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Harper straightens her jersey, brushes imaginary lint off her sleeve, then turns to me like nothing just happened. “I’ll wait for you by the exit. Don’t keep me waiting.” There’s steel in her eyes—and yeah, fuck, that smile turns my cock rock hard.

I don’t say a word. I just follow her down the tunnel, past the entire peanut gallery of players and staff. My fists are clenched, and my face is throbbing from where Ryan clocked me, but all I feel is pride. And love.

Behind us, Ryan stands glued to the spot, watching with a look on his face like he can’t believe what just happened. Honestly, I’m shocked, too. I never expected to have someone like Harper take my side, not against the world, and definitely not against her brother.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HARPER

The morning sun is doing something obnoxious through the blinds and, for a hot second, I have absolutely no idea where I am. Then it hits me that I’m in my own bed. Okay. Right. But the other side is empty, the sheets cool, and my stomach does this stupid little drop before I can stop it. Where is he?

The front door opens, then Jaxson strolls in with a white paper bag and a cup of coffee from my favorite bakery.

“Morning, firecracker,” he rumbles, blue eyes locked on me. “Figured you’d need reinforcements to face the day.” He flashes the bag from The Scone Hut. “I got the last blueberry scone. And a double shot espresso. Extra whip.”

My mouth is already watering just thinking about the pastry, and my fingers are twitching for the coffee before I can even thank him. “You truly are perfect,” I groan as I take the cup, inhaling the sweet, creamy goodness like it’s oxygen. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for you.” He leans over and places a soft kiss on my lips.

My phone suddenly vibrates, interrupting the moment. The caller ID shows Ryan’s face—a photo from two years ago where he’s grinning, a smear of eye black on his cheek. It’s not a text. It’s a FaceTime request. Darn. My brother’s timing sucks.

“I’ll go for my run and let you talk to him. Message me if you need something.” Jaxson kisses my forehead and slips out of the apartment as I head to my bedroom and swipe to accept the video call, my heart performing a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. Ryan’s face fills the screen. He’s sitting in what looks like a darkened hotel room, the only light coming from a single lamp behind him.

"Harper," he says. His voice is gravelly, stripped of the usual boisterous energy that defines him. He looks like he hasn't slept, his eyes bloodshot and weary.

"Ryan," I whisper, clutching the phone so hard the edges dig into my palm.

"I've been sitting here for four hours," Ryan says, looking away from the camera and toward the window. "Just staring at the wall, thinking about how much I wanted to go back out there and finish it. Thinking about how I was going to tell you that you're dead to me for choosing him. Thorne, of all people.”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat feeling like a shard of glass. This isn’t starting off too great. “Ryan.”

“Let me finish,” my brother cuts me off. "But I couldn’t do it. I saw your face last night when he said those things. When he said he loved you. I’ve never seen that look on your face before."

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the faint hiss of static over the connection. It’s an admission I never expected from him—a recognition of my happiness over his pride. For a man whose entire identity is built on winning, this is the ultimate concession.

"I hate him," Ryan continues, his voice gaining a bit of its usual bite, though it’s tempered by exhaustion. "I want to be clear about that. If he ever fucking hurts you, I’ll tear him a new asshole and shove his hockey stick in it. But I can't lose you, Harper. You're not just my little sister, you’re my best friend."

I feel the hot prickle of tears finally spilling over. I wipe them away with the back of my hand, leaving a damp streak on the gray fleece. "I'm not going anywhere, Ryan. You're my brother. Nothing changes that."

"Everything changes it," he corrects me gently. "But I’m willing to try. I’m not saying I’m going to go get drinks with the guy and talk about our feelings. But I won't walk out of the room when you bring him up. I’ll… I’ll give him a chance. For you. Only for you."

"Thank you," I breathe, the relief washing over me in a cold, clean wave. "That’s all I’m asking. Just a chance."

"Yeah, well, don't make me regret it," he says, taking a sip of Jack Daniels, the half-empty bottle sitting on the table beside him. "And tell him if he thinks this makes us friends on the ice, he's got another thing coming. I’m still going to kick his frozen ass every chance I get."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I say, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. We talk for a few more minutes, the conversation drifting back to safer territory—his schedule for the next few weeks, how things have been at the ER. When we finally hang up, I feel lighter, as if I’ve finally shed the leaden coat I’ve been wearing for weeks.

By the time I head out to the living room, I find Jaxson standing by the packed bookshelf, staring at my collection of books. He looks like a statue, the 'Ice Wall' personified, until he hears my footsteps and turns around.

The tension in his frame is palpable. He doesn't ask. He just waits, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.

"That was a quick run," I say, my voice steady despite the lingering emotion.

“I wanted to get back here and make sure you’re okay.” He shrugs.

I step closer to him. "He’s going to try, Jax. He said he’ll give you a chance."

He reaches for me, pulling me into the hard, warm center of his chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, tucking my head under his chin, listening to the thunderous, relief-filled beat of his heart.