"My father died in a fire when I was fourteen."
The words fall out unplanned. Her hands go still on the gauze. She doesn't look up, doesn't push, just keeps wrapping at half speed. I can continue or stop—the choice is mine.
"He was covering someone's shift. Wasn't even supposed to be there. Family inside made it out. Dad didn't."
Her hands pause completely now. Still not looking up, but I can see her jaw tighten.
"That's why I became a firefighter. Every call, every rescue—someone's family gets them back. A parent, a kid, a partner. They get to go home because we showed up."
She finishes the bandage, ties it off gently. When she looks up, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"Ryder..."
"I don't talk about it. Ever. The team knows, Chief knows, but I don't—" I stop, not sure why I'm telling her this. Why now, why her.
She stands, moves around the table. Her hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble there. The gentleness does something to my chest that I don't have words for.
"Thank you for telling me," she whispers.
We're too close. I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, smell her shampoo—something floral that doesn't belong in Alaska but somehow fits her perfectly. Her thumb is still moving against my jaw, and I'm acutely aware of how her sweater has slipped off one shoulder.
"Piper." My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
She leans in, or maybe I do. Maybe we both do. Her breath mingles with mine, and for a second, I think this is actually going to happen?—
I pull back suddenly. I stand up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor.
"You should go." The words come out harsh. "It's late."
Hurt flashes across her face before she masks it with that bright influencer smile. "Right. Yeah. Of course." She's already moving toward the door, grabbing her jacket. "I should let you rest. Big day saving people and all that."
"Piper—"
"It's fine." But her hands are shaking as she shoves her arms into the sleeves. "The plate on the counter—just microwave it for two minutes. Or don't. Whatever." She gestures vaguely toward the kitchen. "I'll just— I'll see you around. Neighborly check-ins and whatever."
She's at the door before I can figure out what to say. How to explain that I want to kiss her so badly it's making my teeth ache, but scouts are coming and I can't afford any distractions. Not now. Not when everything I've worked for is finally within reach.
"Thanks," I manage. "For the bandage and the food."
"Anytime you need someone to play nurse." She forces a laugh. "Or, you know, not. Whatever."
The door closes behind her, and I'm left standing in my kitchen, still smelling her shampoo, still feeling the ghost of her thumb against my jaw.
Through the window, I watch her cabin lights come on. I watch her shadow move past the curtains. My bandaged hand throbs in time with my pulse.
Five games. Five chances to prove I belong in the NHL. I can't afford distractions.
I turn away from the window and head to bed.
But sleep takes a long time to come, and when it does, I dream about hazel eyes and the almost-kiss I walked away from.
Chapter 5
Piper
The "Alaska Morning Routine" video I'm editing looks perfect. Golden hour lighting through my cabin window, steam rising from my coffee mug, me looking contemplatively at the mountains while wearing coordinated loungewear that cost more than most people's monthly car payments.
What the camera doesn't show: I've reshot this "candid" moment twelve times because my eyes keep drifting to Ryder's cabin. Watching for movement. Waiting for him to emerge so I can... what? Wave? Pretend last night didn't happen? Apologize for trying to kiss a man who clearly wants nothing to do with me beyond neighborly fire-starting tutorials?
