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forty-nine

RHETT

Three Years Ago

Austin, TX, USA

“Get the hell away from me, Sutty.”

Bennett’s voice bounces off the glass, sharp with breathless frustration. He’s grinning, but there’s heat behind it—the kind that only shows up when I’m winning.

I smirk, knocking my helmet back with the heel of my glove. “Aw, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Jamesy.”

Adrenaline is still buzzing in my blood. I live for this—the speed, the burn in my lungs, the thrill of the chase. The moments it all feels worth it. When I feel worth it.

Bennett shoves me lightly, but I skate out of reach. “Fuck off,” he chuckles.

Regularly, I’d do the opposite, but the tape on my stick is shredded to hell, and I know when to call it. “Your wish is my command,” I call over my shoulder, lifting my stick in a lazy salute as I coast toward the boards. “Consider yourself safe for the next five minutes.”

I hop over the wall and land on solid ground, already peeling my gloves off as I head for the locker room. My head’s still half in the drill when I hear it:

“Rhett Sutton.”

I stop. Dead.

The voice doesn’t belong here. It’s soft, but commanding. Steady.

I turn, and for a second, I swear my heart just… stalls.

She’s standing just outside the rink. Legs for days, long pale hair that looks like it was spun from ice, eyes bluer than the lines I skate on. She doesn’t look real. She looks… like something dropped straight out of the sky.

And she’s staring right at me.

I blink. “Wow.”

It slips out before I can stop it. Before I can remember who the hell I’m supposed to be.

She lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed.

Right. Game face. I recover, flashing the grin I know works nine times out of ten. “You know they don’t usually let fans back here,” I say, voice dropping into easy charm, “but I think I can make an exception for you.”

She tips her head, her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “Do you actually have the power to do that?”

I step closer, licking my lips. “Depends who’s asking.”

Her eyes stay steady on mine, cool as hell. “There’s no need.”

I blink again. “No?”

Her lips curve, just slightly. “I’m not interested.”

The words knock the wind out of me.

I let out a short laugh, disbelieving. “Come on. Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she says, and somehow she manages to sound both amused and entirely unbothered. “And for the record? I’m not a fan.”

That hits somewhere deep. Somewhere sore. But I don’t show it.

“Okay,” I say slowly, smiling like none of this fazes me. “Why don’t you let me change your mind over a couple of beers?”

Her eyes flick down, then up again. “I’m a gin girl.”

“Well, just for you,” I grin, closing the distance another inch, “I can be a gin guy.”

She laughs softly, the sound quiet but cutting. Her tongue darts out, tracing the edge of her lip. “Yeah,” she says. “I have a feeling you can appear to be whatever it takes to get somebody to buy it.”

Something tightens in my chest. “Buy what?”

She holds my gaze without flinching. “You.”

The word lands hard. Heavy. I don’t know why, but it does.

I study her. For the first time in I don’t know how long, I can’t find my footing.

“Who are you?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

“Caroline.”

Her name sinks into me like a dart. I swallow.

“And your last name?” I smirk, regaining a little of myself. “Not that it matters. I’ll be changing that anyway.”

Her eyes narrow, sharp and assessing. The air between us thickens.

“Hey, hon.”

The voice cuts in from behind me.

I turn around, seeing Bear stepping out of the rink. Storm logo on his jacket. Clipboard in hand. Eyes on her. My brows pull together.

I stare, then look back at her. She smiles—polite, distant. “Hi, Dad.”

Dad .

I feel my face go slack. Everything in me just… shuts down for a second. My hands flex uselessly at my sides. The edges of her name still ringing in my ears.

Caroline.

Caroline… Barrett.

Well. Shit.

“I’ll be done in ten,” he tells her. “You want to stick around or meet me in my office?”

“I’ll be in your office.” She shifts her eyes from him back to me. “I’ve seen all I need to today.”

“All right, see you in a few.” He taps the glass with his fist twice, then pushes off back onto the ice.

She turns to go.

I swallow. “Tomorrow then?” I call after her.

She pauses, glancing back. “What?”

“If you’ve seen all you can of me today…” I shrug. “Give me another chance tomorrow.”

Her lips twitch. “You’re persistent.”

“You’re perfect,” I shoot back without hesitation. “How could you expect anything less?”

She actually laughs—quiet, but there. And then she studies me for a moment longer, tilting her head, like she’s seeing straight through me.

“Forty-six percent,” she says.

I blink. “What?”

“Your faceoff win percentage,” she adds. “Last season.”

I stare, caught completely off guard. “How do you even know that?”

“I know a lot of things.”

She steps back, the corner of her mouth tugging into the barest hint of a smirk. “Improve it. Bump it up to a clean fifty percent. And maybe I’ll consider giving you a shot.”

I raise both brows, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. “That could take all season. Maybe longer. You’re asking the impossible.”

“Well then,” she murmurs, her voice soft but sharp, “I guess you’ll just have to settle for seeing me in your dreams.”

I push my tongue into the side of my cheek. “Well, I guess I’ll see you there, Cub.”

And just like that—she turns and walks away, leaving me standing there like I’ve been knocked flat without even taking a hit.

And the thing is… I do.

I see her in damn near every dream after that. In flashes of color and light. In the sharp slice of her voice, the flicker of her eyes, the way she looked at me like I was nothing and everything all at once.

I see her in the way the air moves. In the light of the moon. In the smallest things that shouldn’t matter but somehow always do.

Even as the world tilts and shifts. Even as darkness tugs at the edges of my mind.

Even as the sounds fade, and I fall.

I see her.