Page 20

Chapter twenty

Alex

T he tires hum beneath us as we fly down the highway toward the retreat, the morning sun spilling gold over the dash. Parker’s driving like he’s got something to prove, weaving through traffic with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping a gas station coffee like it’s something precious.

"If they try to get me to catch one of you guys during a trust fall, I'm only catching the guys under 5'10" and weigh less than me." Parker says, eyes still fixed on the road.

"What happened to team spirit?" Connor asks.

"My back ached for days after that."

I chime in. "Are you sure you didn't hurt your back from some other activity, perhaps with Grace?"

"I don't kiss and tell, asshole."

Connor snorts from the passenger seat. "Poor Alex, living vicariously through Parker and Grace."

We’re still mid-laugh when the tires crunch over gravel and Parker pulls into the lodge driveway. The retreat’s only a half-hour outside Detroit, but it feels like a different world, with tall trees, quiet air, and a lodge that looks like someone built it from Pinterest boards and hunting lodge blueprints. There’s wood beams, a wraparound porch, fire pits, and cabins dotting the edge of a clearing.

As soon as we reach the parking lot, players start filing out of different cars. James has his duffel slung over one shoulder, already yelling across the lot to Ethan. Mikey’s balancing two coffee cups and a phone, muttering about Wi-Fi. And then I see her.

Nina.

She’s standing on the porch of the main lodge…hair piled up in some messy knot, clipboard in hand, wearing a fitted black tee and jeans that somehow manage to look both effortless and criminal. She’s smiling at something Coach says, her eyes sharp and focused, totally in charge.

And I feel that punch.

I get out of the truck, throw my duffel over my shoulder, and do my best to play it cool. But the second her eyes graze across me, all bets are off.

She nods when she sees me, quick and professional. No smile. No spark. But I can feel the hard-on in my pants start to move.

I head into the lodge to check in and swipe one of the cabins—first come, first served, and veterans get dibs. The keys are labeled by number. I grab Cabin 3.

Connor whistles when he peeks in. "Romantic getaway for one?"

"Better than listening to James snore."

We drop our stuff and head back out to the main lodge where Coach gathers the group.

"Alright, listen up!" he says, clapping once. "Today’s not about drills or stats. It’s about trust. About being a team when the puck’s not in play."

He nods toward Nina. "Doc’s got the playbook today. Try not to embarrass yourselves."

Nina clicks her pen. "We’re heading into the woods. No skates. No sticks. Just you, your partner, and your ability not to be a complete jackass."

Laughter breaks out. Even Coach chuckles.

She continues, "First challenge is a blindfold relay. We are doing a blindfold exercise again, because it needs work from when we did it on the ice. Here's how it works. One of you leads, the other’s blind. Your job is to guide your partner through a marked path using only your voice. Tell them exactly what to do—walk straight for about ten paces, turn around that big oak tree, circle the flower patch near the end, and return to the starting point. If they end up in the brush or wrapped around a tree, that’s on your guidance. Since we have an odd number, I’ll be jumping in too. Lucky you. Winners get points for prizes at the end of the retreat."

We split into pairs. I volunteer way too fast.

"Damn, Chadwick," James says. "You practically sprinted for that slot."

"I just don’t trust you not to walk me into a creek," I fire back.

Nina hands me a blindfold. "You’re up. Don’t sue me if you end up in the pond."

"If I go in, I’m dragging you with me."

I slide the blindfold on. Her voice floats to me, low and clear. "Two steps forward. Right. No, your other right, Captain Hotshot."

"Real professional."

"Real effective," she says, tapping my elbow to adjust. Her hand lingers half a second longer than it needs to. Not that I’m counting.

We finish without major injury. I pull the blindfold off and find her smirking.

"Didn't fall in the flowers. Good job," she says. "Your balance is slightly better than a baby giraffe."

"Flattering. Keep talking like that, and I’ll buy you dinner."

Her eyes spark, but she doesn’t bite.

The rest of the guys cycle through. Parker shouts at James. Mikey nearly trips over his shoelaces. Everyone’s laughing. Even Coach cracks a grin.

Connor and Dillon finish the course clean and fast, earning the loudest cheer. Nina nods, impressed.

"Alright," she says, gathering us again as we trek across the side of the lodge toward an open grassy field. "Time for round two. We’re playing Capture the Flag—yes, seriously. Two teams, one flag each, hidden somewhere in your half of the field. First team to capture the opponent’s flag and get it back to base wins. This isn’t just about speed. It’s about communication, trust, and strategy. Same principles we use on the ice—read the field, know your teammates, and stay sharp. And no, James, tackling isn’t allowed. Keep it clean."

The moment Nina calls it, the guys scatter into teams like it’s Game Seven. There’s trash talk, strategy huddles, and even James trying to smear mud under his eyes like war paint, until Parker smacks him with a pinecone.

The whistle blows and it’s chaos… pure, strategic, hilarious chaos. Ethan bolts down the field like he’s auditioning for a survival show. Connor and Mikey flank the left side, weaving like seasoned tacticians. I hang back, guarding our flag with Dillon and calling out positions.

"Dillon, back corner—James is circling behind!"

"I got him!" Dillon yells, intercepting with a fake-out that sends James crashing into a bush.

Nina’s voice carries from the sideline, laughing and directing. She’s everywhere, cheering, pointing, and adjusting the makeshift sidelines.

Then I switch to offense and charge into enemy territory, it’s like flipping a switch. Heart pounding. Focus locked. I dodge Parker, slip past Ethan, and snag their flag. The team yells as I cross the safe zone. Victory!

We're out of breath and soaking wet with sweat and dirt. But the vibe is perfect. Pure team magic.

"That’s what I’m talking about!" Coach hollers from the edge of the field. "Now that’s how you play with your head and your heart."

We high-five, smack shoulders, and talk smack.

This isn’t just fun. This is the glue.

And somehow, through the blur of it all, I catch Nina watching me again. And suddenly, Capture the Flag feels like a hell of a lot more than a game.

By the time lunch is called, the air feels different. Lighter. Like we’re all just kids again, playing a game with everything on the line and nothing to lose.

After lunch, we have a bit of downtime before the next round of activities. Coach gives the green light for everyone to hit the indoor pool for a casual team swim, which turns into a splash war within five minutes. James cannonballs like it’s an Olympic event, while Mikey tries, and fails to show off his backstroke. I stick to hanging out at the edge, keeping an eye on Nina, who stays poolside, grinning like she’s watching a pack of overgrown kids.

Coach makes the announcement right after everyone dries off. “Dinner’s at six. You jokers better show up clean. And be at the fire pit by eight sharp. We’ve got some evening activities planned."

And I can’t help but glance at Nina, wondering what kind of sparks are still waiting to fly before this night is over.

***

The bonfire crackles, spitting sparks into the navy sky as someone cranks up the portable speaker and starts a low playlist of old-school rock and moody acoustic covers. There’s beer. There’s laughter. And there’s a six-foot pyramid of wood blazing like we’re burning off the slump with smoke and stubbornness.

Parker sits beside the fire with a small brown bag tucked into his lap like it’s classified intel. He finally opens it and pulls out a clear plastic container, a box of graham crackers and some sticks.

James leans forward, suspicious. “What’s in the container?”

“Chocolate-stuffed gourmet mallows,” Parker says like it’s normal.

“Gourmet? Bro, this is a team retreat, not a bake-off,” Ethan groans.

“They were Bessie’s idea,” Parker shrugs.

Immediately, the chirping halts.

“Bessie?” James says. “Oh. Never mind. These are now officially adorable.”

Connor reaches over and steals one. “Tell her they are fire.”

“I will,” Parker says with a proud dad grin.

Lizzie passes a stick to Coach and gives him a side-eye. “You burn it, you eat it.”

Coach toasts it with mock solemnity. “I accept your terms.”

I glance to my right. Nina’s between me and Coach, long legs folded, her boots half-tucked beneath the bench. She’s wrapped in a cream knit sweater that keeps sliding off one shoulder, revealing a thin strap underneath and a hint of skin that’s gonna haunt me all damn night.

I nudge her knee with mine. “You’re judging my marshmallow skills, aren’t you?”

She barely turns her head. “You lit yours on fire on purpose.”

“It’s called caramelization.”

“It’s called sabotage.”

I smirk. “You say sabotage. I say culinary innovation.”

“You say a lot of things, Chadwick.”

“And yet, here you are. Sitting dangerously close,” I mumble under my breath.

“We are all sitting close. It's called a bonfire,” she deadpans, but I feel the brush of her knee shift just a little closer.

Ethan whistles. “Ooh, Alex, you just got burned by the Doc.”

"Maybe I like it hot."

Coach Stephens breaks in. "While we are roasting our desserts and each other, Nina is going to fill us in on tonight's activity."

Nina stands, brushing graham crumbs off her sweater, and holds up a small stack of cards. "Alright, gentlemen. Tonight’s game is called 'Pass the Question.' Each of you gets one card. It has a question on it. It may be personal, random, embarrassing...but nothing cruel. You answer it honestly, then toss it into the fire. No take-backs, no lying, and definitely no blaming me when you reveal something mortifying."

James groans. "What if I plead the Fifth?"

"Then you get two questions instead," Nina says, straight-faced. "Those are the rules. Now suck it up, Henderson."

"Are you in, too, Doc?"

"I will play it as well if you want."

I lean over, giving her a mock serious look. “No backing out now, Doc. If we’re all emotionally undressing around the fire, you’ve got to toss a layer too.”

James cackles. “Damn, Chadwick. That was poetic and threatening.”

The guys laugh as she starts passing out cards. "Parker, no editing. Ethan, no dramatic pauses. James... just try to act like a grown-up for five whole minutes."

"Wow," James mutters, flipping his card. "This already feels like therapy with s’mores."

The radio gets turned off and the game begins.

James pulls the first one. “What’s your most irrational fear?”

“Lettuce,” he says without hesitation.

A chorus of groans follows.

“No, for real,” James insists. “You ever see it wet and stringy, clinging to the side of a burger like it’s trying to escape? That’s sinister.”

“You need help,” Parker mutters.

“Pretty sure that’s why she’s here,” James replies, jabbing a thumb toward Nina.

Ethan reads his. “Most embarrassing moment.”

He sighs. “Junior year. Left my jockstrap at home. Borrowed one from the equipment guy who was like, sixty. Found out later it had his initials in Sharpie on the waistband. Mid-game, I took a hit, landed on my back, and my jersey rode up. Every girl in the stands saw ‘Big Ron’ tattooed across my hip bones.”

The fire circle explodes with laughter.

One by one, the cards go around. We hear about broken skates, high school crushes, missed flights, bad first dates, a terrible tattoo.

Then Nina pulls her card and lifts her eyebrows. “Great. Mine says: ‘What’s something people always get wrong about you?’”

The guys immediately start chiming in.

“Too easy,” James says. “They think you sleep in a library and dream in case studies.”

“I bet she alphabetizes her fridge,” Ethan adds.

Nina holds up a hand, smiling. “I do not. I use color-coded bins like a normal person.”

The group laughs.

She looks down at the card again, then back up. “But seriously… people always assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm because I don’t feel things as deeply. But truth is, I feel everything. I just learned how to sit with it instead of letting it break me.”

Even James goes quiet for a second.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “That was kinda beautiful. Gross, but beautiful.”

She grins and tosses her card into the fire.

Then Coach’s card prompts him to share the moment he knew he loved Lizzie.

He looks at her, and the air shifts.

“It was my sister’s birthday party,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Lizzie had just graduated college and didn’t know anyone there. I was already a rising player then. She looked me dead in the eye and called me out for being late and arrogant, like I was just some guy who forgot manners. And then she stole my drink.”

Laughter breaks out, but he keeps going, eyes on her. “She didn’t care who I was. She wasn’t impressed. She was... real. I fell in love right then and there with her strawberry blonde hair and beautiful smile. Took me three months to convince her I wasn’t just some cocky hockey player with a good jawline.”

Lizzie blushes, but she’s smiling.

Coach leans in and kisses her, nothing over the top, just warm, certain, and real.

The whole circle goes awww like a bunch of soft-hearted kids, even James.

I steal a glance at Nina. Her mouth curves, but something in her eyes dims, just for a second. She hides it well, but I catch it…that flicker of wanting something like that too.

It hits me like a slap to the sternum. I'm here, Nina.

Later, when the fire burns low and people start drifting inside, Nina pulls out a guitar from behind her chair.

“I’m not amazing,” she warns, tuning the strings with easy, practiced fingers. “But sometimes music says what words don’t.”

I don’t even know what she plays—something soft, maybe a cover, maybe something original—but it doesn’t matter. The sound of it is mesmerizing. Her fingers are confident, and her voice is low, smoky and heartbreakingly real.

I sit there, stunned. Completely undone.

Because she’s not just smart and fiery and impossible to read. She’s this, too. And damn it, I want to know every version of her.

After the last note fades, no one says a word. The fire hisses, and I swear even the wind goes quiet.

And I’m gone. Wrecked.

I want to tell her.

But I don’t.

Because if I say what I’m thinking right now… how I dream about her voice, how I crave her mouth, how I’d trade every save I’ve ever made just to watch her play one more song, especially naked....

And I can’t blow this.

Even though I’m already halfway there.

By the time everyone’s standing and saying goodnight, she’s packing up her guitar and tucking papers under her arm.

I linger, pretending I’m checking my phone.

“You need a hand with all that?” I ask.

She glances over, hesitates, then nods once. “Sure.”

We walk in silence to the lodge, the firelight fading behind us. She unlocks the door to her room, steps inside, and sets her guitar gently on the bed. I follow, carefully trying not to breathe too loudly.

She turns and our eyes lock.

No words.

I step closer. Her lips part just slightly. Her breath catches.

She says, “Alex, we shouldn’t…”

I cut her off with a kiss.

It’s not hard or rough. Not yet. Just firm. Certain.

Her hands are still holding papers, but they flutter to the floor as she leans into me, mouth opening just enough to make me forget every rule I ever cared about.

She breaks it first. “The walls are thin.”

I kiss her again. “Then let’s walk.”

Five minutes later, we’re under the stars. Gravel crunches beneath our boots as we follow the narrow wooded trail looping behind the resort. It’s quiet, except for distant voices and the occasional whip of wind through trees.

She’s hugging her sweater tight. I reach out without thinking and take her hand.

She lets me because it's dark and no one is around.

We walk like that for a minute, then another.

“I grew up in Traverse City,” I say. “Spent summers barefoot. Winters in skates. My brother was a better skater, until he quit. Said the pressure wasn’t worth it.”

She listens, thumb brushing my knuckle.

“You?” I ask.

She exhales. “Upstate New York. I was the quiet one until I learned how to break tension in a room with a one-liner. That evolved into psychology.”

“Is that why you’re so good at seeing through people?”

She shrugs. “It’s why I don’t flinch when they try to hide.”

We stop at a curve in the path. Her face is half-shadowed by the trees, but I can see the pull in her eyes.

“I don’t want to want you,” she says quietly. “This isn’t supposed to happen.”

I step in closer. “But it’s already happening.”

Her voice drops. “It’s a bad idea.”

I take her hand and press it to my chest. “I can’t stop.”

The pause is thick with everything unsaid.

Then she grabs my shirt and pulls me in.

Her mouth crashes to mine. Urgent. Hot. Honest.

I pin her gently against the tree, hands braced on either side of her face, and kiss her like I’m starving. Because I am.

She moans into my mouth. I swear it goes straight to my blood.

“Let's go back to my cabin,” I murmur against her lips. “Now.”

She doesn’t answer.

She just nods.

It’s only a few minutes before we’re inside.

Door shut. Lights low. Hands everywhere.

She shoves me toward the bed, climbing onto my lap like she’s been waiting all season.

“Don’t kiss and tell,” she whispers.

“I wouldn't,” I groan, pulling her sweater off. “Jesus, Nina…”

She straddles me, presses her mouth to my jaw, my throat, my ear. “Let me.”

She pushes me back, strong and sure, undoes my shirt like it’s been pissing her off. Her fingers are urgent, yanking at the buttons like she’s been waiting months to rip through every layer between us. I grip her hips, teeth clenched, barely hanging on as she drags her nails down my chest and palms the edges of my jeans.

“Do you have any idea,” she whispers, “how many times I’ve wanted to shut you up like this?”

“I dare you to try.”

She smirks, then sinks her teeth into the edge of my jaw, kissing it after. It’s maddening the way she switches between rough and reverent, and teasing yet commanding. Her mouth trails lower, lips brushing down my neck to the line of my collarbone, then back up again. Every pass of her breath on my skin is a new kind of torture.

I grab her thighs and flip us, pinning her wrists above her head as she grins up at me.

“You’re trouble,” I mutter.

“You like trouble.”

“I crave you. ”

She arches under me, her voice barely a whisper. “Then show me.”

My mouth crashes to hers, hands roaming, claiming, undoing her in return. Her camisole goes next, tugged over her head, followed by the soft bra I unclasp without breaking the kiss. I take a second to look, really look, and it undoes me.

“God, Nina,” I breathe. “You’re beautiful and so hot.”

She pulls me down again, grinding against me, her heat driving me insane. I peel her jeans off slowly, savoring every inch, every gasp, every shift of her hips. My own clothes are gone next—her hands are impatient, eager, tugging, sliding, pushing me until I’m bare above her.

We pause for a breath. Her eyes on mine. My eyes on hers.

“I’ve wanted this since the second you mouthed off at me in front of the team,” I groan.

“Likewise,” she says, voice husky. “Especially when you glared at me like you were either going to bench me or bend me over a desk.”

I laugh, because she’s probably right.

“Yeah,” she teases, “you like the bossy ones.”

“I like you, ” I growl.

I kiss my way down her stomach, feeling every tremble, every inhale. Her thighs part for me instinctively. And when I finally taste her, her hips buck and a low moan escapes her lips.

“Alex—fuck.”

I grip her thighs, anchor her in place, and keep going until her hands are clutching the sheets and her back’s arched off the bed. When she comes undone, it’s not quiet. It’s everything. Raw and real and addictive.

I crawl back up, and she grabs my face, dragging my mouth to hers with a hunger that ignites me all over again.

“Your turn,” she pants.

“Not done with you yet.”

She laughs a deep, throaty sound, and flips us again, straddling me with her hair falling in waves across my chest. “You never shut up during sessions lately.”

“Can’t help it,” I groan. “You’re distracting. All the time.”

She reaches between us and guides me in slowly, inch by excruciating inch. My jaw clenches. My hands dig into her hips.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Why does this feel…”

“Like everything?”

She nods, grinding down, setting a rhythm that makes me see stars.

We move together, no pretenses, no walls. Just heat and breath and low, reverent groans in the dark. At one point she kisses my shoulder and whispers, “You get under my skin too.”

And I’m gone.

We finish tangled in each other, chests heaving, hearts pounding. Her head rests against my shoulder as I pull the blanket over us.

Neither of us says the word for what this is.

But we both feel it.

And that’s what scares me most.

Because I don’t think I’ll survive losing this now that I’ve had a taste.

But she drifts off to sleep for a while, I think.

When I wake up, the bed is cold.

Her side is empty.

She's gone.

I sit up slowly, look around to see if there are any signs of her.

She didn’t leave a note.

Didn’t leave a trace.

Just silence.

And me.

Still in the dark, wanting more.

Wanting her .