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twenty-four

CAROLINE

Rhett reappears at my side, startling me.

“The weather’s nice today, isn’t it?” he says cheerfully.

“Mhmm.” I hum, already halfway through my social battery—and it’s not even eight.

Ever since he shut himself in his room the other night, Rhett hasn’t stopped talking. It’s like a mashup of Michael Scott from The Office and the dog from Up —every random thought, every stray observation, every unfiltered musing spills out of him.

And today is no different. From the second he emerged from his room, through the forty-five minutes before we left the apartment, the twenty-minute drive to the airport, and now—he hasn’t let up.

“Too bad we’re leaving,” he muses as we step out of his Range Rover. “When is it ever under seventy-five in October in Texas?”

“No idea,” I answer flatly, reaching for the back hatch.

He beats me to it, popping the tailgate and grabbing my roller bag. “Here you go. ”

“Thanks,” I say, reaching for my smaller bag, but he grabs that too, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I got it.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“I want to.”

“Okay…thank you.”

“Isn’t it wild how airlines charge extra if your bag’s overweight? Like, suddenly the plane’s fine if you pay fifty extra bucks?”

“He keeps talking as we walk across the tarmac. I nod occasionally, only snapping back to attention when he gently grabs my wrist.

“Hey.” He leans in, voice low. “I think we should sit together.”

“Okay…” I nod. “But why’d you say it like that?”

“Oh,” I blink. “Okay. We can do that, I guess. But…why do you say it like that?”

He glances behind me. “Some of the guys don’t seem convinced… about us.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I deadpan.

The guys know our history—his relentless flirting, me always shutting him down, him moving on, then circling back. It’s no wonder they’re skeptical of our sudden Vegas wedding.

“I told them the story we’re going with,” Rhett says. “That a couple weeks before Vegas, you finally admitted how badly you’ve wanted me—couldn’t stand to see me with anyone else?—”

“Okay, no,” I cut in. “That’s not what we agreed on.”

He shrugs. “Semantics.”

“And they bought that?”

“Pretty sure. I mean, who would fake getting married?”

“Right,” I deadpan. “That would be insane.”

He smiles sheepishly. “They’re just confused. I don’t think anyone’s going to blow our cover, but it might help if we act a little more… couple-y.”

I sigh. “What do you have in mind?”

“Just sit by me. Follow my lead.”

“Fine.”

We drop our bags and board the plane. About half the team’s already seated.

“Hey, Sutty,” a few guys call. Their smiles shift when they see me.

“Hi, Caroline,” Luke says as I stash my bag overhead.

“Hey, Buck,” I say, sliding into the window seat as Rhett takes the aisle.

“Been meaning to tell you congrats,” he adds.

“Thanks,” I smile awkwardly.

“Hell of a week,” he chuckles.

“Tell me about it—” I start, but stop when Rhett’s hand lands on my thigh. Before I can react, he kisses my temple like it’s completely normal.

“Been like a dream, huh, babe—Ah!” He flinches as my nails dig into his leg.

He covers it with a fake yawn. I offer him a tight-lipped smile. “Told you to get more sleep, babe.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have kept me up all night,” he shoots back, smug. “But it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Jesus,” Luke mutters with a laugh.

“Good for them,” Ragnar says, leaning around. “Especially you, Cap. Long time coming.”

“Uh—thanks, Rags,” Rhett says, but I’m already side-eyeing him.

“What has?” I ask.

Rags grins. “Well, you two?—”

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” Rhett blurts, already standing and shrugging off his suit jacket. He leans down, handing it to me. “Mind watching this for me, Baby Bear?”

“Sure… honey,” I reply, setting his jacket aside.

“Ha!” Rhett snorts. When my brows pull together, he says, “Bears like honey…That was cute—did you do that on purpose?”

“Have fun in the bathroom.”

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze dropping to my lips.

“ Don’t even think about it ,” I mouth.

He smirks, settling for dropping a kiss on top of my head before heading to the bathroom at the back of the plane.

“You guys are cute,” Rags teases.

I feel my cheeks warm. “Thanks.”

“Honestly,” Buck adds, “we’re just glad you finally gave him a chance.”

I blink. “I’m sorry… what?”

They share a look.

“We’ve only had to hear Sutty talk about you every day for three years,” Luke says.

My brows lift. “Seriously?”

Rhett’s interest in me was no secret, I figured he only remembered me when I was in front of him. But judging by the way both Luke and Ragnar are looking at me—apparently, I was wrong.

“He talked about me when I wasn’t around?”

“Even more when you weren’t around,” Buck confirms.

“And if there was alcohol involved?” Rags laughs. “We turned it into a drinking game. One drink every time he said your name. Whoever was the last one to drink before Rhett was either ready to leave or drunk-texting you, had to pick up the tab.”

A laugh escapes me, those drunk texts flooding back to me. Suddenly they carry a whole new meaning.

“Yeah, you’ve pretty much had him wrapped around your finger since you moved here,” Ragnar says.

My dad took the head coaching job when I was twelve, but he commuted while we stayed in Minnesota so my and my brother’s lives wouldn’t be uprooted.

I always knew I wanted to work in hockey, so I stayed home—in the State of Hockey—for undergrad, then finally moved to Austin for my master’s.

There’s no team I’d rather work for than my dad’s.

I’d crossed paths with Rhett a few times during visits, but we didn’t actually meet until I moved here. And what an interesting meeting that was.

I catch movement in my peripheral vision and turn my head, seeing Rhett stepping out of the bathroom. He starts to head back, but R2—Ronan Richardson—intercepts him in the aisle.

I don’t mean to, but I find myself staring.

At the way his dress shirt clings to his frame.

The hint of tan skin visible at his collar—the top two buttons undone in a way that shouldn’t be professional, but somehow works.

His chestnut brown eyes, the flecks of green within them catching the light.

His tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek—a little quirk I’ve noticed he does when he’s processing something.

His smile—wide and real—with the sharper right canine and the barely-there gap between his front teeth—the kind of imperfections that make a grin feel entirely, unmistakably his.

The spell suddenly breaks with the shrill ring of a phone.

I tear my eyes away and realize the sound is coming from right next to me. From Rhett’s jacket. I glance toward him. He’s still deep in conversation, completely unaware.

The ringing continues, and after a beat, I pull his phone from the pocket to silence it. But then I see the caller ID.

Dad.

I look back at Rhett—he’s moved a few feet closer, but is still turned away. The call will go to voicemail soon. Given we’re flying to Toronto—his hometown—I figure he might want to talk to his dad before we take off.

I make a split-second decision.

I press Accept .

I take a breath, ready to explain, but a deep, gravelly chuckle interrupts me.

“You know, I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that you’re captain. I couldn’t believe it when I first heard.”

I expect him to say something proud next, something fatherly. I start to turn to wave Rhett over?—

But then:

“Because why would they choose you?”

The words stop me cold.

“It didn’t make sense. Even when it came out that Bennett recommended you. But now it all clicks. You’re in way over your head, kid.”

I should interrupt. Say something. Hang up. But I’m frozen.

“Funny,” the voice continues. “Thought maybe you’d changed. But not even a week in, and you’ve already blown it. I knew you would at some point, but apparently I should’ve put some money on it. This soon? Son, I’ve gotta tell you—for the first time, I’m impressed.”

Each word slices deeper.

“You would think you’d learn, but here you are. Like a broken goddamn record. Getting handed the world and falling flat on your face. Just like Chicago?—”

“What are you doing?”

I jump. Rhett’s suddenly beside me. The phone slips from my hand.

It lands face up on his seat. His brow furrows when he realizes it’s his, not mine. Then the smile fades from his face when he sees the Caller ID.

He picks it up, stares at the screen for a beat, then ends the call with a single tap.

When his gaze returns to me, all traces of warmth are gone .

“What are you doing?” he repeats, voice low and raw.

“I—your phone was ringing?—”

“So you answered it?”

“I’m sorry,” I rush out. “It just kept ringing, and I saw it was your dad. I thought you’d want to talk to him before takeoff?—”

“Caroline, I know you like to make assumptions about me,” he cuts in. “But you’re almost always wrong.”

The words knock the breath from my lungs.

“Rhett, I was just trying to?—”

“Yeah, well, next time—don’t.”

My dad’s voice suddenly cuts through the plane. “Hey, they’re ready to close us up!” I turn my head and spot him standing up front beside a flight attendant. “Y’all ready to go?”

Everyone starts murmuring in agreement, preparing for takeoff—until Rhett’s firm “No” cuts through it all.

Dad raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I need some air,” Rhett mutters.

“We’ll have plenty once we’re in the sky.”

“I need a minute.” Rhett’s already halfway to the door.

“Son, we need to go?—”

“Then go!”

The plane falls silent. Rhett swallows, then murmurs, “I’m sorry, Coach. I just need a minute.”

Dad holds his gaze, then nods once.

Rhett bolts down the stairs.

A few moments later, I spot him through the window.

He looks calm at first—until he yanks his phone from his pocket and hurls it across the tarmac.

His hands grip his hair, breath ragged, shoulders tense. Then he folds at the waist, body caving in as he tries to catch his breath.

I count.

One… two… three …

At thirty, he straightens. Walks over. Picks up the phone. Pockets it without looking. And boards the plane again.

The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than a minute.

He was right. That was all he needed.

He slides into his seat beside me, and I don’t look at him. I just stare out the window, earbuds in, heart pounding.

I don’t know what just happened.

But I know this:

There’s a lot more to Rhett Sutton than meets the eye.