The woman doesn’t even blink. “License and registration.”
Knox hands them over, smile still firmly in place, unfazed by her brisk demeanor.
She studies the ID, then him before staring at the card again.
“Do you have any idea how fast you were going, Mr. McNichols?”
“Please, call me Knox,” he says, flashing that same effortless grin.
If it’s possible, her expression turns even frostier. “Just answer the question, Mr. McNichols.”
He blinks, clearly uncertain how to proceed. “Uh… Maybe five over?”
“It was thirteen over the limit.” She leans in slightly and then does a double take when her gaze shifts to me. “Oh my God.” Her eyes widen as her whole face lights up. “Laiken Lennox!”
I lift a hand in a tentative wave. I’ve never been one to fully embrace the whole celebrity thing. “Hey.”
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” she gushes. “My son is ten and just started playing hockey. He’s a goalie.” Her smile turns proud. “Best position on the ice.”
“That’s debatable,” Knox grumbles.
She doesn’t spare him another glance. “He’s going to lose his mind when I tell him about meeting you.”
My teammate squints, clearly offended. “Uh… You might not realize it, but I play for the Railers too.”
Her attention flicks to him for half a second. “That’s nice,” she says absently, already turning back to me. “Do you mind if I get a picture?”
Knox’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry… You want a picture of him?”
“Sure do.” With a grin, she reaches for her phone. “The squad is gonna love this.”
She hands Knox the phone before hustling around to the other side of the vehicle. I paste on a polite smile while Knox snaps a few pictures, muttering under his breath the entire time.
After straightening, she turns back to him, as if remembering why she pulled us over in the first place. “I’m going to let you off with a warning, Mr. McNichols. Don’t let it happen again.”
He nods stiffly, his trademark grin long gone. “Yes, ma’am.”
As she walks away, I call out, “Tell your son good luck.”
Knox presses his lips together as he pulls back into traffic at a more sedate speed.
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. “You should’ve seen your face when she didn’t recognize you.”
“I think you enjoyed that way too much,” he says flatly.
“How could I not?”
He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the drive. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the low growl of the engine and the city sliding past the windows in a blur of steel and glass.
Normally, this would be the point where my mind shifts to hockey. Traffic in front of the net, rebound control, and the kind of drills that punish a goalie for blinking. It’s the familiar rhythm of preparation.
Instead, it drifts in a direction it has no business going.
To a certain blonde standing in my kitchen fresh-faced, hair still damp, moving through my space like she belongs there. Or the easy way she laughed with Elody, as if they’d known each other their whole lives instead of a handful of weeks.
I don’t like how easily my thoughts turn to her. Or how they linger, refusing to move on. And then there’s the seamless way she fits into our space.
After parking in the structure, I spot Oliver and Rina walking toward the arena. Her head is tipped back as she laughs, and Oliver’s attention stays locked on her, as if the rest of the world has ceased to exist. I’d suspected that our winger had a thing for the Railers’ PR manager, but I never would’ve guessed she returned the interest.
