Harmony looks peaceful, her auburn curls fanned across my pillow like she belongs there. Maybe she does. That's the thought that's been keeping me up at night—that this woman, somehow fits into my chaotic life. However, in three hours, she'll be on a plane back to Oklahoma, and I'll be... what? The same old Dakota Miles, Charleston's favorite hockey-playing fuck boy? The thought sits heavy in my chest.
I trace the freckles on her shoulder with my finger. We've had one week together—one week of showing her around Charleston, late-night talks at the beach bonfire spot, and mornings tangled in my sheets. One week that somehow feel more meaningful than the string of nameless hookups that came before her.
Her eyelids flutter open, those beautiful eyes focusing on me.
"You're staring," she murmurs.
"Hard not to." I give her my practiced smile, the one that makes most women blush. Harmony just raises an eyebrow.
"What time is it?" She sits up, already reaching for her phone on the nightstand.
"Too early to think about leaving," I say, trying to pull her back down.
She resists, glancing at her screen. "Dakota, my flight's at 11:30. I need to get ready."
Reality crashes in. Right. Today's the day. The last day.
I watch her gather her clothes and disappear into the bathroom, listen to the shower running and try not to think about how empty this room will feel tonight. How empty my bed will feel. How empty I might feel.
Hell, when did I turn into such a sap?
By the time she emerges in a practical button-down and jeans, hair pulled back in that no-nonsense ponytail, I've put on my game face. Dakota Miles doesn't do sad goodbyes. Dakota Miles keeps it casual, keeps it cool.
"You all packed, Miss Green Eyes?" I ask, using the nickname that made her roll her eyes the first time I used it but now sometimes makes her smile.
"Nearly." She zips up her toiletry bag. "Just need to double-check I haven't forgotten anything essential."
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Like what? Your heart? Because I think you might be leaving that behind."
She pauses, those eyes meeting mine with an unreadable expression. "That's not funny, Dakota."
"Who says I'm joking?"
The moment stretches between us, taut with possibilities. Then she looks away, back to her suitcase. "You’re the one who said long distance relationships are too tough. Don’t tease me with possibilities. Plus, I've got two major storm systems to track when I get back. The National Weather Service doesn't care about my... personal situation."
"Right." I push off from the doorframe, grabbing a t-shirt from my drawer. "Well, can't keep those storm systems waiting."
Harmony sighs, zipping her suitcase closed with unnecessary force. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Act like this is easy for me." Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tremor in her hands as she checks her ticket on her phone.
I run a hand through my sleep-mussed hair, letting out a breath. "Look, let's not make this a whole thing, okay? You've got a flight to catch."
She studies me. "Fine."
We move through the rest of the morning routine in uncomfortable silence. I carry her bags to my Porsche, trying not to think about how we stumbled through the front door with those same bags a week ago when her vacation rental flooded.
“Dakota, where’s my rental car?”
“I hired someone to return it for you this morning. I wanted to take you to the airport. You can check your email. I’m sure you have a return confirmation,” I say.
“Oh, okay. Thank you,” she replies with a small smile.
The beach house is quiet. Kaleb's the only one who might be around, but there's no sign of him as I lock up.
Harmony slides into the passenger seat of my Porsche, her posture straight and tense. I climb in beside her with the engine purring to life as I back out of the driveway.
"Nice day for flying," I say lamely as we pull onto the highway that leads to Charleston International.
"The conditions are optimal," she agrees, professional meteorologist mode engaged. "Clear skies, minimal wind shear, no weather systems that would cause turbulence or delays."
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. "Good to know."
The silence grows again, broken only by the GPS voice giving directions. Harmony stares out the window at the passing shore.
"I had a good time," she finally says, still looking out the window. "This past week."
"Yeah?" I glance at her. "Even when I dragged you to that team party and Kaleb tried to explain the entire history of hockey to you?"
A small smile touches her lips. "Even then." She turns to face me. "Your friends are... interesting."
"That's one word for them." I grin, remembering how she'd held her own against my teammates, correcting Kaleb's weather misconceptions.
"Elle and Asher make a good couple," she says.
"Yeah, they do." My grip tightens on the wheel. "Never thought I'd see the day Asher Gray settled down, but here we are."
"And Ryder and Jayden?"
"Disgustingly perfect for each other." I signal for a lane change. "Who would have thought two of the Renegades' most eligible bachelors would end up tied down within one season?"
She's quiet for a moment. "And then there's you."
"Then there's me," I say, forcing a chuckle. "I’ll probably be the last man standing."
"Is that how you want it?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel her watching me.
"It's what I'm good at," I finally answer. "No expectations, no disappointments. Everyone knows what they're getting with Dakota Miles."
"Do they?" Her voice is soft.
I shoot her a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just that the Dakota Miles I've gotten to know this past week isn't exactly the one advertised in those hockey gossip blogs."
"Don't believe everything you read on the internet, sweetheart."
"I don't," she counters. "I believe what I observe. And what I've observed is someone different than the 'resident fuck boy' you pretend to be."
My hands flex on the wheel. "Maybe you just bring out a different side of me."
"Maybe." She turns back to the window. "Or maybe that's who you really are, when you're not hiding behind the persona."
The highway stretches ahead, each mile bringing us closer to the airport, closer to goodbye. I want to tell her she's wrong, that what she's seen is just another act. Although the words stick in my throat.
"You know," I say instead, "Oklahoma's not that far. The Renegades play the Tulsa Tornados twice this season."
"I know. I looked up your schedule." The admission comes quietly.
"You did?"
She nods, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "It's approximately a two-hour flight from Charleston to Oklahoma City, then another hour and forty-five minutes to Norman by car."
I can't help but smile. "You've got it all calculated out, huh?"
"Force of habit. I analyze data for a living."
"So, what does your data tell you about... this?" I gesture vaguely between us.
She hesitates. "The data is... inconclusive. Long-distance relationships have a 58% failure rate within the first four months."
"Those aren't great odds."
"No," she agrees. "They're not."
We fall silent again as the airport comes into view and then the departures terminal. I pull up to the curb, shifting into park and sitting there.
"Well," I finally say, "guess this is it."
Harmony nods, her hands folded in her lap. "I should go. Security might be busy."
Neither of us moves.
"Harmony, I—" I start, just as she says, "Dakota—"
We both stop, sharing a small, tense laugh.
"You first," I tell her.
She takes a deep breath. "I don't do casual. I never have. My job requires precision, planning, certainty. But with you..." She shakes her head. "With you, I can't predict anything. That both terrifies me and thrills me."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Is that good or bad?"
"I don't know," she admits. "I do know I don't want to walk away without acknowledging that this past week meant something to me."
I reach across the console, taking her hand in mine. It's smaller than mine, but strong and capable. The hand of a woman who knows exactly who she is and what she wants.
"They meant something to me too," I say, the words falling from my lips before I can stop them. "More than I expected."
She squeezes my hand, a tentative smile on her face. "So where does that leave us?"
I want to have an answer, want to be the confident, cocky Dakota Miles with all the right moves. Yet sitting here, I'm just a guy afraid of losing something before I've even figured out what it is.
"I don't know," I admit. "I've never been great at the whole relationship thing."
"Neither have I," she confesses. "Too busy chasing storms."
I smile slightly. "And I've been too busy running from them."
The airport buzzes with activity around us, people coming and going, saying hellos and goodbyes. A family laughs nearby, loading suitcases onto a cart. A businessman hurries past, talking urgently on his phone.
"I should go," Harmony says again, but her hand stays in mine.
"Yeah."
Still, neither of us moves.
"Fuck it," I mutter, and lean across the console to kiss her.
She meets me halfway, her lips soft against mine, her free hand coming up to rest against my cheek. It's not frantic like our first kiss was, not desperate like some of the ones that followed. It's gentle, lingering, a question neither of us knows how to answer.
When we pull apart, her eyes shine with something that makes my chest ache.
"I'll call you when I land," she promises.
"I'll be waiting by the phone like a teenager," I joke, but we both know I mean it.
I get out to grab her suitcase from the trunk, then walk her to the entrance of the terminal. We stand there awkwardly, surrounded by strangers with their own stories and own goodbyes.
"So," I say, rocking back on my heels.
"So," she echoes.
"Have a safe flight. Call me when you land."
She nods. "I will." She hesitates, then adds, "The Charleston area is expected to have clear weather patterns for the next week. You should have good conditions for practice."
I laugh. "Only you would give me a weather report as a goodbye."
A small smile tugs at her lips. "It's what I do."
"One of the many things I..." I stop myself. Too much, too soon. "One of the many things I like about you."
Her eyes search mine, and I wonder if she caught my near-slip. "I'll miss you, Dakota Miles."
"I'll miss you too, Miss Green Eyes."
With one last kiss—quick, like she's afraid to linger—she takes her suitcase and walks through the automatic doors. I watch her check in at the counter, watch as she looks back at me with a small wave, watch until she disappears into the security line.
Then she's gone.
I stand there longer than I should, staring at the space where she was, feeling oddly hollow.
Finally, I turn and head back to my car. The Porsche feels emptier somehow without her in the passenger seat.
I drive slower on the way back, no rush to return to an empty house. The roads are familiar, but everything looks different somehow. I turn on the radio, flipping until I find something loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
It doesn't work.
By the time I pull into the driveway of the beach house, my head is a mess of conflicting emotions. Part of me—the part that's been Dakota "Lucky" Miles, ladies' man and commitment-phobe for as long as I can remember—is already telling me to shake it off, move on, find someone new to warm my bed tonight.
However a newer, unfamiliar part of me is already counting the days until the Renegades play in Tulsa.