“But I’m going anyway.”
54
WHEN HOPE CLEARS CUSTOMS
Nate
“She showed up. On one leg. That’s all I’ll ever need to remember.”
Nate hadn’t slept. Not really. He’d done all the things a functioning adult was supposed to do. Showered, dressed, packed, checked the flight info four times like it might bite him if he looked away too long. But his mind?Static.Loud and relentless, like the buzz before a fight. Except this time, he wasn’t gearing up to hit anyone. He was just trying to get her on a plane, and maybe figure out how to keep his heart from falling out of his chest on the way.
In the seconds after he knocked on her apartment door, he felt a thrill of panic bolt through him. The same way he did just before leaving the player’s entrance tunnel before every single fucking period. He never knew what was gonna happen on the ice. If he’d get hit. Benched. Take a puck to the face. This was no different. As he waited for her to open the door, he wondered what he’d do if shedidn’t.
This wasn’t some fling. He’d had those before. Models, influencers, that one yoga instructor his neighbor's cousin set himup with. Not a single woman he’d ever met made him feel the way Holly did. As though he might not survive it if her apartment door stayed closed in his face. Like he had everything on the goddamn line.
When the door lock clicked his breath hitched, only to totally relax into a sigh when she appeared a second or two later.
“Fuck.” His voice was rough as his eyes drank her in, like he’d only just pulled himself back from the brink. “Thought you were about to ghost me, Martinez.”
She looked up at him, brown hair twisted into a low messy knot. She wore black leggings, Converse, and his fucking hoodie. The gray one with the Hammerheads logo on the left breast. Annnnd he was instantly swelling in his jeans.Jesus.
“Thought about it,” she said, but there was no sauce on her bravado.
He grinned, stepping closer to her. “No you didn’t,” he murmured, leaning down. “If you did, you wouldn’t be wearing my hoodie.” He inched closer, waiting until her eyes fluttered closed as she waited for him to kiss her before he reached past her to scoop up her carry-on and take control of her suitcase. The next moment, he pulled back deliberately.
His turn to tease.
“C’mon, baby,” he prodded, grin widening as he commandeered her luggage and took a few backward steps. “Uber’s waiting.”
“You’re an asshole,” she scowled, settling herself onto her crutches before she hopped along behind him.
“Your asshole,” he reminded her calmly. No longer scared. Not now he had her.
He didn’t say it, butGod,he loved her.Loved that she could make a joke while limping toward a future they hadn’t figured out yet. Loved that she was still showing up, even with her ankle taped and her pride bruised, and her life upended. In the back seat of the car, he tucked a pillow behind her and unscrewed her water bottle. Handed it to her like it was nothing, even though it felt like everything. Proof that he was learning how to care for someone who didn’t expect him to.
She took it without looking at him, and maybe that was for the best. Because if she had, he might’ve kissed her in front of the driver and said the one real thing that threatened to spill out of him every time he was near her.
The ride to LAX passed in a quiet haze of shared glances and drifting fingers. She reached for his thigh when the car swerved a little, her hand lingering just a beat too long before she pulled it back. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched the city blur past the window like it was something from a different life.
At the terminal, he climbed out first, moving fast, methodical. Opened her door. Grabbed the bags. Didn’t give her time to protest, just took the weight from her hands and made it his.
“You don’t have to do all of this,” she murmured when he helped her to her feet, a hand at her waist.
“I know,” he said, fingers curling tighter. “But I want to.”
She looked at him, brows knitting, lips pursed. Like maybe she finally saw the way he carried her in ways that had nothing to dowith crutches or bags. The way she’d crawled under his skin without even trying. And then, in the soft chaos of departure announcements and rolling suitcases and families saying goodbye, she leaned in. And he wrapped his arms around her instantly.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she murmured against him. Against the next hoodie he’d let her steal, when the one she had on finally stopped smelling like him.
Nate didn’t either. He didn’t know what Denmark would feel like with her in it. He didn’t know what came after the cameras, after the show, after the pressure. But he knew one thing with a clarity that didn’t leave room for fear. It wasn’t the end forthem.
“We’ll make it work,” he promised. “We can make anything work, Holly.”
She didn’t answer with words, choosing to reach for his hand instead. She laced her fingers through his as though it were a promise. Like it was something she’d always known how to do. They walked together through the terminal with matching bruises and matching hearts. While this was an adventure, it wasn’t the start of the end.
This was the beginning of whatever came next.
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