When they reach his truck, he unlocks it and opens the passenger side door for her, holding it in silence.
She climbs in, still watching him. “Why’d you come?”
He shrugs, one corner of his mouth tugging into the ghost of a smirk. “Someone vandalized my stick. Figured I should handle them face-to-face.”
Naomi’s breath catches again, this time for a different reason. She’s not sure if it’s the dry humor or the way he’s looking at her—like he’s not ready, but he’s here anyway.
She settles into the leather seat, the door closing with a quiet click beside her.
CHAPTER 25
GARRETT
The truck is too quiet.
Garrett’s hands stay fixed on the steering wheel, knuckles white where they grip the leather, but he hasn’t left the lot. The cab smells of cold, nighttime air. They brought the chill in with them.
He’d watched her laugh with Carter and Jesse through the window for an hour. Lurked there while his internal monologue spiraled into a full dress rehearsal—what he’d say, how he’d say it, where he’d start. How he might explain the mess inside his chest.
Now she’s right here beside him, close enough that he can smell her fruity shampoo, and every damn word has vanished from his brain.
She smells like beer and strawberries and warm vanilla—bright, feminine, and dangerous in the way it makes him want.
He glances over. She’s staring straight ahead, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, that tiny movement enough to short-circuit what’s left of his brain. Her coppery hair spills over her shoulder in waves that catch the glow from the streetlights outside, wild and soft all at once.
He wants to touch it. Wants to slide his hand through the strands to feel their silky texture. Wants to bring a fistful to his nose and breathe it in, reminding himself she’s really here in his space.
Finally, he opens his mouth.
“I’m sorry I was an ass,” he says, voice low.
At the same time, Naomi speaks in a rush.
“Do you want to start over?”
They both go still. Garrett blinks at the windshield. Naomi lets out a soft, embarrassed huff of air and turns fully in her seat toward him.
“You go first,” she says, and her voice is gentle in a way that makes him ache.
Garrett stares out at the quiet street beyond the windshield like it’s holding answers he doesn’t have. His fingers tap once, twice against the steering wheel before falling still. Eventually, he lets his hands drop to his thighs, palms up like he’s surrendering. He shifts in his seat, shoulders tense, jaw tight, like maybe if he clenches hard enough, the words will stay in.
But they don’t.
Don’t fuck this up.
“I’m not…good at this either,” he says finally, voice low, rougher than usual. “Any of it.”
He huffs out a breath, one that barely seems to move the air, then scrubs a hand through his hair under his beanie, unsettling it. “I’ve never really done it before. This…talking stuff. Feeling stuff. Being around someone who makes me feel like—” He cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek.
She says nothing. Just watches him, waiting.
And that makes it worse. Or better. He can’t decide.
Garrett shifts again, pulling in a slow breath that feels like it gets stuck halfway down. “Hockey’s always been my focus. It’s been my only focus. I’ve worked my ass off for years trying to block everything else out, because that’s how I stay in control. That’s how I win.”
Finally, he turns his head, meeting her eyes with effort.
“But I didn’t like how I left things with you,” he says quietly. “Didn’t like the way it felt after. Still doesn’t feel right.”
