Page 4

T he plane hums beneath me, a steady, familiar vibration that usually soothes me.

Not today.

I force a bright smile as I stride down the aisle, checking seat belts, dodging elbows, and offering my standard can-I-get-you-anything-before-takeoff look. The usual routine. The thing I do a hundred times a month, in a hundred different cities, with hundreds of different strangers.

I love this part of my job. The constant motion. The freedom of it.

But today?

Today, my head is not where it should be. Because he is still in there. And I hate it.

I grip the edge of a seat as the plane jerks slightly, the jet bridge pulling away from the gate. Get it together, Kenz.

I have zero reason to still be thinking about last night.

It was fun. A damn good time. Hot as hell. But that’s all it was.

So why does my pulse still spike when I close my eyes and picture the way his mouth moved over my skin?

I scowl, shaking the thought loose.

Nope. Not going there.

Flight mode engaged. Focus.

Once we’re up in the air, I push a bag into the overhead bin a passenger had accessed and left open. I click the bin closed with more force than necessary, adjusting my navy blazer before spinning on my heel.

Across the aisle, my coworker, Talia, watches me with a knowing smirk.

I already hate whatever she’s about to say.

"You’re in a mood," she sing-songs, leaning against the beverage cart.

I raise a brow. "I’m always in a mood."

Talia snorts. "Yeah, but this one’s different. You’re all…" She waves a hand at me, eyes narrowing. "Tense."

Tense? No.

I’m fine.

Totally fine.

"Not tense," I say, adjusting my collar. "Focused."

She gives me a flat look. "Kenzie, last week we had a guy order a margarita mid-flight, and you spent ten minutes pretending to be his bartender, complete with a napkin flip and an imaginary salt rim."

"That was good customer service."

"That was boredom," she counters, crossing her arms. "But today? Not even a single flirt session? No winking at the guy in 14C? No making up fake backstories for the passengers?"

I sigh, pursing my lips.

Dammit. She’s right. I am off my game. And we both know it.

Talia’s eyes narrow slightly, studying me. Then, she grins. "Ohhh. This is about a man, isn’t it?"

"Absolutely not."

"Liar."

I press my lips together, shoving past her toward the galley. "I don’t do the whole ‘lingering thoughts’ thing. That’s your territory, not mine."

Talia follows, undeterred. "So, it was good then."

I reach for a stack of napkins. "What was?"

She scoffs. "The sex, Kenz. Come on, I know that look. That’s not a regret look. That’s an I’m-still-feeling-it-in-my-thighs look."

I glare at her, but my mouth twitches. "Jesus, Talia."

She grins, clearly enjoying herself. "What? I’m right, aren’t I?"

I huff, stacking napkins with way too much force. "It was just one night."

"A good night?"

I don’t answer.

Her smirk deepens. "I knew it."

I groan, shoving the stack of napkins into the cart. "It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I’m over it."

Talia raises a skeptical brow.

And the worst part?

I don’t even believe myself.

By the time we’re cruising at 35,000 feet, I’ve thrown myself into my usual distractions.

Flirting with passengers? Done. The guy in 14C, a businessman with an expensive watch and an obvious wedding ring tan, has been enjoying my best customer service smile all flight. Not that I’m actually interested.

Inventing dramatic backstories for random travelers? Also done. Talia and I have already decided that 8A is a retired jewel thief and 22F is on the run from an ex-husband who happens to be an arms dealer.

Normally, these things keep my mind busy.

Today?

They’re not working.

Because no matter how much I throw myself into the usual routine, I still feel him.

Silver Fox.

I scowl as I refill a coffee cup, barely catching myself before I overflow it.

God, what is wrong with me?

I don’t do this. I don’t replay moments. I don’t analyze glances or hear someone’s voice in my head like some lovesick idiot.

I don’t get stuck.

And yet…

The second I pause, even for a breath, he’s there.

The rough scrape of his stubble against my neck. The delicious weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. The way his voice dropped when he murmured, “Still sure about this?”

A shiver works its way up my spine before I snap myself out of it.

No. Nope. We are not doing this.

I force a breath as I head back to the galley.

Talia is already watching me when I step inside, leaning against the counter with an amused look.

Damn it.

"I was right," she announces smugly.

I grab a water bottle and take an aggressive sip. "About what?"

Talia gestures at me like she’s presenting Exhibit A. "You. The constant fidgeting. The zoning out. The nervous energy." She crosses her arms. "I haven’t seen you like this since the Australian surfer guy."

I glare. "That was different."

"How?"

I open my mouth. Then close it. Because I don’t have a good answer.

That surfer guy? He was fun. A wild, flirty, two-day whirlwind that ended exactly how it was supposed to—with no feelings attached.

But this?

This feels… different.

And that’s exactly what pisses me off.

Silver Fox, hotel bar guy, ridiculously good in bed man is not supposed to be different.

It’s not just that the sex was hot. It’s that he stuck.

And I shouldn’t even know his name.

But I do.

Because I saw it.

In the quiet hush of the early morning, as I slid out of bed and reached for my clothes, my gaze flicked to the dresser.

A luggage tag. Sleek leather, expensive. The kind of thing a man like him would have.

I could’ve ignored it. Should’ve ignored it.

But I didn’t.

My eyes traced the silver-embossed letters before I even realized what I was doing.

G. Maddox.

My stomach had clenched before I even processed why.

I should’ve looked away.

But some part of me wanted to know. Some part of me wanted to remember.

And now, I can’t un-know it.

Talia grins like she just cracked some code. "Oh my God. This isn’t just about the sex, is it?"

"Of course it is," I snap. Too fast. Too defensive.

Talia’s grin only widens.

I groan, tossing the water bottle onto the counter. "Look, it was just good. Okay? Really, really good. And my body is just—remembering. That’s it. Simple biology."

Talia hums, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. And tell me, how often does ‘simple biology’ mess with your head this much?"

I grit my teeth, snatching a granola bar and ripping it open like it personally offended me.

She has a point. I hate that she has a point. Because this is messing with me. And I have no idea why.

***

The second my feet hit the solid ground of Nashville, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath the entire flight.

Home.

Not that I spend much time here.

But I like this part—the return, the brief moment where I belong somewhere before I take off again.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, weaving through the crowded terminal, dodging slow walkers and overstuffed carry-ons like a pro. This is my territory. I know the rhythm of it.

And I need the familiarity right now.

Because no matter how hard I tried to shake it, the entire damn flight I was still thinking about him.

Annoying. Infuriating. Completely unacceptable.

I make it to the curb and pull out my phone, ready to call a ride when my screen lights up with an incoming call.

Jake.

I sigh, hitting accept and tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder. "Hey, big brother."

"You back in town?"

"Just landed." I shift my bag higher on my shoulder, glancing at the rideshare pickup line. "What’s up?"

"Nothing much." He pauses. "Oh, actually—big news."

I roll my eyes. "Right. Because you always casually forget the ‘big news’ part until five seconds into the conversation."

He laughs. "You’re gonna love this one."

"Doubt it."

He ignores me. "We finally filled the assistant coach spot."

I barely register what he says. "Uh-huh."

"You remember how we lost Lawson last month? Team’s been scrambling to replace him."

I hum in acknowledgment, already half-distracted, scrolling through the app for a ride.

Jake barrels on. "Well, they brought in some guy with NHL head coaching experience. Supposedly a total hardass but smart as hell. Good rep."

I glance up as a car pulls into the pickup lane, checking the license plate. "Great. Happy for you."

"Yeah, anyway. His name’s Grant Maddox."

My body locks up.

A sharp, ice-water-down-the-spine kind of freeze.

The car door opens in front of me, but I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

"Kenzie?" Jake’s voice filters through the speaker. "You there?"

I swallow, clutching my phone until my knuckles throb.

"Yeah," I force out. "I’m here."

Jake snorts. "You go quiet like that, and I start thinking you actually give a shit about hockey for once."

I make a noise. Something that sounds like a laugh but isn’t.

Because there is no fucking way.

No.

It’s not him. It can’t be him.

Right?

I need to ask. Need to confirm. Need to not sound like I’m seconds from spiraling.

I force a casual tone. "So, where’d they find this guy?"

Jake exhales. "Not sure. He was coaching in Chicago for a while. Guess he’s been out for a bit. I guess we made him an initial offer last week, but he was weighing it against a head coaching job in Denver."

My stomach drops.

Denver.

My mouth goes dry. "And?"

Jake sighs. "Apparently, he had a second interview with Denver this morning and decided to go with us instead."

I grip my bag tighter and dig into the strap.

It’s him.

Somewhere in the last few hours—while I was flying back here, thinking about how I’d never see him again—he was agreeing to move to Nashville.

I don’t do fate.

I don’t believe in meant to be or the universe has a plan.

I believe in choices. In making my own damn decisions, in taking the next flight out before anything can tie me down.

But this?

This feels like something bigger than coincidence.

Like the universe is laughing in my face.

And I do not appreciate the joke.

I don’t even realize I’m whispering until I hear my own voice.

"Shit."

Jake laughs. "Relax, Kenz. Not like you’re gonna have to deal with him."

But that’s exactly the problem.

Because I will.

And suddenly, this whole thing just got a hell of a lot more complicated. The car in front of me honks, but I don’t move.

I can’t.

Because my entire body is locked in full-system failure.

This isn’t happening.

This is not happening.

The same man I left in Denver is about to be standing in my brother’s locker room? In my city?

No. Nope. Not possible.

I force my brain to process. Think. Find the logical explanation.

Maybe it’s a different Grant Maddox.

Maybe I misheard.

Maybe—

Jake sighs on the other end of the line. "Kenzie, you good? You sound weird."

Weird? Weird?

I’m about five seconds from an existential crisis, and he thinks I sound weird?

"Yeah," I say, my voice a little too high. "Totally fine."

Jake snorts. "Uh-huh. Sure."

I rub my temple, willing the universe to quit screwing with me. "So, uh… when’s this guy supposed to start?"

"Next week. Probably flying in a couple days early to get settled."

I stare blankly at the pavement. That soon?

He was just in Denver this morning. And now, in a matter of days or sooner, he’ll be here.

I shake my head. This is not a big deal. We had one night. That’s all. It’s not like he even cares.

He didn’t ask for my number. Didn’t make any kind of move to stay in touch. Hell, I was the one who walked out.

So what if he’s coming to Nashville? It doesn’t change anything. Except I can still feel the way his hands gripped my hips. The way his mouth claimed mine. The way my pulse still kicks up at the thought of him.

I clench my jaw. No. This means nothing. He’s just another guy. Just another night. Just another bad decision I won’t be making again.

I straighten my spine. I refuse to let this mess with me.

Jake is still talking, oblivious to my internal breakdown. "Oh, and FYI—Mom wants us all over for dinner Sunday."

"What? No."

"Kenzie."

"I have work."

"Yeah, well, you better tell her that yourself, because she’s already planning a full spread, and if you don’t show, she’ll guilt you into a month of brunches to make up for it."

I groan. Perfect.

"And Allie wants to see you too," Jake adds, his tone shifting slightly. "She says it’s been too long."

My stomach twists with a different kind of guilt.

Allie.

My best friend. Jake’s wife. Pregnant and glowing and probably pissed I’ve barely made time for her lately.

Shit.

I’ve been meaning to go see her. To check in, catch up, be a good best friend instead of constantly running from one city to the next.

But between work, layovers, and… other distractions, I haven’t.

And now I feel like an ass.

I exhale and dig my palm into my forehead. "Fine. But if Mom tries to set me up with one of her friends’ sons again, I’m moving to another country."

Jake chuckles. "Noted."

He hangs up, and I shove my phone in my pocket, finally sliding into the back seat of my rideshare.

The driver glances at me in the mirror. "Where to?"

I take a breath.

"Home."

It’s supposed to feel grounding. Safe. A reminder that I’m where I belong.

Instead, it feels like a countdown. Because in a few days, Grant Maddox is going to be here too.

And no matter how much I tell myself he doesn’t matter…

I’m not sure I believe it.