Page 23

23

Jake

I stroll down the fairgrounds walkway, weaving past festival-goers clutching funnel cakes and lemonade. It’s midafternoon, the sun still high, and my sister Emma is trailing behind, scuffing at the dirt path with her sneakers. I can feel her gaze drilling into my back.

Eventually, I stop near a display of hand-carved wooden signs—vaguely hockey-themed—and turn. “All right, Em. Spill it.”

Emma folds her arms. “You and Piper, huh?”

I shrug, feigning casual indifference, though my chest tightens. “Surprised?”

She huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “A little. I mean, Piper’s my sorority sister and friend—I love her—but she’s also said some…not nice things about you in that blog of hers, Piper On the Ice. ”

I let out a short chuckle. “You mean the stuff about me being a cocky ice jock who needs an ego check?”

Emma’s eyes widen. “You read it?”

“Yeah, now and then. But I’m not easily offended.”

She hesitates, then sighs. “Well, Piper’s not exactly open about her past relationships. All I know is she’s had a crappy time with men—her last boyfriend cheated, and her dad’s practically MIA. So the trust factor? Pretty low.”

I nod, absorbing that. It stings to think Piper might be carrying scars I can’t see. “So you’re worried I’m going to break her heart?”

Emma’s expression softens, and she steps closer, voice lowered. “Jake, I don’t want to lose her as a friend. She’s like a big sister. If you’re playing with her feelings—”

“I’m not,” I say firmly. “And who says she’s not messing with mine ?”

Her brow furrows. “You can’t really think that.”

“Just a question, Em. Have you ever considered maybe she’s…using you to get a better angle on me? You’re close, and she’s a blogger, right?”

Emma gasps, eyes flaring. “No. She wouldn’t do that.”

I hold up my hands. “Relax. I’m just kidding.” But a part of me wonders if there’s a grain of truth. Piper’s not exactly a squeaky-clean journalist. She thrives on controversy, especially where I’m concerned.

Emma eyes me warily. “You say it’s a joke, but it doesn’t sound funny.”

I plaster on a grin, trying to shrug it off. “It’s nothing. We’re getting along fine.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Then I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I glance over my shoulder, spotting Piper in the distance, camera slung around her neck, talking animatedly with Maddie. Something soft twists in my chest, an unfamiliar pang. “Me too,” I murmur.

***

An hour later, I’m standing rink-side, waiting for the next round of another charity hockey event. The organizers roped me into reffing, so I’m in a striped jersey, whistle in hand, scanning the crowd for Piper. She’s late. Or maybe she’s just taking her sweet time.

Just when I start to wonder if she bailed, she appears—rushing over, hair windblown, juggling her phone and a half-eaten pretzel. She looks flustered, flushed. Probably forgot something, knowing her.

She skids to a stop in front of me, chest rising and falling. “Hey,” she exhales, brushing hair from her face. “I made it.”

“Barely,” I tease. Then I notice the dark smudges under her eyes and the tension in her shoulders. “You look wiped. Did you get any rest? Drink water?”

She waves me off. “I’m fine. I had a big coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t water. Did you at least eat real food?”

“Pretzel,” she counters, lifting what’s left of the doughy snack.

I cock an eyebrow. “Pretzel isn’t a meal. And the last time we talked, you said you needed to be better about taking care of yourself—sleep, hydration, maybe medication if that’s something you rely on. Ring a bell?”

She flushes, defensive. “Why does it matter?”

I set my whistle on the boards and step in, lowering my voice. “You think I’m nagging? You told me you feel better when you stay on top of your routine. So yeah, I’m checking in.”

She bristles. “You’re not my dad.”

“Thank God,” I mutter, ignoring her glare. Then I tilt her chin up so she has to look at me. Her eyes flash with annoyance, but beneath it, I sense uncertainty. “You think I’m just bossing you around for kicks? No, sweetheart. I want you strong and healthy. When I touch you, I want to know you’re taking care of yourself the way I would if you let me.”

Her breath hitches. “So…you’re playing caretaker now?”

My fingers brush along her jaw, gentling my tone but keeping the edge. “Listen. I don’t do half-measures. Not with hockey, not with my family, and definitely not with the woman I’m with. So drink your damn water. Eat real food. Because I’m not about to let you run yourself into the ground.”

She opens her mouth, maybe to protest, but I continue, voice dropping. “And your goals? They matter. I won’t let you shrink yourself or second-guess everything you’re capable of. I want the woman who fights, who pushes, who earns every damn thing she wants—then looks at me like she knows I believed in her all along.”

Piper’s eyes shine with something raw and unguarded. “Jake…”

“No selling yourself short,” I warn. “Because I won’t let you.”

She’s silent, cheeks flaming. I glance at the scoreboard clock—time to ref. I can’t resist one last move: I lean down and kiss her, slow and deliberate. I feel the tension bleed out of her as her lips part, her hand gripping my striped jersey.

When I pull back, her eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen from the kiss. “Jake,” she whispers, almost like a plea.

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I gotta go ref this thing. Two bottles of water before I’m done, got it? And real food that’s not a pretzel.”

She grumbles, “Bossy,” but doesn’t sound angry anymore.

“Always,” I reply, smirking. I snag my whistle, tap her lightly on the tip of her nose, and stride onto the ice.

***

Reffing doesn’t exactly thrill me—I prefer playing—but the festival committee asked for help, and I’m a sucker for community stuff. Between periods, I glance toward Piper, who’s perched in the small bleachers with Emma, tapping away on her phone. Her camera rests on her lap, and from here, I can’t see if she’s actually sipping water. But I hope she is.

Emma catches my eye and raises a brow, as if to say, We’ll discuss this later. I shrug and blow the whistle to start the next period.

The game is decent—some local amateurs plus a few of my buddies. No real drama. When the final horn blares, I shake hands with the players, then glide off to the boards. My gaze sweeps the crowd, searching for that red hair. A prickle runs down my spine at the idea I might spot…someone else. You’re being paranoid.

Dismissing the thought, I find Piper standing by the exit. She’s biting her lip, a half-eaten hot dog in one hand, a water bottle in the other—already half-empty. A flicker of satisfaction warms me. She’s listening.

“Hey,” I say, stepping off the ice. “Did you finish the second bottle?”

She makes a face. “Working on it, boss.”

I grin, leaning in close. “Proud of you.” The warmth in my chest surprises me, but I roll with it, letting my hand linger at her waist.

She shifts, lowering her voice. “So, about…this.” She lifts the hot dog. “I did eat.”

“Good girl,” I tease, then relish the way her cheeks heat. “You ready to head out, or do you want more pictures?”

She glances at her phone. “I got some good shots. I think I’m done.”

“Then let’s go.”

We say quick goodbyes to a few people—Emma included, though she’s eyeballing me like don’t forget our talk. I give her a casual wave and steer Piper toward the far side of the rink.

As we cross the crowded walkway, the sun dipping low, I feel Piper lean into me slightly. My chest tightens. This could be real, if we let it. But I need to remember all the reasons not to trust that.

I glance across the crowds, scanning faces. A flash of auburn hair catches my eye— No way. My gut tightens, cold dread trickling down my spine. But before I can get a good look, the figure disappears behind a vendor tent. My heart hammers.

“Jake?” Piper’s voice draws me back. “You okay?”

I shake my head. “Thought I saw—doesn’t matter.” My gaze lingers on the spot for a beat longer, pulse still climbing. Marnie? Impossible.

I push the worry aside and guide Piper onward. For now, I have bigger concerns—like not letting her slip through my fingers, or sabotage herself.

In the parking lot, I open the truck door for her. She climbs in, fiddling with the seat belt. I can tell she’s uncertain, though whether it’s about me or something else, I can’t say.

I slide behind the wheel, but my mind’s still on that brief glimpse of red hair. I swallow. “Crazy thought, that’s all,” I mutter under my breath, turning the key in the ignition.

The engine rumbles to life, and Piper glances at me, clearly curious. I force a casual shrug. “Nothing,” I say, though my gut churns. If Marnie’s here—if she’s truly back—my life’s about to get complicated in ways Piper can’t imagine.

I pull onto the dusty road, forcing myself to focus on the present. Piper’s sipping her water, looking at me like she’s half annoyed, half fascinated. And me? I’m thinking maybe the best defense is to go all in. I’m not a half-measure guy.

As for that redhead in the crowd? Maybe just a coincidence. I sure as hell hope so. Because there’s only so much upheaval I can handle, and Piper’s already turning my world upside down without even trying.