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T he glass doors whisper shut behind her.

I don’t move. Not right away.

I just stand there, hands tucked in my pockets, watching as the taillights of her cab fade into the early morning haze.

It should feel like any other morning. Another night. Another clean break.

Instead, the early morning silence of the lobby settles over me like a weight. I exhale, slow and steady, forcing the tightness in my chest to loosen.

She’s gone. That was the deal. No strings. No expectations. So why the hell am I still standing here?

The receptionist at the front desk barely looks up as I turn away. The hotel staff moves quietly in the background, starting their shifts, prepping coffee stations, arranging newspapers for businessmen who will be waking up soon.

Business as usual. Like last night didn’t just knock something loose in me.

I push the thought aside, moving toward the elevator, willing my mind to shift gears. But as I press the button, waiting for the doors to slide open, I still feel her.

The teasing smirk. The heat of her body beneath mine. The way she looked at me when she whispered, No takebacks, Silver Fox.

My jaw tightens. It was just a night of fun. I need to leave it at that. The elevator dings. I step inside, exhaling sharply as the doors close.

By the time I reach my floor, I’ve convinced myself I won’t think about her again.

I should have known better.

The second my hotel room door closes behind me, the silence feels wrong. I should feel relief. This is what I wanted—what her and I both wanted.

But my chest is still tight, my jaw locked, my pulse annoyingly uneven as I stand there, staring at the empty space where she was just minutes ago.

I run a hand over my face, dragging in a slow breath.

Let it go. Move the fuck on.

I move toward the bed, the sheets still rumpled from where she slept, from where her body fit so damn perfectly against mine. The scent of her skin lingers—warm, feminine, something sweet I can’t name but sure as hell can’t ignore.

I need to clear my head.

Stripping down, I step into the shower, letting the hot water pound against my shoulders, washing away the last remnants of her touch.

By the time I turn off the water and grab a towel, I feel like I’ve reset.

Almost.

I pull on a clean pair of boxer briefs and pants, towel-drying my hair as I walk toward my suitcase. That’s when I see it. A small flash of silver. Something out of place.

I frown, stepping closer.

Sitting on the edge of the nightstand is a pair of earrings. Hers. I stare at them, my fingers hovering over the delicate silver hoops she must’ve pulled off at some point last night.

She was so damn confident when she walked away, barely looking back.

And yet… she left something behind. It shouldn’t mean anything. It was just an accident. An oversight. Nothing personal. And yet, it pisses me off that it does mean something.

I exhale sharply, snatching them up, my grip tight around the cool metal.

I don’t hold on to things that aren’t mine. I don’t let people linger. I don’t let moments last longer than they should.

And yet…

The earrings sit in my palm, cool against my skin. A mistake I shouldn’t still be thinking about. I should toss them onto the dresser, leave them here like she did.

But instead, my fingers fold around them.

And without thinking—without even understanding why—I slip them into my pants pocket.

My jaw tightens. I grab a clean shirt and dress quickly, forcing myself to focus on each movement—a distraction.

Almost nine. I have a meeting in an hour—a second sit-down with the Denver NHL team’s coaching staff. That’s why I’m here.

Not for her. Not for some one-night stand that should already be out of my head.

Focus.

I rub a hand over my jaw, rolling my shoulders as I mentally shift gears.

Denver.

A new city. More money. An NHL team that wants me as head coach.

They’re offering me something big—a chance to join the franchise hands-on, build something from the ground up.

And I need it.

Because I haven’t been behind the players’ bench by the ice in over a year.

Not since I lost my last coaching job in Chicago. Not since my marriage imploded, and I spent more time in courtrooms than locker rooms, trying to keep my portion of the custody of Olivia. Then there was the hockey player who got in my face after I benched him mid-game after a dirty check to another player.

I shake my head. I paid dearly for defending myself in the locker room. A year suspension from the league. It’s a wonder teams want to interview me at all.

But they do. And here I am. Denver is a chance to get back int the game. To rebuild my career. To prove—to myself, to the league—that I still belong behind the bench.

But then there’s Nashville. The Nashville Eagles came in with an offer last minute. Their assistant coach left, and they need someone fast. It’s not a head coaching job, but it’s solid.

More importantly?

It would keep me in Olivia’s life.

She’s six. She’s building friendships, routines, a life I barely get to be part of because I don’t live in the same city.

That was never the plan.

When Lauren and I split a year or so ago, she packed up and moved to Nashville, taking Olivia with her. I could’ve fought it, but I knew how that would go—knew how Lauren plays the game. Knew that losing more time with my daughter wasn’t a risk I could take.

So I adjusted. Became the long-distance dad. The one who flies in for long weekends and special occasions, the one who makes every second count because there aren’t enough of them.

And I tell myself it’s enough. But it’s not.

And Lauren knows it. She knows I want to be there. Knows she holds all the power in whether I get to be more than a part-time presence in Olivia’s life.

Denver is a fresh start. Nashville is a fight I might not win.

I exhale sharply, running a hand down my face. I don’t have an answer to either path forward yet.

Right now, I’m here, and I need to focus.

I grab my phone, wallet, and room key, heading for the door. A chance to start over. That’s what this is.

So why does it feel like I’m still stuck in last night? I step into the hallway, exhaling slowly.

The Denver coaching interview is in less than an hour. That’s what I need to focus on.

Not last night.

Not her.

Not the way my body still hums with the phantom feel of her skin against mine.

I head toward the hotel café, the aroma of burnt coffee and fresh pastries filling the space. It’s mostly businessmen in pressed suits, a few travelers with their faces buried in newspapers. Normal. Forgettable.

I order black coffee, plant myself at a table by the window, and pull out my phone, scrolling through the notes I made for my meeting.

Denver’s roster. Contract terms. Salary cap breakdown.

I skim the words, absorbing nothing.

Instead, my mind keeps drifting.

Not to hockey.

To a green-eyed woman who walked out of my life before the sun was even up.

I scowl, forcing my attention back to the screen. Get your head on straight, Maddox.

But no matter how much I try to ground myself in the present, I feel off.

Like last night knocked something loose inside me, and I don’t know how to put it back.

I drag a hand through my hair, shutting off my phone and tossing it onto the table.

I reach for my wallet, fingers brushing against something cool, solid.

The silver hoops.

My pulse kicks up like I’ve been caught.

I fist my hand around them, jaw tightening as I shove them deeper into my pocket.

She’s already gone. Out of sight. Out of reach.

So why the hell does she feel like the one thing I can’t let go of?