Bryce kneels to her level.
“Yeah, that might’ve been me.”
She hands him a foam stick shyly. “Can you sign it?”
He smiles. Soft. Gentle. Devastating.
“Of course.”
My heart does something very stupid.
I immediately pretend to reorganize a stack of pamphlets. Violently.
When I look up, he’s watching me.
Not smirking. Not taunting. Just… watching.
I look away first. Like a coward.
"Hey," he says, voice low and warm like he didn’t just destroy my ability to function three nights ago.
I straighten my back and force professionalism into every cell of my body. "Blackhorn. Good turnout tonight. You’re scheduled for photos, merch signing, and community meet-and-greets. Please stay within the assigned areas so we avoid confusion or…"
"Mayhem? Scandal? Worldwide panic?" His mouth tilts up. "Snowstorm of emotional collapse?"
I narrow my eyes. "Public relations. It’s my job. I shadow, I monitor, I prevent preventable disasters. The end."
He steps closer, not invading, just existing in my airspace like my nervous system asked him to. "So… you’re shadowing me tonight?"
I open my mouth. Shut it. Then open it again. "Yes. Professionally. Because statistically speaking, the probability of you turning something wholesome into front-page gossip is astronomically high."
His grin goes slow. Dangerous. Familiar.
"Annabelle," he murmurs, "just say you want to stay near me."
My pulse trips.
"I want to keep you out of trouble," I counter.
He leans an inch closer. "Same thing."
No. No, it’s not.
Before I can respond, a young boy and his father step forward. The kid clutches a mini Outlaws jersey in both hands and looks up at Bryce like he’s staring at a Marvel character come to life. “I’m taking skating lessons,” the boy tells him breathlessly. “I'm gonna be a hockey player one day.” Bryce crouches to eye level, listening like this is the most important announcement in the world.
“Yeah?” Bryce says, tone warm. “Then you keep practicing. Fall a hundred times. Get up a hundred and one. That’s how pros are made.”
The boy beams like Bryce just knighted him.
The dad chuckles, shaking Bryce’s hand. “We watch every Outlaws game. My son thinks you’re the coolest player in the league.”
Bryce smiles, small and genuine. “What’s your name, buddy?"
"Jared."
"I want you to remember this, Jared. You’re already doing the hardest part. You keep showing up.”
"Yes, sir. I never miss a lesson."
