playing classic rock. “You’re full of surprises,” I tease, shooting her a glance.

“You think I’m a pop music girl?” she fires back, raising an eyebrow.

“I think you’re a sexy mystery,” I say without thinking, and when her cheeks flush the palest of pinks, I grip the wheel tighter.

The rest of the ride is filled with easy banter, the kind that makes the miles blur together. By the time we pull up to the burger joint, I’m almost disappointed we’ve arrived.

“This is perfect,” Elle says, her eyes scanning the diner. “Exactly what I was hoping for.”

“Good,” I reply, parking the car. “Let’s see if their burgers live up to the hype.”

The inside of the restaurant is just as charming as the outside, with bright red vinyl booths, black-and-white checkered floors, and the smell of sizzling meat and French fries hanging in the air. A jukebox hums softly in the corner, adding to the old-school vibe.

We slide into a booth near the back, away from the other diners. The waitress, a cheerful woman who looks like she’s worked here forever, takes our order—two double cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes. Chocolate for her, vanilla for me.

When the food arrives, it’s everything a burger should be: perfectly messy with melted cheese dripping down the sides, crispy lettuce, and a soft sesame seed bun. The fries are golden and seasoned just right, and the milkshakes come topped with whipped cream and a cherry.

Elle takes a bite of her burger and groans. “Oh, this is so good.”

“I took a chance,” I say, smirking as I dig into mine. “I asked Ben where he goes for a burger, and this was his suggestion.”

“Five stars,” she mumbles, her eyes all but rolling into the back of her head. “Would come again.”

I see my chance to flirt here. “So, if it’s that easy with a burger, surely when I kissed you…”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile that lingers tells me I’m winning.

We’re halfway through the meal when her phone dings. She wipes her hands on a napkin and glances at the screen. Her brow furrows slightly as she reads the message, and I feel a flicker of irritation.

“Something important?” I ask, keeping my voice light, though I can feel my shoulders tense.

“No. It’s Eric,” she says, setting the phone face down on the table.

My fist resting on the table clenches and my jaw tightens, not that I can help it. “What does he want?”

She notices my reaction, her gaze flicking to my hand. “It’s nothing. Leftover drama I didn’t ask for.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the thought of any guy bothering her gets to me, but this guy? Eric has the power to make my blood simmer. In fact, the man has lived rent free in my head for a while now.

“You know, I heard him that day,” I say, looking at Elle pointedly. Time to come clean. Recognition flashes, and I know she’s in tune with the day I mean, but I remind her anyway. “At the diner. Skills camp. You had a video call.”

“I wondered,” she says, her voice soft. “It was embarrassing to have him speak to me like that, but it did bring the situation to light, at least for me, that we had big issues we needed to address.”

“What was his deal?” I ask, leaning back but not relaxing.

Elle sighs, fiddling with the straw in her milkshake. “At first, he seemed great. He was charming, funny, and smart. Always knew the right thing to say; in hindsight, I know it was manipulation now. But as time went on, he got suspicious of everything. He didn’t trust me, and I never knew why. He’d accuse me of hiding things, of talking to other guys, of…I don’t even know. It was ridiculous and suffocating.”

Her voice grows quieter, and I lean closer to catch every word.

“It got to the point where he’d go through my texts and emails, looking for proof of something that wasn’t even there. It was nuts. Creepy, actually. I tried to talk to him about it, but he’d twist things around, say he was just ‘protecting our relationship.’” She shakes her head. “I finally had enough and broke up with him for my own sanity.”

I don’t realize I’m gripping my milkshake so hard until she reaches across the table and touches my hand. Her fingers are warm, grounding me.

“It’s over, Dixon. He’s not a problem anymore. I just…I don’t want you thinking I have this cuckoo ex still hanging around in my life. For some reason, since I started with the Renegades, he’s appeared again and wants one thing. A favor.”

I force myself to relax, but it’s not easy. The thought of someone treating Elle like that—of not trusting her, of making her feel like she had to prove herself—makes my stomach churn.

“He’s an idiot,” I say, my voice low and firm. “You deserve better than that.”

Her lips curve into a small smile. “Thanks.”

I lean back in the booth, watching Elle finish off the last of her fries and take another sip of my milkshake. I can tell she’s in her head so I reach out and touch her hand to bring her back to the present.

“Hey, you good?” I look down at her phone. “I’m sorry I asked about Eric.”

“It’s not that,” she says with a shake of her head. “Actually, Hayden came to mind.”

“Am I that boring?” I tease, happy to see a tiny smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

“Not at all,” Elle says, glancing down where my hand lingers on top of hers. “It’s about her mom. Hayden has this incredible way of coping. Every year, on my sister’s birthday, she set up this little tradition. She gets a red velvet cupcake with one candle in it so we can honor her. She says it’s her way of keeping the memory alive. It’s the sweetest, most thoughtful thing.”

“That’s…” I pause, struggling to find the right words. “That’s incredible. She sounds like she was someone special.”

“She was, and Hayden is,” Elle says, her smile full of pride. “It’s fresh on my mind because tomorrow’s my sister’s birthday and Hayden has already reminded me about ten times today to pick up the cupcake.”

I take that in, trying to imagine how hard that must be for both of them. But at the same time, it says a lot about Hayden—and about Elle. She’s done something right to help her niece grow into someone so thoughtful and strong.

“You’ve done an amazing job with her,” I say, meaning every word.

Elle tilts her head, studying me like she’s not sure how to take the compliment. Then she shrugs with a tiny smile. “We’ve figured it out together. She’s made it easy.”

I nod, letting her words sink in as we fall into a comfortable silence. She’s got this quiet strength about her, this love for her niece that makes me see her in a whole new light. And it’s hitting me harder than I expected.

This woman is incredible.

I watch her sip her milkshake, her grin soft and easy, and it’s like a punch to the gut. She’s not just impressive, she’s something else entirely.

And yeah, I might really be in trouble here.

* * *

As we push open the door to leave, the cool evening air hits us, and I’m about to make some lame joke about ordering another milkshake so we can hang out longer when a voice calls out behind us.

“Dixon Andrews?”

I turn, and there’s a guy in his twenties with his friend, both of them looking at me like they’ve just spotted Bigfoot, if Bigfoot were insanely good-looking and played hockey.

“Man, it’s you!” he says, his face lighting up. “This is crazy! I’m a huge fan. Can I get an autograph? And maybe a picture?”

I glance at Elle, who’s already taken a step back, her polite coach smile firmly in place. I don’t miss the slight raise of her eyebrow, though, like she’s saying, This is your circus, buddy.

“Sure,” I say, keeping it casual. “Got something to sign?”

The guy digs around, pulls out a crumpled napkin from his friend’s bag, and hands it over. I sign it quickly and hand it back, hoping this will be the end of it.

“Could we do a picture, too?” he asks, already holding up his phone. “I mean, my buddies are never gonna believe I ran into Dixon Freaking Andrews at some random burger joint.”

Before I can figure out how to make this less awkward, he looks at Elle and freezes like someone just hit him with a slapshot to the brain.

“Wait a second,” he says, pointing at her. “You’re Coach Carter!”

Elle’s smile tightens, and I swear I feel the tension ripple off her like heat waves. “Yep,” she says smoothly, but her tone has that edge that usually means someone’s about to run suicides at practice.

“You’re here with Dixon?” He looks between us, his brain clearly doing the math.

“I’m an old pro at photography, so I’m actually going to take the picture for you,” Elle says brightly, stepping forward and ignoring his question, all before I can even react. She plucks the guy’s phone out of his hand with a smile so sweet it could melt the ice at the arena.

“Wait, Elle—” I start, but she cuts me off with a quick, “Smile, Dixon.”

The guy beams, draping an arm around his buddy as they pose. I slap on my standard “fan photo” smile, though I’m mostly trying not to laugh as Elle angles the phone.

“Say cheese,” she chirps, snapping a couple of shots. Then she hands the phone back and nods briskly. “There you go. Have a good night!”

The guy looks like he wants to say something else, but Elle’s already pivoted on her heel, heading toward the door like a general leading a retreat.

Once we’re outside, I glance over at her, and the corners of my mouth twitch. “That was smooth.”

“I volunteered to take the picture,” she says, not missing a beat, “because if he’d asked me to be in it, things could’ve gotten messy. You’re welcome.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s some next-level strategy. You defused that like a pro.”

She arches an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “If this hockey thing doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll try bomb disposal. Or social media. That takes some strategy.”

“Well,” I say, grinning, “next time, I’ll make sure we pick a burger joint that requires a map and a compass to find.”

“Next time, huh?” she asks, her tone teasing, but there’s a flicker of something else there, too. Something that makes my chest tighten.

“If you’re lucky.” I shrug, keeping it light. “I mean, you did ask me out.”

“That’s how I roll, Dixon.” She rolls her eyes but laughs, and for a second, the awkwardness melts away.

But as we walk to the car, I can’t help glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. We might’ve dodged a bullet tonight, but this thing between us? I’m starting to understand that it’s a whole minefield, but it’s also one I don’t mind stepping right into if it means I get to keep seeing that smile.

As I pull out of the parking lot, Elle lets out a sigh so heavy it feels like it drops the temperature in the car. She leans her head back against the seat, staring out the window at the darkening sky.

“I should tell Sutton,” she says, almost to herself.

My hands tighten on the wheel. “Tell her what?”

“About…this.” She gives me a pointed look. “Us. Whatever this is.”

“Don’t,” I say quickly, too quickly. Her eyebrows shoot up, and I scramble to clarify. “Not yet, I mean. It’s not like we’ve done anything wrong.”

“Not yet,” she repeats, her tone flat, and I wince.

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “If we’re still feeling it out, why make it a thing before we know what we’re doing?”

“Because this kind of whatever we are involves more than simply ‘us’. There’s also Ben, and Cannon, and the rest of the coaching staff––but Sutton and I go way back.” Elle folds her arms across her chest, her lips pressed together in that way that says she’s already thinking ten steps ahead of me. “Sutton deserves to know. She’s my friend, Dixon. I wouldn’t even be here, in River City, if it weren’t for her.”

I glance at her, my stomach twisting. She’s got a point. Especially because Sutton’s the reason Elle’s coaching the Renegades in the first place.

“Well, wait.” I try to offer another way to look at it. “You did step in as a favor for her.”

“So that makes it okay?” She almost laughs. “Is that boy math?”

“No, but…”

“But nothing,” Elle continues, her voice soft but firm. “She trusted me to do right by the team, and now…” She trails off, shaking her head. “The last thing I want is for my name to be tied to some kind of scandal or for it to bring bad PR onto the Renegades.”

I pull onto the main road, chewing over her words. She’s right, she always is, but the idea of this thing between us getting dragged into the spotlight makes my chest tighten.

“Look,” I say after a moment, keeping my eyes on the road. “I get where you’re coming from. I do. But maybe we don’t need to jump straight to confessing just yet.”

She snorts softly, but it’s not her usual amused sound. “So your advice is to…wait? Hope no one notices the star player and the coach sneaking off to burger joints in the next town over?”

I risk a glance at her. “No. My advice is to figure out what this is before we tell the world.”

She doesn’t respond right away, and the silence stretches between us. Finally, she lets out another sigh, this one softer.

“I don’t like secrets,” she mutters.

“I don’t either,” I say, my voice low. “But I like the idea of losing you even less.”

That gets her attention. She turns to look at me, her eyes searching my face. Whatever she sees there must soften her resolve because she leans back in her seat, her arms dropping to her sides.

“Fine,” she says after a beat. “But if this blows up in my face, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” I say with a small smile, though my stomach’s still in knots.

As I turn down the road back toward her place, I can’t help but wonder if we’re both kidding ourselves. Secrets have a way of surfacing—and this one’s already starting to feel like a ticking time bomb.