Chief mentioned this job a few weeks ago when I talked to him about volunteering. Said it was perfect for someone with my skills. I thought he was just being nice.
But standing here, reading the description—educational programs, social media, events—it sounds like everything I'm good at, minus the soul-crushing need to perform.
My phone's in my hand before I can overthink it.
"Town Hall, this is Angie."
"Hi, this is Piper Meadows. I'm calling about the community outreach coordinator position?"
"Oh wonderful! We haven't gotten many applicants. Are you interested?"
"Yes. Very."
"I'll email you the application right now. Just get it back to us by Friday with your resume and cover letter and we'll schedule interviews next week."
I give her my email address and then hang up, staring at the flyer.
A job. In Ashwood Falls. With benefits and a salary and the kind of stability I haven't had since I was twenty-two and thought brand deals would last forever. Granted, it’s not the kind of money I’m used to, but I don’t need that anymore; not at the cost of my soul.
Back at the cabin, Sage is still asleep. I make coffee and pull up a blank document on my laptop.
Dear Hiring Committee,
I'm writing to apply for the Community Outreach Coordinator position...
Two hours later, I hit send. The application disappears into the void, and I sit back, heart pounding.
Ashwood Falls isn't temporary anymore.
The cabin that was supposed to be a three-month escape has become home. The people I was supposed to keep at professional distance have become friends. The town I came to hide in has become the place I want to stay.
And the man I was supposed to fake date for four games?
He's twenty-three feet away, probably just waking up, making coffee in that methodical way he does everything. He now knows I turned down the reality show. But doesn't know I applied for a permanent job and doesn't know that when I think about leaving Alaska, every part of me screams wrong.
He’s standing at his own crossroads, making decisions that will determine whether he stays or ends up three thousand miles away with nothing but a fake dating arrangement to show for it.
One more game. We promised we'd wait until after the final game to talk about what's real.
But standing here in this cabin that's become home, in this town that's become mine, wanting this man who's become everything—waiting feels impossible.
Chapter 20
Ryder
The arena smells like popcorn, sweat, and every dream I've ever had.
Game five. Championship game. Winner takes the regional title and a shot at provincials. Loser goes home and starts planning next season. The scouts—three of them today, clipboard guys in expensive suits who've been watching me fail and succeed in equal measure—sit in their usual section. Same row, same seats, same expressionless faces that give away absolutely nothing.
I've been playing hockey for twenty-one years, and my hands still shake before big games.
Coach gathers us in the locker room twenty minutes before warmups. The usual pre-game speech—play smart, trust your line, don't do anything stupid. His eyes land on me when he says that last part, and Jax snorts into his glove.
"Real subtle, Coach," I mutter.
"Wasn't trying to be subtle, Lockwood." He grips my shoulder, his hand solid and reassuring. "This is your game. Take it."
The weight of those words settles across my shoulders like my gear. My game. My chance. Everything riding on the next sixty minutes.
