Landon squeezed my hand as we moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations that still seemed to surprise him. He wore black, clean lines, no fuss. The Cup ring on his hand caughtthe light every time he lifted his glass. I was aware of everything at once, the sound of voices, the weight of my dress, the fact that my nerves were showing up in the way my fingers kept fidgeting against the stem of my flute.
“You’re going to drop that,” Landon murmured, his mouth close to my ear.
“I’m fine,” I said, then adjusted my grip on the glass anyway.
He turned his head enough to look at me, not with concern, but with something warmer. “You’re more nervous than I am.”
“Why is that, exactly?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Because I’ve already won everything that matters,” he said simply. “The Cup for a second time, and this time around, I got the girl too.”
My throat closed on whatever I’d been about to say. I lifted my glass instead and took a sip that tasted like celebration and nerves mixed together. Around us, the room continued its steady churn. Names were called. Applause rose and fell. Cameras flashed. When Rookie of the Year came up on the program, my pulse took on a life of its own.
They read the nominees. Landon’s name echoed through the room, followed by cheers from our table that cut through the more polite applause. He reached for my hand again, thumb pressing into my palm, a silent check-in. I nodded, even though my stomach felt unsteady.
“And the NHL Rookie of the Year is…”
The pause stretched. I counted my breaths without meaning to.
“Landon Cross, San Antonio Surge.”
The noise that followed was immediate and overwhelming. Shawn was on his feet with one arm raised, while Grayson and the guys all tried to out-cheer each other. Coach clappedonce, sharp and decisive, then pulled Landon into a brief, fierce hug before letting him go. Landon turned to me, eyes bright, disbelief flickering across his face before it settled into something like acceptance.
He kissed my cheek, quick and grounding, then stood and made his way to the stage. I watched him walk up there, aware of how many times I had seen him step onto ice with that same focus. The difference now was the suit, the absence of skates, the fact that this moment was being shared with everyone in the room.
He took the award, weighty and polished, and stepped to the microphone. The room quieted.
“I didn’t plan a long speech,” he said, voice carrying easily. “This year taught me a lot. Not just about hockey. About listening. And trust. About what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself.”
He paused, eyes sweeping the room before settling on our table. On me.
“I’m a better player than I was last year,” he continued. “And I’m a better person. That doesn’t happen alone. It happens because of a team that doesn’t just refuse to give up on the ice. They refused to give up on me. San Antonio Surge… this is ours.”
Applause surged again, and this time, I let myself cry. I wiped at my face and laughed at myself in the same breath, feeling completely undone in the best possible way.
The official celebration afterward was everything you’d expect. Music that filled the space. Drinks that kept appearing in my hand. Teammates crowded around Landon, slapping his back, pulling him into conversations that overlapped and tangled.
Later, when the room grew louder and the night tipped from polished to loose, Landon leaned in close again. “Come with me.”
We slipped away through a side door and found the rooftop, the city spread out beneath us in a grid of light. The air was cooler up there, carrying the faint sound of traffic far below. He closed the door behind us, and for a beat, we just stood there, the noise of the party muted, the moment ours.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, stepping closer. “I think it’s all finally catching up.”
He lifted his hand to my face, fingers warm against my skin, and kissed me with intent that left no room for doubt. The city continued on around us, unaware. His body pressed me back toward the railing. My hands found his jacket, tugging him closer.
“I want you. Right here,” he said, a request that felt like a promise.
I cupped his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes. “Then take me.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Landon was always charming, always saying sweet things, but this wasn’t just charm anymore. His voice held something deeper, something raw and unguarded, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
My lips parted, but no words came. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, and tucking it behind my ear with the gentlest touch. The warmth of his fingertips lingered against my skin, making my stomach twist into something hot and desperate.
“I’d take this view over the city skyline any day,” he murmured.
